The Father of Waters

Game Master Fighting Chicken

.

LAST NIGHT (THIS MORNING)

Witching-hour; long past midnight. Rigel ducks into the barn that Iseult is currently using for accommodation, closing the door behind her; the draught catches the still-wet hair on the back of her neck, making her shiver. She stealthily creeps up to the grain-loft, hoping to be silent enough to catch Issy by surprise – as ever, to no avail: the girl is up and waiting, her strange-coloured eyes asking a wordless question.

Rigel grins in reply. “Oh Issy, it worked! It was beautiful.” The fool Betram Hamfatten had been eyeing her for weeks, every time Rigel had 'accidentally' encountered him; when she finally appeared at his home – making sure his wife was out – he'd made all sorts of lavish promises as he bedded her, none of which he intended to honour. But that wasn't the point. Issy had put together a herbal concoction that Rigel slipped into his wine, knocking him out; Rigel had taken good care to arrange things so it was clear what he'd been up to (with the assistance of one of his servant girls, whom she had bribed for this purpose with a promise of employment elsewhere).

Then it was only a matter of waiting for his wife Althya to return, catching him in an indefensible position. Rigel frowned slightly – the only drawback was that Althya had returned earlier than planned, while Rigel was still in the bath: she'd had to dress hastily, still wet, and beat a retreat out into the cold night. Luckily the chaos downstairs, and the shouting, had provided the perfect cover for her escape.

Rigel finishes her tale without interruption: although not actually mute, Iseult rarely talks and Rigel has become adept at these one-sided conversations, reading the girl's mood in her face and body language. “... and to be honest, Issy, that's enough excitement for one night...” Unselfconsciously, she strips off her wet clothing and hangs it around the barn to dry, retrieving something from the pockets as she does so. "Look what I managed to rescue from Hamfatten's!" Opening her hand with a triumphant flourish, she displays some yerba matte leaves. "Thought we could drop by Helgya's tomorrow and share these; get that wise woman to take a look at your leg. I can tell it's giving you trouble, don't look at me like that - you can't just ignore it, remember what she said, it'll go bad."

Rigel sighs. It's late and she's tired and not in the mood for an argument on this. It can wait til morning. Leaning down, she shares a grin with the younger girl. “Lend us a bit of your cloak, will you honey? It's freezing.”

There are many men in Shadeholme – some women, too, probably – who would offer a great deal if only Rigel Quicklingfay would ask to share their bed; better shelter than a draughty barn, and better food than yesterday's cold leftovers; but, with Issy's head nestling against her shoulder, one hand combing through the younger girl's hair as she has been doing for so many years, Rigel can't imagine many other places she'd rather be right now.

===============================
1 GOZRAHN
===============================

=================
Oios
=================

1 Gozrahn comes in with a chill, as mornings do this time of year. Bundled in your heavy cloak, you make your way in the darkness up to the bow of the keelboat – Captain Nac and his crew had started early, well before dawn, Nac’s men polling the boat and its few passengers up the Cheya Canal in the darkness. The men, unconcerned with decorum or danger, sang as they worked, leaving you no choice but to take a steaming wooden cup of chimarro as the darkened countryside unfurls slowly before you. Mostly woods, with the occasional lightless farmstead, barely visible in early morning light. Even the roosters are too cold and too tired to be up now…

Eventually, the morning light. Still cold, a light layer of frost on the ground. You arrive at a Way Point. The keelboat will continue onto Shadeholme, but its route will be circuitous, the pace slow. You’ll shave hours off the trip doing the last part by land. At least that’s what Telowo told you, when he wrote that he’d meet you here. Nac’s men help you unload your possessions – a few personal effects, and a cornucopia of books, packed into a heavy wooden chest, which hits the embankment with a heavy THUD.

The Way Point is basic – a wooden shelter, mostly enclosed, with the south-facing wall open. The winter winds rarely blow south. Inside, a handful of travelers are moving, warming themselves around the hearth, cooking breakfast, taking chimarro. People coming to or going from Shadeholme or the surrounding hamlets, most likely, and either landed with the last boat out – or they missed it.

Telowo isn't here yet, it seems, but this doesn’t surprise you. He’s never been very punctual. Sighing, you look around. By the pit latrines, a young man and woman, playing kicksac. They gently lob a woven bag of beans back and forth using only their feet with the ease of grace of natural-born athletes. Perhaps one of them could help me get this chest to the shelter while I wait?.

As you approach, the young woman smiles and lets the kicksac drop at her feet, and you notice the stylized tattoo, feet on a road, that bandies her arm. ”Ay! Oios, yeah? I’m Paola. Chasqui, Shadeholme. One of em’ at any rate.” Jabbing her finger at the young man, she continues, a twinkle in her eye. ”This is Kiko. He’s a laborer, but don’t let that lower your opinion of him. He’s a mean kicksac player! He’s got a cart for your belongings. I’m your guide, Kiko’s your oxen. Anyways, Telowo isn’t here.”

Paola shrugs apologetically, and then gently puts her arm on your back, as if to will you, faster, towards the cart. ”Something came up.”

No bow of greeting, not official titles used, except to brag of her own. It seems that even in the farthest reaches of the Baunti Valley, the youth have no use for convention.

=================
Istiel
=================

Morning is the best time of day. Spar, sweat, work up an appetite. Knee fist kick block. Suuha, he ruins it though. All talk. Just let a good fight be. Swinging to his left, he dodges out of your way as you lunge, your grapple thwarted, no bringing him back-first to the ground.

"Little slow, today, huh?" Suuha says, his voice lilting behind that cherry mask. It crosses your mind, not for the first time, that he's probably very striking under there. "Up all night brewing some chicha? Hung over perhaps?" He chuckles, again stepping to the side, hands down, purely evasive at this point, toying. "Maybe that's your tenent? Be a better drunk than Utzi..."

You stop, stand ramrod straight, give a deep bow. Bout is over. No point in chasing a squirrel, more interested in chirping from a tree than mixing it up. Suuha responds in kind, dipping his head, and when he comes back up, so does your anger. That's when you strike, flat palm under his mask, above the Adam's Apple, below the chin. Suuha collapses, sputtering, into a heap. Not so talkative now.

"Enough!" Domhnall steps forward, voice booming from behind his oak mask, gives you a quick wrap with his staff on the back of your calves. "Control, Istiel! Control!"

You turn, smiling, and look out from atop Monk's Mound, Shadeholme to the south. There is just the slightest hint of amusement in your mentor's voice, you're sure of it.

===================

Drazan

===================

"Hunters are off today," Helaya says, mouth full of food, casting a shy glance your way. She's been looking at you differently lately, all sideways glances, shifting her eyes away when you meet them. "Maybe we'll go fishing th-?"

"Mouth closed when you chew, girl," Lijart says, cutting his daughter off. Lijart, sometimes it seems he never had the patience for children, but get to know him and you'll see the man's heart is too big for all the love it holds - he did take you in, after all. Chewing on a bit of eel, Lijart finishes his thought, not heeding his own advice, talking through his breakfast, pointing a gnarled finger at his daughter. "You're gonna help your mother in the garden this morning, Helaya. Check the hens, clean the coop, turn the ground. It has probably thawed enough. Drazan's gonna go fishing with me." Lijart shoots you a pointed look, inscrutable, but as direct as his daughter's looks are discreet. "Something we need to talk about."

Helaya rolls her eyes and you bury your head in your breakfast, unspoken words flying around the table. Smoked eel, piri-piri sauce, bread, eggs, two today, now that the hens have picked up with the warming days. Soon, two weeks or so, there'll be fresh radishes, greens, and after that, a bounty, as the Cheya River floods, and wildlife fills the forests. Both you and Helaya are becoming better hunters, season by season. And of course, you'll hide what you can from Texikuk, the Excise-head.

----------------

Cold out, but warming rapidly. Your leather boots crunch through dead grass, around the side of Eel Mound, and then you and Lijart situate yourselves on the ghats leading down from the Mound into the Cheya Canal. Downstream, a few crocodile mounds where the creatures set up for winter, but for some reason, they always avoid the ghats. Which means the fishing is usually decent, even in the spring, when there's still plenty of cold water to force most of the fish deeper below the waterline.

Lijart fiddles a bit with his longspear, walking the banks, peering into the canal, looking for movement. A few fishers join you all on the ghats, and all the while Lijart paces, his attention there but not there, the peculiar state of being of a great hunter. Eventually, he just nods, having made up his mind about something. Turning to you, and sighs. "This fall, Helaya comes of age." There's that look again, pointed, as sharp as his fishing spear. "I suspect you're going to do right by her, Ay?"

An Inquisitor no longer Oios feels he can't take offense to the lack of a honorific in front of his name. Truth be told he doesn't know how people should refer to him at the moment. 'Uncle'? 'Gramps'? 'Elder'? He shudders slightly. He isn't quite ready to be put out to pasture just yet. Still was some respect too much to ask for? There are few things more pleasing to Damballah than a honest days labour Oios rebukes Paola in a deep rumbling baritone with a sharp nod as befits an elder person greeting a younger one. Why would I think any less of Kiko than I do of you?

I can carry my possessions myself. With the weight of knowledge however I will require some assistance. As do we all. He continues, rapping the chest at his feet with the spear that he has habitually started to use a walking stick. Let us load this on the cart and then you can lead on Young Paola.

====================
Rigel
====================

You're up, earlier than you'd hoped. Issy, as usual, rolled over in the night and took the cloak with her, leaving you to freeze yourself awake. Sitting up, you blow on your blue hands, fight vainly with Issy, sound asleep, for a little corner of cloak. Waaaay too early to be up after being up so late. Still, your mind is turning, parting the cobwebs, burning off the fog. Last night went well, right? He can't get too personal with the payback, right? Gilders, he'll have your back if it comes to it? Right?

Worry creeps in, just a bit of doubt, and now there's no way you're getting back to sleep. So, its up, walk the cold off, pace the hayloft. You look out the window, and gods damn, in this early morning light, there's someone cloaked, striding across the field below. The figure turns and the cloak's hood - her cloak's hood - falls from her head. Alma Slate? She's usually out in the woods this time of year, hustling up as many tapestry worm cacoons as she can. What's she doing out there, so early in the morning, walking with purpose towards town?

You crouch and head back over to Issy, shake her - a little too abruptly - awake. Issy sits up, gasps, worried, the expression on her face clear. "No, Issy, not Hamfatten. Alma Slate. Walking fast, the old bat, right towards Eel Mound."

Issy shrugs, rolls over, takes the cloak with her. You know what she's thinking. So what? Alma Slate's a crazy old wormfarmer. Probably got lost and been wandering around all night.

Probably, you think, and then you hear it, from the other side of the hayloft. Someone climbing, quickly and loudly, up the ladder...

====================
Imix
====================

Texikuk undresses and crawls back into bed, quietly, so as not to wake you, to no avail. The morning light, getting stronger - and earlier - day by day, streams in through the pine shutters of her stout limestone abode atop Eel Mound. You wrap the blankets tight. It is hard to going on these mornings, so damn cold - the chill seems to seep into your very bones.

At least Texikuk has a lot of blankets. She's got a lot of a lot, actually. Nothing really nice, but plenty of decently made goods, furniture, a nice fireplace. And she earned it too - unlike some Exciser-Heads, Texikuk is no criminal. Just a tenacious worker, a diligent statistician, and able, to the dismay of most of Shadeholme, to wring more blood from this small, admittedly important turnip of a town, than the two predecessors before her. Cornucopia's been so happy with her performance that she's got no chance of going home. Such is the life of those truly competent - all the shit work falls on their shoulders.

Anyways, her abode is nice. It isn't the biggest or flashiest home on the mound, but its no hovel either - there are perks to being Exciser-Head, despite the drawbacks. You roll over, grunt, grab more blanket. She's cold too, been outside, or in some poorly heated room. She's all marble angles this morning, elbows and knees, chilling, pointy.

No point in pretending to sleep. You sit up, take the blankets with you, curl them around you like a crocodile mound. Nesting? Are you nesting? Surely not. This is just an association of convenience, right?

"Sorry," she says. "One of those, damned triplets, Salty I think, came knocking this morning. Early. Like before dawn. Had a message relayed to him from up north. Said the Lord Mayor needed to see me immediately. You were out cold, I lit a lantern and everything. Nothing. Your eyes were half-open, mouth open, like you got called to Legba. She shudders next to you, not from the cold. I figured I should just let you be."

Tex wraps her arms around you, rests her sharp chin on your shoulder. "The runner that relayed to Salty, he had some news. Bad news I'm sure. Sorry, I don't know more. It was a short meeting, Lord Mayor dismissed me, said he had to moot with the Garrison-Captain. Lord Mayor said he may need to pull back some of tribute is going out. Pull it out and I've already sent my report in."

Tex rolls onto her back stares the ceiling for a bit. Bitterness crowds her face, she practically spits the next word. "Bastard. Cornucopia's going to be pissed."

======================
Oios
======================

Paola cocks one eyebrow, stares at you for a moment, the hint of a frown on her thin lips. Then she shrugs it off, smiles, shows you her tatoo. "In case you didn't catch it, I'm a Chasqui. All I do is honest days' labor. And you shouldn't think less of Kiko, just 'cause he's a common laborer, and a little dim. That's my point!"

-------------

The rest of the journey passes quickly. Kiko loads up his cart and grabbing the handlebars, starts off at a steady clip down the cobblestone road. To Paola's credit, she's honest - Kiko does turn out to be a bit dim. Attempts at conversation are met with grunts and vacant stares, or just as often, stunted awkward, conversation.

Paola spends her time running forward down the road and then returning, circling the cart, and taking off again. The only time she stops to walk is to share a little breakfast with you and Kiko - jerky made from a large ant, felled by hunters, that she just traded for yesterday.

Soon enough, the landscape changes. The hilly forest gives way to more farmsteads, mostly dilapidated, hardscrabble structures filled with hardscrabble people. The farmsteads give way to copses of trees, and then eventually you cross the Cheya Canal again, as it loops back towards Shadeholme. Hamlets appear by the canal, wooden huts mostly, and in another couple of miles, you can see Shadeholme, Eel Mound rising in the distance, wood buildings crowding up to its base, and the more permanent structures, white limestone buildings, often multi-story, sit perched atop the mound.

Pausing for a second, Kiko opens a jug of water and takes a long, thirsty gulp before offering it to you. The day has grown hotter as it goes on, the sky clear, Ayida-Wedu rising high in the sky. Up there, on Eel Mound, that's where Telowo will be.

Imix stretched, buried under Texikuk and the blankets, as his mind slowly awoke. As it lumbered up to speed he felt it digesting what Tex had said, letting the facts and the implications of those facts absorb into his thoughts. As the did he felt his mood switching from simple annoyance to elation.
First - and most easily - was a sense of admiration for Tex. So few of the normal people really understood their purpose. Texikuk did. In the face of some potential disaster she worried about how it would impact her work.
Second was the realisation she would be angry - and therefore annoying - unless he could make her feel better. Sighing he made a mental note to buy her something. "Cornucopia will understand" he lied. "I will help you write a few notes. Roll over, and I will rub your back." As he spoke soft, simple harp music - one of her favourites - started to play. She liked harp music, and back rubs.
Lastly was the strongest - bad news. Urgent news. News that involved the Garrison-Captain and was important enough to disturb Cornucopia. News like that suggested a war, or a disaster. Either way, it suggested something that could be his purpose. Fear gave way to hope, then elation.
Sitting up he gestured - a terrible habit left over from his childhood lessons - and a parcel of sticks flew over to the fireplace and lit themselves. The back rub forgotten he looked around for his clothes. "I'll go see the Lord Mayor. Maybe I can find out more - or even convince him to leave the tribute alone."
He concentrated, and the harp music gave way to a bell-like gong as he summoned his secretary. Making his way over to his ceremonial outfit - perched on an armour stand like some waiting, vengeful god - he took a moment to ensure his scalp was freshly shaved.
"Help me dress." he asked Tex, with a tone that was unthinkingly as much order as request.

======================
Drazan
======================

Lijart stands and stares at you, hard-eyed and squinty, for a good full minute, the seconds drawing out. Finally, he sighs, and looks back to the canal. "Son, I dunno most of the time whether you're being sincere or pulling Damballah's third leg. What I mean is--"

"Ay! Lijart! Outlander! How's the fishing? Its Korya, the Tooyah woman from up north, best fisher in Shadeholme. And sure enough, she's carrying a full basket of fish towards you, smiling that big, awkward grin of hers. "Lookit this. F@!~ers practically jumped onto my spear this morning." Lowering her voice, Korya looks around, conspiratorially, and flashes another grin. "Not looking too good for you two today. I'll trade you some fish for some of whatever you bag next hunt. Under the table, of course..."

Her voice trails off as she looks around, and then looks you both over, shrugs. "Not that we need to whisper. Notice there's no soldiers around?"

She's right. Normally there's a handful stationed at the ghats, just in case one of the crocs decides to up and get angry. Not today though. And there's none anywhere else you can see, either.

No soldiers, not unheard of when one of the slaves with some pull was looking to put another in his or her place. Drazan stood, purposefully yet steadfast, taking up his spear, "It is not only the fish jumping onto the spear today." Darzan's eyes took a long moment of Korya in as motivation for whatever might happen next.

A moment later Drazan was scanning his horizons for conflict as his body peaked and valley between tensing up and relaxing, something he had developed as a habit before his bouts in the pits of the Fire Peaks.

===============
Imix
===============

Texikuk sighs and rolls over, presenting her back to you. "I appreciate the sentiment, Imix, but you know how it is out east. They don't like being lied to - and that's how they're going to see it, when I show up with less than I've promised-"

Letting out a grunt as you hit a particularly nasty knot - she's got soooo many knots - Tex interrupts herself as you get up. "Hey! What're. The Lord Mayor?" She snorts, a little dismissively, surely unintentional. "What, are you just going to barge in, interrupt whatever's going on?"

Sitting up, Texikuk looks suddenly worried. "Your armor? Just what do you think is going on, anyways? You think he's up to something? Lord Mayor's too damn lenient on the scofflaws, but he's always been competent. Surely he knows he wouldn't stand a chance at defying the east..."

Standing up to help you dress, Tex sighs again. "At least its been a good ten years. Surely they'll take that into account when I deliver the tribute. It should buy me some distance between the crocs, at least."

You'd like to say she's joking, but you know how it is out east. At best, its gallows humor.

"Texikuk. Listen to me when I say this." his voice is patient, if condescending "I am Suriname. In these later days of the Empire, most of us find our Purpose is to improve some process, or create some new engineering marvel. But we are divine agents sent by The Father of Waters himself. Perhaps this is a coincidence, but perhaps my presence here is divine providence."
"If he feels this situation warrants disruption of the Tribute, and the defiance of Cornucopia in the person of the Exciser, then he can explain it to me." Unsaid is his thought - that Texikuk does not fight hard enough, and the mayor may be taking advantage of her.
"If I turn up simply in my silks and jewellery, he may see simply a young man. If I turn up in my armour he will see what I am. If I kill him, and claim it Purpose, I will walk away. He will know that. They can not throw Suriname to the crocodiles, Texikuk. We cannot be executed."
This last line delivered as his loyal secretary walks in on the couple.

"Ah, Chukix. Help me dress. Something is going on."

Rigel swears under her breath as she wakes up, shivering, her near-sister having pulled all the covers away. She has a perfectly good room, large bed, plenty of blankets, but noooo, Issy has to sleep out here. It's not as if I even had clients visiting, she thinks to herself blearily.

Still, at least her clothes are now dry; she pulls them on hastily over her goose-bumped flesh, rubbing her bare arms. Her cloak - where is her cloak, surely - oh please no, she didn't leave it at Hamfatten's did she? She sighs in relief as she sees it just slipped down from where she hung it last night; shaking the dust off, she pulls it round her.

Right. Where had her thoughts taken her? Gilders? She's reasonably sure he'd cover her unless she really screwed up: he's never formally adopted her (that would take plausible deniability too far), but she's the closest thing he's got to family - his own wife died in the plague that took Rigel's parents and he never re-married. No. She can breathe easy on that count; unless, of course, she's missed something. Balls. Now she's worried agai-

Who the hell is that?! Nobody followed her last night, she'd swear to it, so... Oh. Alma Slate. Nothing to do with her. Still, best wake Issy in case they need to leave, fast. A finger in the ribs does the trick - Issy's horribly ticklish - and she has her undivided attention; right up to the point where the girl rolls over back to sleep.

Rigel sighs and is about to do the finger-in-the-ribs again when she hears it: it's not exactly subtle. Someone coming this way, fast. Her hand reaches for one of the obsidian daggers buried in her clothing; she hesitates. Most situations get worse quickly if you wave a blade around; it's hard to make a client that way. A compromise: she slides it out from next to her skin and tucks it within easy reach, at the back of her belt. Nobody's going to see it, but it's there if things go bad.

After all, it's not as if she can run: Iseult's clubfoot makes that impossible. Best to stay and bluff it out.

Taking a position where she is concealed and has a tactical view of whoever comes up the ladder, Rigel takes a deep breath, runs her fingers through her hair, and does her best to look harmless/appealing. It would be easier if she were in fresh clothes, and had had a chance to bathe this morning; but the rest of her wardrobe is in her room. Thanks, honey, for choosing this barn, where it turns out, you can be found anyway; she resolves to have a talk with the girl at some point.

Thus hidden, Rigel waits to see who it is that's in such a rush, and what they want.

Oios is content in the silence as the cart makes it way across the changing landscape with him striding along besides Kiko as Paolo guides them into the city. Few places in this land that I have not been. Shadeholme is one of them however. How is life here? he asks Paolo as he takes a sip from Kiko's jug

==============
Rigel

Issy looks at you, plaintively, as you blend into the shadows, the look on her face, her eyes wide, mouth curled up in an involuntary grimace, it says it all. What are you doing? Get back here! Issy's raven, All-Feather, flies in the hayloft window and alights on Issy's shoulder, cawing loudly, one unblinking eye peering at the hayloft stairs. It could always sense the girl's distress.

The sound of climbing slows just a bit as the climber reaches the top of the ladder, and then Nando's head pops up, takes a quick scan of the room, and settles on Issy.

Nando. One of the triplets. Good looking kid, likeable in that way that popular kids are, the ones that seem to have everything fall their way; affable, easy-going, able to be cruel without thinking about it, and in a way that still leaves you wanting their attention.

You don't need to look to know that Issy hates him, not so much because of Nando himself, but because he's everything she's not - well-liked, athletic, charming even.

Nando gives Issy his most brilliant smile, folds his arms over each other on the hayloft floor, balancing himself on his elbows, no doubt letting his legs dangle off the ladder. The triplets were always in motion, involuntary, unconscious, constant. "Ay! Clubfoot! I'm looking for Rigel. Checked her house - nup. Checked at Gilder's - nup. Figured she might be hanging with you. Know where she's at?"

That one of the triplets knows about Issy's hiding spot is terribly surprising. They get around town a lot, hear a lot, see a lot. It is part of the their job, after all. Good thing about a good Chasqui: they're bound by sacred duty to not spill any secrets. Bad thing about a good Chasqui - and the triplets are good at what they do: they don't spill secrets.

Istiel barely flinches as the staff strikes her calf- she was mentally ready for the punishment, and seeing the wind taken out of Suuha was absolutely worth a sting. The anger that welled up before washes away in a wave of satisfaction.

Looking out over Monk's Mound, she is briefly caught by the sight of the small village huddled around the Eel Mound. The buildings reminded her of cubs seeking a mother bear's protection and warmth. A cool breeze makes its way through the dojo and ruffles her robes, reminding her of... nothing. She refuses to acknowledge the old memory, letting slide from her mind as oil slides through fingers, just as she was taught. Amused eyes turn towards her master, and she places her fist in her other palm, giving a bow of her head and a half-hearted apology. "I am sorry, master. We both dropped our respective guards."

She straightens up from her bow, and just as Suuha is starting to regain his breath, she reaches down to grab the hands still rubbing his throat. Istiel lifts him to his feet with ridiculous ease, and once he is stable, lets go. She turns her attention back to Domhnall, wondering what their morning schedule involved. "Master, is there time to drill Suuha and myself in flat-footed defense techniques?" Her tone made it clear which one of them needed the training. The image of Shadeholme and the surrounding forest re-enters her mind, and she hopes, instead, they will spend the afternoon hunting the first buds of spring herbs again.

Rigel shrugs eloquently at Issy's distress: If you had stayed awake that first time, we could be outta here by now...

She remains hidden, waiting for whoever it is, which turns out to be Nando. Huh. OK. Could be worse. Could be a lot worse. Cocky sod, though; needs bringing down a notch or two... and then he calls Issy "Clubfoot"... well, there's no time like the present.

Eyes narrowed, Rigel picks up a handful of grain and throws it so it lands below, distracting the Chasqui for one crucial moment, long enough for her to launch herself from hiding and into him, sending them both tumbling into the hay below. Cat-like, she lands on her feet and springs at Nando again, setting off a tussle that ends with her on top, her hands pushing his shoulders to the floor, and one knee pressed - firmly - between his legs.

Her face is less than 18 inches from his own, and she watches his expression with interest. "Her name is Iseult. Not 'Clubfoot'. As I think you know." She increases the pressure of her knee. "I also think you should apologise, don't you? And what were you doing, rushing in here without announcing yourself? You scared the crap out of me!" This last is categorically, utterly, untrue, but it should appeal to his vanity and make up - some - for the sting of defeat.

She considers him again, and eases up with her knee; point made, no sense in hurting him unnecessarily. "So. You were looking for me. You've found me. What's the big news?" She catches his eye, and grins, wickedly. "I'm up here, by the way."

Threatening - much less assaulting - a Chasqui is a very serious crime, punishable by death in some cases; but Nando can't accuse her without admitting he got beat by a girl, so Rigel reckons she's safe. Probably safe. And, eh, what's life without a little risk?

=================
Istiel
=================

Domhnall grunts, neither affirmation or rejection, at your apology. Turning to the other two monks, he begins instruction.

"Hemlock, Alto, you're up. Work with the other's motions, water flowing downhill. No trickery!" Casting a sideways glance your way with the last part, Domhnall addresses your request. "We'll work on dealing with surprise attacks. Maybe today, maybe not, but it definitely needs to be practiced." You can practically hear the smile, your Master's voice rising just a notch. "Of course, when exactly this lesson happens - well it wouldn't take if it wasn't a surprise, yes?"

With just a little bit of annoyance, you realize Suuha's beside you, rubbing his throat. "Damballah's wet crotch, Istiel, that hurt. Dirt-- Eh. What's that?"

In a line of ten deep, two across, Shadeholme's soldiery make their way across the communal fields, towards Monk's Mound, angled a little to your right, headed northwest. Slightly in front of the soldiers, three coywolves, lead by a stooped figure that can only be Dalgrit, range out and back, loping, tails up, alert. The farmers have all stopped their tilling, watching the procession go. Twenty soldiers. That's half of Shadeholme's garrison.

"Alright boys and girls. Lesson's over for today." Domhnall's voice comes washing over you, the slightest tinge of concern in his voice...

=================
Oios
=================

Paola stops, for just a second, fidgets with her arm, twisting her wrist. "Its great! Fertile farmland, beautiful hilly woodlands, some good people in town. Not much interference from the east..." She trails off, realizing she could have just said something inappropriate, or even insulting. Not really asking, Paola reaches her hand out and grabs the jug of water, downs the rest in one long gulp. "Kiko, this is a nice jug. No woody aftertaste to the water at all. Beechwood?"

Kiko just grunts and affirmative, gives you both a polite smile.

"Annnyways, you'll like it here, Oios. I'm sure Telowo is excited to see you. Let's get you to your room. Oh, I didn't tell you? Telowo's got you a room rented at the Way Point. No communal sleeping for you!"

---------------

The Way Point, also the local inn, is one of the largest buildings atop Eel Mound, a great limestone structure, three stories, boxy, with a hipped roof. Hanging over the front door is a rare worked metal object - a large copper sign, with a coywolf etched into it, above the runes for "Copper" and "Coywolf." The sign itself is green with oxidation, except the runes and the wolf - which have been carefully polished with care, gleaming a pleasing orange-red.

The inn is sleepy when you arrive, a couple of travelers eating a late breakfast, but otherwise empty. Paola rings a copper bell by the front door and yells "Ay! Traveler here!" and out the back, from what must surely be the kitchen from the gasp of steam the exits the door, comes a large woman, perpetual frown lines creasing her forehead.

Wiping her hands with a cloth, she nods towards the stairway in the rear corner. "You're with Paola, so you're Telowo's guest, the priest, eh? Room's on the third floor, down the hall, to the right. Names Maeve, if you need anything, I'm just prepping lunch. Everything's paid for, courtesy of the priesthood."

That said, Maeve turns and ambles back into the kitchen, still wiping her hands as she pushes the door open with her shoulder.

"Well then!" Paola says, giving you a quick smile and pat on the shoulder. "I'm off to the runner's post. See ya around." Kiko's already disappeared up the steps with your books, leaving you alone in the dark common room to be stared at by two travelers eating fish stew.

=================
Drazan
=================

Lijart, possessing a hunter's instincts, raises and eyebrow as he notices your tension, and then raises his longspear. Korya whistles and backs off, grabbing her basket of fish, and slings it over her shoulder, looking around warily as she makes her way up the ghats. "We'll talk about that trade another time, OK?"

You both stand, wary, expecting a yell, a crash, something to break the silence that hangs in the steadily warming air. Nothing does.

Istiel is slightly concerned about the surprise attacks practice- it doesn't take an Exciser to figure out she's probably going to be on the receiving end of the first example of this lesson. Domhnall might be aging, but he wasn't a master just because of his skill in herbalism; she had been tossed around by him enough while sparring to know his martial prowess was still keen. Thankfully, her mask prevents any outward worry from showing.

Hazel eyes glance to the side as Suuha moves beside her to whine about some nonsense, and she is moments from telling the jaw-flapper to suck it up when the atmosphere of the dojo tenses with the sighting of the soldiers. A beat passes after Domhnall informs them lessons are over for the day- all of the monks in the room stand and watch the procession for a moment before dispersing to collect the small amount of gear and (to the unfamiliar) strange weapons they carry.

Istiel looks to Suuha as the other monks leave the dojo, speaking as she turns to move past him. "Keep your guard up. Real enemies do not pull punches." She gathers her javelins and the small assortment of gear with the others, awaiting Domhnall's orders to move out.

==========
Imix
==========

If Texikuk feels condescended to, she doesn't show it. Sitting up, a slight smile gracing her lips, she says, "He's never been impressed with the east, though he's careful to pay lip service to all the right people, myself included. Appeal to his sense of fairness, and stress the danger he puts Shadeholme in."

She regards you with a strange look for a long beat, only breaking your gaze when Chukix enters, a quickly muttered, "I'm glad you're here," as she covers herself with blankets.

-------------------

The High Hall, for those communities lucky enough to front a body of water, is always at the top of the ghats, the steps that lead into the waters themselves, from which the Three Peoples fish, board boats, and on holy days, bathe, washing away their sins.

As you approach from the north, rather than the ghats, along Eel Mound, the High Hall stands above every other structure in town, five stories in all, the top of which - if Shadeholme is like any other community - the Lord Mayor resides. Below that will be the residence of his honor guard, and below that three stories devoted to the bureaucracy of the kingdom - the workers, like Texikuk, that make everything, well, everything. The priesthood has an office here, as do the maesters, the military, the excisers, the engineers, and the rest, even the head monk, though most of the time those odd folks prefer the company of their own, removed from the earthly taint of politics.

Chukix walks slightly behind you, his hands folded at his front, except when he rubs the small bald spot atop his head, a sign he's deep in thought. When you are a safe enough distance from Tex's home, your servant clears his throat. "My Suriname, if I may - I did not wish to worry your consort by speaking in her presence. Be careful with the Lord Mayor. Things here are a little different - the Tsinyah value their own more than tradition."

In front of the north entrance to the High Hall, three men stand, flanked by five soldiers, deep in conference. One is obviously a priest, judging by his garments; blue silk robes fronted with a white silk inlay, woven in a zig-zag pattern, the symbol of the Father of Waters. Next to the priest is a large man, both in height and apparently in appetite, shaped like a spinning top. He's one not to be trifled with, you can see; there's power to his stance, obvious strength under all that excess. He's dressed in well-made wooden armor, a great club strapped to his back. The large one makes eye contact with you, and then looks away, before looking back, longer, his eyes widening for a bit before he gains composure and whispers in the third man's ear, who's back is facing you, for only a moment more.

The Lord Mayor turns and regards you, looking you over as you approach. He's dressed in his ceremonial armor, not as tall as the large man he speaks to, and wears his hair short, with a large muttonchops down each cheek. A little less pale than most Tsinyah, the Mayor's eyes are sharp and contain obvious intelligence, if they look a little bloodshot this morning. Folding his hands behind himself, Halton Gilders gives you a deep bow, one given to greet the important. His voice comes out warm and a little ragged, as if he's not slept well.

"Today is full of surprises. To what do we owe the appearance of a - forgive me for saying - near mythical Suriname in our little town?"

===============
Rigel
===============

Nando never sees you coming, turning his head at the sound of the grain landing below, and next he's landing on his back, the Chasqui exhaling raggedly as the wind is knocked out of him. Before he can even react, even think to react, his pinned staring into your eyes, quite visibly afraid, wincing with every bit you dig your knee into his groin.

"Jeez, Rigel, I just wanted to see what you two were up to! Thought it could be haut, you know?" He pauses for a second, looking at you eyes wide, hoping he hasn't said anything too offensive. "Hear that, Clu - Iseult, I think you're haut!". So let up OK? I'm SORRY!"

Still breathing heavily, Nando calms a bit as you let up. "The Worm King sent me to find you. Wants to chat. Sorry, he didn't say about what. And even if he did, if he told me not to tell you, well I couldn't you know? Sacred duty and all that. He's in the grove."

That Nando swagger is back, returned with the rest of his breath. "But that's pretty haut too, right? Guy who can keep a secret?"

==========
Istiel
==========

As the five of you leave, Domhnall grabs your shoulder, and pulls you away from the direction of the soldiers. "Get ahold of your canoe there, Istiel. Water's flowing towards Shadeholme. We weren't invited to go play with the soldiers."

That said, your master turns and begins the descent down Monk's Mound, looking every now then over his shoulder, to the northwest.

'Perhaps it is nothing? No, even if it was something, they will not come when expected.'

Drazan's eyes slow and eventually settle back to Lijart, "What is it you mean Lijart?" He asked turning back to the fishing supplies and affixing them to his belt and leather sash.

Istiel's body tenses as a hand lands on her shoulder, and neurons fire to her muscles without interpretation from her frontal lobe: Grab forearm with hands, swing right leg inside of opponent's leg, knock right knee into inside of opponent's right kneepit, support falling opponent with hip, pivot left, roll opponent over hip and back onto ground.

A few microseconds later she recognizes the firm grip of her master, and a frantic all-stop signal is sent to the rest of her body from the fearful parts of her brain. All that happens from this biochemical cascade is a twitch of her arms and right leg, undoubtedly noticed by Domhnall. The rest of her brain, slower in communication chimes in; That is all he would need to see. I'd be on the floor right now if I followed through.

She does not relax, however, and the distress in her voice in clear. "But master, I... they..." Her teeth grit, and the next words are extremely reluctant. "Yes, master." Hazel eyes smolder in the direction of the marching soldiers as Domhnall leaves. Surely they march off to glorious battle. Where do you march, Istiel? To protect a chicken coop? No, you do not know what they are doing, you do not know if there is glory that way. Do your duty. Master knows best.

Her hands are bundled into fists, opening and closing for a few moments to release welling anger. Spinning on her heel, she stomps out of the dojo to follow the other monks. If Suuha even thinks of saying something to her, she shoots an obsidian-sharp glare at him.

sense motive: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (9) - 1 = 8
Chukix wonders what he'd walked in on - Imix dressing for battle and Texikuk just returned. He'd just heard, from outside the door, Imix boast of being outside the Law. There was a look in Imix's eye...

"I'm glad you're here too, Chukix." Imix says, with one of his rare smiles.

Imix looks up at the Lord Mayor. He draws upon the thousand years of arrogance to which he is the inheritor and lets it cross his countenance.

"Divine providence." he answers, deadpan.

Rigel smiles, almost despite herself. She has a ... complicated relationship with the three Chasqui, and they with her: she is almost their mirror image. They share a love of secrets, the involvement in fetching and carrying of valuables, and most of all a love of movement, of dance - at any communal celebration, it will be she and the triplets who are the last to quit. But where they are bound, she is free; and the complexities of that contradiction create endless, fascinating tension...

... and Nando's not even trying to make eye contact. She kisses him absentmindedly on the forehead: "That one's free. The next you'll have to pay for," but otherwise doesn't move as she considers what he said. The Worm King, huh? Weird. She hasn't stolen - correction - she hasn't provably stolen any of his precious little silk husks, so it's not that. Oh well. Looks like being an interesting start to the day - and that's just fine with her!

Rigel stands up, releasing Nando; not that he was struggling too much, it has to be said. She rearranges her clothing and steps back a little, giving them both some breathing space. "Thanks Chasqui, your message is delivered. I shouldn't keep you from your duties any further." Turning her back on him and walking away towards Issy, Rigel smiles to herself and silently counts to three.

"Oh, actually, Nando, I have a task for you if you're free - and I can pay upfront for it..." Turning back towards him, she steps slowly and deliberately right up to him, wrapping both arms around his neck and drawing him into her kiss. It lasts rather longer than she intended, and it's the recollection that Issy is there watching that makes her break off and step away, slightly flushed and out of breath. "Ri- right. That's your payment. I charge you to escort Iseult over to Helgya the wise woman and ensure that she is treated."

She turns, looking up to see Issy staring down at both of them. Iseult and Nando have nothing - nothing - in common; but right now, the look of dismay stamped on their faces is identical. Rigel almost laughs, but manages to hold it in. "Issy, you're to go with Nando here. You're to give Helgya those matte leaves and let her examine your foot. You're to tell her how it hurts - you are not to lie to her."

The calling of a Chasqui goes beyond notions of duty, or loyalty, or honour; or even death. It is a sacred calling. No Chasqui, having accepted payment, can decline to serve. Only if payment is insufficient, which requires a judgement from the other Chasqui, which means Nando will have to tell them how Rigel paid him, which means almost endless mockery.

By fair means and foul, actually no, scratch that By unfair means and vastly unfair means, Rigel has Shadeholme's three Chasqui (even the girl, Paola) pretty much where she wants them, which is almost perpetually off-balance: slightly adoring her, slightly in awe of her, slightly in love with her, slightly afraid of her, slightly hating her, slightly despising her; but always, always, when she crooks her littlest finger she knows that at least one of them will come running. Her treatment of Nando here is simply a smaller part of that larger campaign.

Plus, of course, this way she pays Issy back for a cold night's sleep. "What a beautiful day this is, already," she remarks, before leaving them to it. She has an appointment with the Worm King, and she is intrigued.

===================
Imix
===================

The Lord Mayor stares back at Imix, then snorts, half mirth, half how-f!@$ed-is-my-day ruefullness. "We are truly lucky then, Suriname. Obviously Damballah has big plans for you, to send you here on this day. What can we do for you, Suriname, with our what little is left of this fine morning?"

The last phrase is laden with unspoken meaning, hanging heavy in the air between you. Out with it. My time is important, too.

Chukix, normally sedate, almost languid in movement, shifts restlessly behind you.

===================
Drazan
===================

Lijart lowers his spear, cocks his head as if listening, eyes you briefly before scanning the canals and the ghats. "Strange, eh. There's something in the air, I think everyone can sense it, at some level. Look, the fishers can."

Sure enough, like Korya, the others are packing their things, and for mid-morning, Shadeholme is earily quiet. Across the canal, there's the prayer pagoda and then woods. Usually, there's townsfolk about, foragers or hunters heading southeast, laypriests praying at the pagoda, or preparing for lat- morning service, which today would be for the hunter class. But there's nothing - the priests have been shuttered in High Hall, apparently, and no one comes or goes from the woods.

Lijart grabs your shoulder, looks you in the eyes, worry creasing his brow. "You've got the instincts of a hunter, Drazan. Being a hunter is just like being its prey, in some ways, but you know this. You know how to read the air, think from all sides of a situation. What I'm saying is, I'm an old man, and my daughter, my bubbling brook, she's coming of age. Trust your instincts, and do right by her. Understand?"

Regardless of your answer, Lijart's never been good with showing emotion - it seems he simply can't come right to the point. Instead, he looks to the top of the ghats, where the south end of High Hall looms. "I think Korya got all the fish today. Let's get home, to my - our - family."

===================
Oios
===================

Your things secured in your room, still no sign of Telowo, you decide to go looking for him. It should be easy enough to find him - Shadeholme, like most Takayan towns, is situated near a body of water. The body of water - in this case a well-made, man-made feeder canal, that travels from the Cheya River to the northeast - will most certainly have a prayer pagoda across the ghats. They all do. And, given the time of the morning, Telowo will most likely be there, overseeing today's services.

The day is shaping up to be quite warm. Eel Mound is a good-sized mound, relative to the size of Shadeholme, indicating the town has some wealth and importance. Of course, this comes mostly from the silk trade, and that is evident as you walk the mound towards High Hall, the top floors of the buildings across the mound poking above the treeline. The white mulberries, a towering species, are tended to by the town's gardeners, as are the moths that make their homes in the valley at the center of Eel Mound.

Looking at the trees, you nearly run into a young woman, and tip your head apologetically. She gives you barely a look as she gracefully steps around you, blonde/red hair shimmering in the sunlight, and heads down the steps into the valley.

Telowo, surprisingly, is standing with four men outside the north entrance of High Hall. The guards present, the serious nature of the mens' postures, it all tells you something is wrong.

Approaching quickly, your old friend sees you, and nodding and saying a quick word to his companions, steps aside, and gives you a great hug, full of warmth, though his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ahh, Oios, old friend. I'm so sorry I couldn't meet you this morning! Something came up, I'm afraid. I trust Paola was prompt and got you to the Copper Coywolf with no trouble?"

Sighing, Telowo casts a look over his shoulder, towards his compatriots, before lowering his voice. "A morning of meetings, I'm afraid. Do you know the hamlet of Harper's Pond, to the northwest? Probably not, it is no place of import. It was raided this morning, many killed, some taken."

Sighing again, Telowo gives you a slight smile. "And now it seems the gods have blessed us with the visit of a Suriname. I don't know if this a good sign or not. It has to be a good omen, right?"

===================
Rigel
===================

If Iseult wasn't already predisposed to be mute, she'd certainly not be talking to you now. She won't even make eye contact as she gathers her things and heads off across the field towards Helgya's weathered hut, at the farthest outskirts of town. It seems as Issy makes her way that she's walking even slower than normal, no doubt to cause as much as misery to the perpetually moving Nando, who for his part seems not to notice, looking back over his shoulder and giving you an awkward smile.

-------------

The mullberry grove at the center of town is almost as important to Shadeholme as the ghats or the canal, perhaps moreso. Tended to for centuries by sacred gardners led by a magician/botanist, the mullberries attract the tapestry moths in large numbers, which in turn attract tapestry worms, their cacoons boiled and turned into fantastic works of art and the kingdom's finest clothes, the worms themselves eaten, a local delicacy.

At the center of the grove, you'll find Thom, the current Worm King. A strange man, touched it seems by nature itself, Thom is approaching his seventieth year, the oldest person in town save the hedge witch, Helgya. And for the entirety of your life, he's wanted nothing to do with you. Incorruptible, uninterested in anything you have to offer, he's been polite enough with his rejections at least.

Approaching the grove, you realize there's no soldier posted at the entrance to the forest. Strange. Then, you're nearly pitched into the valley by some gawking foreigner. Stepping around him with a sharp backwards glance, absence of the guard forgotten, you head down the steps into the grove.

It really is a forest, when it comes down to it. And like all old growth forests, the sunlight is crowded out at ground level, the perpetually green leaves of the mulberry trees providing little sustenance for undergrowth of any size. The stone steps turn into a simple gravel path, that winds towards the center of the path, while all around you, moths flutter in the wind. Of course, this time of year, with the tribute coming so soon, the branches have been picked clean of cacoons.

At the center of the forest lies a small clearing and at the center of that, a perfectly round structure - the Worm King's home. Its warm here, hot even, compared to the rest of the Baunti Valley this time of year.

The Worm King, tall, thin to the point of emaciation, sits, eyes closed, on a bench outside his home, hands on his knees, a smile gracing his face. Opening an eye as you approach, he stands, the smile gone, and reaches down to his side, grabbing a small leather pack.

"Rigel. Thank you for coming. I'll be to the point, I'm sure you've got plenty of whatever it is you do to do today. I need something from you, and I'll pay handsomely for it."

Thom's face clouds, conflicted emotions playing on the old man's face. "When the tribute leaves for Cornucopia this week, I need you to volunteer to go. And then, when you get to the Capital, I need you to give this sack, unopened, unmolested mind you, to an Excise-Head from Hallow Point, named Briggs."

Face screwed up in distaste, Thom continues, spitting the next bit out in tortured bursts. "In return, for the next two years, I'll give you 100 cacoons a year, on this date. And you must keep this arrangement a secret from everyone, understand?"

Despite the pleasant surroundings, a definite coldness radiates from the King of Worms, and its not just you reading the room. His breath comes in short bursts, misty, frigid.

Seems like everyone knows who I am. Telowo never was good at keeping things to himself Oios shakes his head wryly with maybe just a hint of a smile on his lips. His old friend had always been generous but it seemed like his open heart had turned into a extravagant one. Oios would set him straight soon enough but for now he needed some place to put his books.

He gives a deep nod to Paolo, much more respectful than the one he had greeted her with as she heads back to her post. Thank you for guiding me here. You do your duties credit Young Paolo and honour Makaya. May she watch over you. Oios makes the sign of the hunningbird, the tiny winged creatures sacred to the patron goddess of the Chasqui. He sends the runner off with a quick prayer asking for Makya's blessings on Paolo.

O Mistress of Magic and Messages make the long roads Paolo travels feel short and protect her as she carry out her sacred duty in your name

After Paolo leaves he turns around, noting the curious stares of the two travelers. He harumphs. He'd found it useful to maintain a distance from the people of the places he had traveled to in the past. It rarely helped for an inquisitor or a judge to have friends. What was he supposed to do in a place that he was maybe going to settle down in. Just the concept of staying in one place was foreign to him. Oios shakes his head. The trials of life were only ended with a vist from Legba and Oios wasn't quite ready for that either.

With another shake Oios turns and follows Kiko up the steps. He hears the loud thump of his chest landing on the floor. Following the noise leads him to a large corner room with a large and very comfortable looking padded bed. Extravagance upon extravagance. Oios sighs as he lowers his pack in a corner and claps Kiko on the back to get his attention. That is all for now Kiko. I thank you for helping me. I may send for you again soon to move the chest again if Damballah wills it so. May Damballah protect you and Ayida-Wedu grant you a long and worthy life.

Oios unpacks his belongings. As he certainly wasn't going to sleep in the luxurious monster in the center of the room he lays out his trusty old bedroll next to it. Next to that he lays out his small cooking pot, fire making strips, rope, soap, and torches; creating a small impromptu camp site on the side of the room next to the window. On the large table he places his simple eating utensils and extra trial rations (though he rarely has to use them thanks to the Way Points it never hurt to be prepared for hardship) he arranges his candles to make a small shrine to all the gods and godesses. After a quick prayer Oios stands and shoulders his far less weighty pack and makes his way out of the rooming house.

** At the High Hall **

Oios returns the hug in the same manner. Worried by the absence of the jovial good humour he had always remembered from his old friend he says Paolo and Kiko carried their charges with efficiency and honour. They were a good start to my time here. Though it seems like that has passed, as all things do. If there are sensitive matters to be discussed perhaps we should go inside. Or are you waiting for something? Whether Suriname are a good omen or not I've found depends mainly on what their Purpose is.

Everything - last night's triumph against Hamfatten, her cold night's sleep, that amazing kiss with Nando, the sudden appearance of that stranger who wasn't looking where he was going, the absence of soldiers from the grove, everything - is wiped from Rigel's mind by Thom's offer. She's about to open her mouth to say "And done!" when she has a startlingly vivid image of Issy rolling her eyes. Puh-lease, Rigel, will you THINK before you open that mouth?!

Suddenly uneasy, Rigel shivers - and it's not just the chill rolling off the old man. She starts to jiggle on the spot, before stepping in a circle, part hop, part dance, around Thom - doubtless annoying him, but that's not the intention. She just thinks better when she's moving.

Why is she uneasy? It's too much, she suddenly realises. Twenty cacoons would be worth more than she owns. She and Issy would celebrate twenty caccoons. But two hundred?! What is she getting into?!

There's another emotion she's feeling, too, but she can't put her finger on it right now.

Still circling, she starts talking. "OK. You're not telling me what's in the package, fair enough. But what am I getting into? What's the danger? Who am I hiding it from? A couple of Chasquis? Some soldiers? Lots of soldiers? A Suriname?"

She stops absolutely dead, rooted to the spot. "If it's Suriname, we have no deal. I mean it."

She continues pacing. "I don't know Cornucopia at all, my network is here. I'm giving up all my advantages in leaving here. Who will help me if I get in trouble? How do I even find this Briggs? How will I know it's him, and not some trap?"

She looks directly at him. "Tell me truthfully, I'll know if you're lying: you're as honest as the day is long, you haven't had the practice."

Suddenly, Rigel understands what the other emotion is that she's feeling: sorrow, deep, overwhelming sorrow that bursts out of her like a sob.

"Oh, THOM! I always thought you were incorruptible! What have you got yourself into, what the hell have you got yourself into, that you need MY services?!"

Here? Very well." Imix's annoyance is a buzzing fat fly. Were this the east I would have been greeted. Tsinyah truly have no sense of decorum. By all means let us discuss matters of state on the ghats.

"I think you misunderstand. I am Suriname Imix. I have spent my life learning arts that would drive men mad. I have studied wars. Fires. Floods. Plagues." tactfully he leaves out 'rebellions'. "You have a problem. You are not sure how to respond. You call together everyone who might help. You are desperate for resources and for advice. You risk accusations of rebellion." he holds up his right hand to forestall argument.
"I am sure you feel it needs to be done to save your town. That your superiors will approve the actions. That you will not be punished. That no matter how tied everyone is in regulation, there must be slack in the ropes in an emergency." He nods "There is. I am that slack."
He lowers his hand and continues implacably on his first thought.
"You - literally - cannot know what I know. Tell me the problem. Let me help..." he thinks back to Texikuk's advice 'Appeal to his sense of fairness, and stress the danger he puts Shadeholme in' then Chukix's 'the Tsinyah value their own more than tradition.' and continues
"...Not because I have the right to demand it. Not because I have the power to demand it. Do it because I have the knowledge that might save the lives of your people, or even Shadeholme itself."

Imix stands awaiting approval, keeping his face unreadable. ...And hope that he remembers Suriname Oetzatl, who gave her life to cure a plague, and not Quechixan, who sacrificed a village in guerrilla war against invaders.

================
Istiel
================

Domhnall is quiet as you make your way down the Monk's Mound, seemingly lost in thought. When you reach the bottom, he stops the four of you. "I know that there is disappointment here, to not be sent out wherever the soldiers are going. Perhaps the politicians didn't think they had time to summon us? Perhaps they prefer we stay nearby to guard the town? Perhaps they hate us, and want us to do nothing but stay on Monk's Mound? It is not for us to say. We will do our duty, all that is asked of us and more."

============
Imix
============

The Lord Mayor stares at you through your speech, face getting redder as it goes on. When you finish, he stands silently for half a minute, perhaps angry, perhaps considering your words, perhaps both. Nodding, Gilders seems to reach an agreement with himself.

"When you speak of rebellion, I assume you speak of my conversation with our Exciser-Head? I would be very interested to know how you, a newcomer to this place, are so well-entrenched to know such information. But that is a conversation for later."

Gilders pauses again, still holding your gaze, one unblinking stare. "Perhaps it truly is good fortune that brings us together today. As to your request, Suriname Imix, you will have your chance to help our people."

The Lord Mayor nods to the nearest guardsman, who unclasps a large striped oak horn from his belt. The guard blows into it four times, three short blasts, then one long, all of them unbearably loud.

Gilders coughs into his hand, then waves it towards the canal. "Please, Suriname Imix, be our honored guest at the moot."

Turning, the Lord Mayor, his guards, and the man with the muttonchops begin walking down the ghats.

================
Istiel
================

Your master pauses, his eyes twinkling behind his mask. "Regardless, of what they ask of us or not, I'm proud of you all. I--"

Interrupted, you all look towards Shadeholme. Horn blasts, three short, one long. A moot. An unplanned moot.

"Well then, monks. It seems we may be needed yet. To the pagoda!"

Domhnall then breaks into a run, still fast beyond his years, not waiting to see if you follow.

=============
Drazan
=============

Halfway home when the horn blasts come rumbling from the top of Eel Mound, Lijart turns, mid-stride, and starts walking back the steps you both just took.

You've never been to a moot. It is mandatory for heads of households to attend, as well as all citizens deemed "essential," unless they are out of town, gravely ill, or restrained. And even then, it is expected they make the best effort.

But others? Most moots are boring affairs, held after dinner time, requests for re-cobbling of roads, the settling of disputes by neighbors, minor grievances aired, minor problems addressed. When a moot happens in the middle of the day though, it can only mean something important is to be addressed. Turnout to this moot will be large, not just the household heads and "essentials" attending.

Lijart turns, still walking, now backwards. Waving his arm, he shouts, "Come then, Drazen! You'll be the head of a household some day!"

=============
Oios
=============

Telowo smiles, a genuine one, happy to hear your travels went well. "And the room? Do you like it? It is the finest guest room in town! We'll work on getting you something more permanent soon, I promise! I'm sure it won't be quite so nice, though. Pensioner's cottages, even for inquisitors, well, they don't amount to much here. Still, I'm sure you'll like the--"

Three short horn blasts, one long. You know what that means - moot, now. Drop everything. Get to the meeting place.

Telowo gives you another smile, this one laced with worry. It has been a long time, but even now, with the passage of years, he seems to know what you're thinking. "We have ours at the pagoda. Please join me, old friend. It will be like old times, us at the temple together. I wish the circumstances were better."

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Rigel
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As you ask questions, Thom simply deflates, wilting before your eyes like a plant after first frost, closing in on himself, somehow even thinner, more emaciated than when the meeting began.

"I thought the cacoons would be enough for you take the offer, no questions... There's no trap for you, dear, other than the danger of being caught with this bag, which I'm sure you're more than capable of smuggling. The only reason I ask you - honestly - is because, well, the other option is worse."

Thom looks at you, head lowered, sadness seeping out of him. "The tribute leaves in a couple of weeks. Take the journey to Cornucopia - many do, for some reason or another. A sense of duty or service, pilgrimage, curiosity. Take the bag with you. As you know, at the tribute counting, all the cities and towns of the Baunti Valley will have representatives there. Briggs will be with the rest from Hallow Point. He's a barrel-chested Tkoyah man with mahogany teeth. As Excise-Head, he'll speak when its Hallow Point's turn at the counting, just as Texikuk will at ours."

"It is my sister, Rigel. She made some... bad choices. This bag buys her freedom."

Standing, bag held out, the silence stretching between you, Thom waits for a decision, only to be interrupted by four horn blasts.

"It seems I'm needed, and given the strange hour of this moot, you should probably attend. Take the bag or not. As I said, I've got a worse option."

Drazan nods as he takes a moment to look back over the canals and ghats, and then looks to Lijart to firmly nod once more before following after him.

Rigel nods, understanding. "We all do things for those we love. Of course I'll help you - but I'll hold you to that payment! And getting out of Shadeholme's no problem; I'll tell Gilders that I've had a fight with Hamfatten and it would be best if I left for a while." The advantage of that story is that it's actually true.

She impulsively steps forward and gives the old man a hug. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your sister. It's good that she's got you to look out for her."

She jumps as the horn sounds. "Yes, let's go. Can I leave the bag here? I'll come back for it, but it might look a bit odd if I carried it to the moot. People might remember it. I'm sure it's safe here."

The manner of my accommodation can wait. But the guest room must be changed. Only in times of peace can such extravagance even begin to be justified and, judging from what is happening, it seems we are instead in a time of crisis. Damballah will that it be a short one. Lead on old friend. I will be your guest at the moot

Istiel stands at attention when Domhnall stop the squad of monks in order to address the group. Silently she listens, and wonders where the old man is going with his speech. Age is making him as bad as Suuha.

She bows her head in agreement when he says they will do their duty- after all, that's the reason they're here in the first place. The blast of the horn in the distance causes her and the other monks to snap their attention towards Eel mound, quickly interpreting the signal.

They respond to the Master's order with a resounding, high-pitched Kiai- "HAI!", Istiel immediately breaking into an excited run. There's no point in trying to catch up to the master, he was faster than any of them. Istiel casts her voice to the other monks, issuing a challenge. "First to reach the pagoda after Master gives their next day's chores to the others." She quickens her pace and bursts ahead of the others to gain a momentary few seconds lead.