Raj keeps his eyes on the scabbard he's adjusting as they climb the stairs. "If you don't mind me sayin' Miss Lorrimor, you look a bit peaked. Were you up all night making those scrolls?"
Kendra covers a yawn.
Well, I didn't go back to sleep after we got back, if that's what you mean. But no, I just had some unpleasant dreams that stopped me from sleeping well. Plus I think my nap yesterday afternoon may have worked against me.
Yes, Flori is still here. I am happy to GMPC her for a while if that's what you'd like. I'll skip over to the Discussion thread to talk about how I plan to write her out.
She makes her way with Raj around the back of the temple to the small apple orchard. A few dozen rarely-tended trees are covered in blossom, the wind tossing their petals down in showers.
Raj adjusts the scabbard's belt and presents it to Kendra. Their fingers brush as she takes it back from him.
Rajuna steps back, sloughs off his burnoose, and hangs it off a gnarled limb's stump on one of the apple trees. He unstraps his wrist scabbards and sets them down in the branches as well. Then he rolls up his sleeves exposing a network of scars running along both arms and regards his ersatz pupil, debating where to start.
Right, Kendra says. Where exactly should I put this?
"So, that handle has been bitin' into your side, eh? You might have a sore spot. When we get home, put a bit a moleskin on it. That should keep your clothes from irritatin' it more."
Realizing his gaze might appear as something other than professional, Raj quickly changes the subject to knives. He takes back her scabbarded blade and describes how she might carry it, demonstrating each position on himself. "How you wear a knife says something about you. Most folks wear it high on their hip, and near vertical, tucked in a belt or such. As you've found out, that can knock on your ribs or poke ya. But it's a friendly way to carry it because it ain't easy to draw quick. Now, I've let the straps out a bit on this one, which lets you wear it low on your hip. It might slap against a chair or your thigh, beggin-yur-pardon, but it shouldn't bother you too much. That position says you are ready to draw it if needed. Folks that use their knives a fair piece, might carry it that way..."
He turns the scabbard horizontal and holds it at belt level, "Some people carry a blade sidewinder - either along their belly or across the small of their back. It makes for a quicker draw and is pretty comfortable. But it also says that the fellow is ready to carve on a body as may be... or that the fellow thinks he's a bad man with a blade. Folks will look at you twice for doin' that. And some knife-fighter might get it into his head to test you."
Raj considers her for a moment. "Now some women, those that wear frocks and such - who don't want to advertise they are carrying - might strap a blade to their calf, beggin-yur-pardon, and hide it under their skirts. In a big city, where folks don't like to see 'proper' ladies armed, that ain't a bad choice. But it isn't quick to your hand or a natural movement. Someone comes charging at you, I don't think your first instinct is to fumble with your skirts trying to loose a blade. So unless you got a powerful need to carry it that way, I'd think twice."
"So, question is - what is most natural and comfortable for you and what kinda message do you wanna send to the folks here-round?" He offers the blade and scabbard gingerly to her again. "I've already got these straps set long... just tie'em onto your belt there and let it hang a bit low. See if that suits you well enough." Raj watches her strap on the blade, telling her how to adjust the fit, keeping a discreet 5' of distance between them.
Well, I didn't go back to sleep after we got back, if that's what you mean. But no, I just had some unpleasant dreams that stopped me from sleeping well. Plus I think my nap yesterday afternoon may have worked against me.
As a firm believer in intuition and premonition, Raj raises a furrowed brow at this news. "Was this a regular sort of dream or something more?"
Raj steals a breath before beginning the real lesson. "Knife work is close work, Miss Lorrimor - both in the teaching and the fightin'. It's a dance as much as anything else. So please overlook if I lay a hand on you. I don't mean nothin' unseemly by it." He seems embarrassed but plows ahead. "First thing I ever learned about knife-work is No one ever 'wins' a knife-fight, the only question is who loses worse." He smiles at her confusion. "The reality of a knife-fight with someone worth drawin' on is you are gonna get cut and you are gonna bleed. In the end, what you wanna do is bleed less than the other fella and in spots that won't kill ya." He steps into her space, whips the dagger from her sheath, fires a long nasty slash across the back of his own forearm, wipes the blade clean on his pants in a fluid motion, and hilts the curved blade solidly back in her scabbard. For Kendra, the shock barely has time to register as the blood pours off his arm and spatters the ground.
He gives her a smile and speaks lightly, "Bet that woke you up, didn't it? Ha! You're lucky. When I was first schooled, my teacher cut ME to get me used to the reality of a fight." He points to an old scar on his unwounded arm - a long, straight slash. "That's the one he gave me. I don't think Doc woulda liked me carving on you - his flesh and blood - so I'm hoping you take this lesson without needin' a scar to keep it fresh."
Raj watches the mage closely to see how his actions and the sight of blood affects her. "It might look bad, but taking a cut on the back of the arm is better than a hit on the inside of your arm. You wanna protect your veins, joints, tendons, and the important muscles. We'll get to that."
He waits a moment to let the import of his words sink in, as he binds a bit of linen around the gash in his forearm, "OK, so let's cover the best ways to hold a blade and then we'll do some attacks and blocks. We're gonna do it all real slow, Miss. Pretend like you are in molasses. We'll do it all very slow so you can see what's what. Ya learn the moves slow so you can do them perfectly fast..."
Well, I didn't go back to sleep after we got back, if that's what you mean. But no, I just had some unpleasant dreams that stopped me from sleeping well. Plus I think my nap yesterday afternoon may have worked against me.As a firm believer in intuition and premonition, Raj raises a furrowed brow at this news. "Was this a regular sort of dream or something more?"
Nothing particularly noteworthy. I found myself in an unfamiliar cellar. My father was there. Although she tries to keep her voice even, Raj can see the emotional strain in her face. She swallows before continuing, and lowers her voice as they emerge into the Temple.
He went up the stairs, and told me I had to wait in the cellar until he came back. Then he closed the door, and locked it behind him. She begins massaging her fingers as she speaks. It felt like I was in the cellar for a long time, but you know how dreams can be--it might only have been a few seconds. I started to worry, then I panicked--I was certain that if I stayed in this cellar, it would be the end of me. I tried the door but it wouldn't budge, and then I spent the rest of the dream battering fruitlessly against the door with my bare hands, calling out for my father to come back and rescue me... Her voice trails off, and she drops her hands to her sides as she realises what she's doing.
She gives Raj an apologetic smile. Just my mind working its own way through the grief, I suppose.
Right, Kendra says. Where exactly should I put this?"So, that handle has been bitin' into your side, eh? You might have a sore spot. When we get home, put a bit a moleskin on it. That should keep your clothes from irritatin' it more."
...
"How you wear a knife says something about you. Most folks wear it high on their hip, and near vertical, tucked in a belt or such. ... Now, I've let the straps out a bit on this one, which lets you wear it low on your hip. ... Some people carry a blade sidewinder - either along their belly or across the small of their back. It makes for a quicker draw and is pretty comfortable. ... Now some women, those that wear frocks and such - who don't want to advertise they are carrying - might strap a blade to their calf, beggin-yur-pardon, and hide it under their skirts. ... [but] unless you got a powerful need to carry it that way, I'd think twice. ... So, question is - what is most natural and comfortable for you and what kinda message do you wanna send to the folks here-round?" He offers the blade and scabbard gingerly to her again. "I've already got these straps set long... just tie'em onto your belt there and let it hang a bit low. See if that suits you well enough."
Kendra watches Raj's demonstration intently, then accepts the blade back and ties it on as instructed, although lacking a belt, she simply ties the leather straps to the fabric ones that link her corset to her stockings, under her chemise. She walks back and forth a bit, the blade--as Raj suggested it might--tapping against her thigh.
She gives Raj and expression halfway between a smile and a grimace. In honesty I'm not sure that's much better--it's less painful, but just as annoying. She looks down at her skirts for a moment and taps a finger on her chin. What if I wore riding gear instead of these skirts? Then I could have it in the same spot, but we could put another strap from the bottom of the scabbard around my thigh--that would stop it moving around so much. What do you think? Although this will do for now.
###
"The reality of a knife-fight with someone worth drawin' on is you are gonna get cut and you are gonna bleed. In the end, what you wanna do is bleed less than the other fella and in spots that won't kill ya." He steps into her space, whips the dagger from her sheath, fires a long nasty slash across the back of his own forearm, wipes the blade clean on his pants in a fluid motion, and hilts the curved blade solidly back in her scabbard. For Kendra, the shock barely has time to register as the blood pours off his arm and spatters the ground.
Kendra takes a couple of steps back in shock, her hands covering her mouth and her eyes wide.
He gives her a smile and speaks lightly, "Bet that woke you up, didn't it? Ha! You're lucky. When I was first schooled, my teacher cut ME to get me used to the reality of a fight." He points to an old scar on his unwounded arm - a long, straight slash. "That's the one he gave me. I don't think Doc woulda liked me carving on you - his flesh and blood - so I'm hoping you take this lesson without needin' a scar to keep it fresh."
Raj watches the mage closely to see how his actions and the sight of blood affects her.
After overcoming her initial shock, Kendra moves back in close when Raj shows her the scar on his other arm. She glances back at the cut every now and then as Raj keeps bleeding. It's obvious she wants to do something to help, but she doesn't know what she can do. She clearly isn't a fan of the sight of blood--but is screwing up her courage and pressing on regardless.
"It might look bad, but taking a cut on the back of the arm is better than a hit on the inside of your arm. You wanna protect your veins, joints, tendons, and the important muscles. We'll get to that."
Kendra puts a hand around her wrist, her thumb pressing on the tendons that connect her hand to her arm. It's clear she has a basic understanding of human anatomy.
He waits a moment to let the import of his words sink in, as he binds a bit of linen around the gash in his forearm, "OK, so let's cover the best ways to hold a blade and then we'll do some attacks and blocks. We're gonna do it all real slow, Miss. Pretend like you are in molasses. We'll do it all very slow so you can see what's what. Ya learn the moves slow so you can do them perfectly fast..."
Kendra, although an eager and earnest student, finds herself largely outmatched by Raj's superior training, reflexes and experience. Still, by the end of the lesson, Raj is satisfied that after another few days, she should be able to hold her own against a petty thug--so long as she keeps her head.
Nothing particularly noteworthy. I found myself in an unfamiliar cellar. My father was there. Although she tries to keep her voice even, Raj can see the emotional strain in her face. She swallows before continuing, and lowers her voice as they emerge into the Temple.
[The Dream]
She gives Raj an apologetic smile. Just my mind working its own way through the grief, I suppose.
Rajuna nods, recalling some of his own persistent nightmares. "Maybe so, Miss Lorrimor. Those dreams of your Da will get better, it just takes time." He tries to say something more encouraging but can't find words for it.
[Fitting for a Scabbard]
She gives Raj an expression halfway between a smile and a grimace. In honesty I'm not sure that's much better--it's less painful, but just as annoying. She looks down at her skirts for a moment and taps a finger on her chin. What if I wore riding gear instead of these skirts? Then I could have it in the same spot, but we could put another strap from the bottom of the scabbard around my thigh--that would stop it moving around so much. What do you think? Although this will do for now.
Raj chuckles, "Well, most blades-women don't wear skirts, Miss. So if you've a yen to wear pants, that'd be the best way to strap on a dagger."
[After the Blood-letting]
After overcoming her initial shock, Kendra moves back in close when Raj shows her the scar on his other arm. She glances back at the cut every now and then as Raj keeps bleeding. It's obvious she wants to do something to help, but she doesn't know what she can do. She clearly isn't a fan of the sight of blood--but is screwing up her courage and pressing on regardless.
Rajuna is touched by her concern but is gladder when she puts it aside to continue. If blood distracts you, you'll miss the blade comin' for your heart. "Don't concern yourself overmuch. I'm sure Lem can fix this up like new."
[Knife FIGHT!]
The distance between Kendra and Raj shrinks incrementally as they spar. Initially, Raj leaves the attacks to the young mage and contents himself with blocking and countering using his hands and arms - slapping aside attacks, or blocking with a practiced arm-bar, smiling all the time and explaining what she is doing right and what could have been done a little better, trying to encourage her. As Kendra's confidence grows and her attacks become smoother and better timed, Raj picks up a short apple-switch from the orchard ground. It becomes his 'dagger' as he teaches Kendra to repeat the defenses that he used against her previously. When she is comfortable with those, Raj switches the lesson to the 'real dance'. As she becomes the 'attacker', he uses one arm to block and alter her attacks and his apple-switch dagger to poke lightly at the gaps in her defense. He taps her lightly in the belly, on the neck, between the ribs, across the arm, along the thigh, and so on in endless patterns. He waits patiently while she realises that every attack opens a hole in her defenses that she must be prepared to defend as well. Slowly, her combined attacks and defenses fall into the unconscious rhythm of combat. It is a dangerous game of patty-cake. Raj waits for her to realise there is a pleasant rhythm in the syncopated dance, regardless of the peril.
strike-dodge... strike-block... strike-counter&strike... hasty counter-strike... Spin away& strike-dodge... strike-block... strike-counter... counter-counter...
When he sees the realisation cross her face, he lets her enjoy it for several long seconds before he 'cheats' by breaking the rhythm of the dance and showing her a trick he hasn't used before. He reverses his apple-switch, drops onto a knee and uses the balled fist holding his 'blade' to hook the inside of her knee. She tumbles to the ground. With his blocking arm, he catches her at the elbow and slows her fall to make it a languorous, harmless, spill. He finishes her off by poking her in the heart with an overhand stab of the switch.
He quickly gets to his feet and helps her up, brushing away any twigs or dirt from her skirts. "I'm real sorry about that, Miss Lorrimor. But that's something important. Never think the rhythm won't change and assume your opponent has a move you haven't seen." Raj becomes keenly aware that he's still holding her elbow and quite close. He releases her and steps back to retrieve his blades and burnoose. "We should be gettin' back. I probably kept you longer than I should. An' you don't need jaws waggin' 'bout the company you keep."
Kendra, although an eager and earnest student, finds herself largely outmatched by Raj's superior training, reflexes and experience. Still, by the end of the lesson, Raj is satisfied that after another few days, she should be able to hold her own against a petty thug--so long as she keeps her head.
As they walk back to the temple entrance, Raj is far more comfortable being near the mage, at least when he sees her as a student of bladework. He gives her an earnest look and debates patting her on the shoulder but resists the urge. "You did real well, Miss Lorrimor, better than many I seen. At full speed, some of your shots woulda caught me good. Only other advice I can give ya is keep your head if it ever comes to a knife fight, rely on your learnin', and you'll be fine."
When she isn't looking at him, Raj rubs at the wound on his arm and winces. I hope Lem's got some magic for this. Hurts like a son-of-a-b&%&@!
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The thud of approaching footsteps startles Walter out of his contemplation of the trees. Vesmera almost skids to a halt in front of him; it's clear she has been running for more than a few dozen yards. Good, she says, struggling to breathe. You're still here.
Walter stood up the moment she came in view, rising to greet her but silent when it seemed like something might be amiss. He watched, quietly and curiously as she panted out-of-breath in front of him.
"Yeah. Um, er, are you okay?" he asked, and glanced in the direction she'd run from, squinting. He was greeted by an empty stare from a day laborer pushing a cart and the meandering street of Ravengro. Alarm abated, he turned back to Vesmera.
Vesmera leans forward and puts her hands on her knees, her chest heaving as she gulps deep breaths of air. Her face is flushed.
I just...had to run...all the way...from Councillor Hearthmount's... She coughs as she tries to regulate her breathing, then gives up any attempt at retaining her dignity and sits down on the cobbles before flopping onto her back and closing her eyes, still breathing hard.
I was worried...<inhale>...that you might leave...
He watched her topple over onto her back, her chest rising and falling, and felt it only polite to sit back down on the steps of the gazebo. "Oh, uh, no. I would never. I mean, I don't mind waiting. It hasn't been too long," he reassured, his tone innocent but hardly reassuring.
First things first, she says. I need to return your coat.
He took the big, burly thing from her, nodding. "Thank you," he said, and slipped it back on. With it, he felt warmer, and a little less scrawny, the coat's padding giving his shoulders some extra broadness. He shouldered the messenger bag again, and when she was ready, he stood up. Walter thought of offering her his hand a split second too late, and when she was on her feet, he meekly asked: "Where to?"
###
Vesmera leads Walter north past The Unfurling Scroll to the covered bridge over Ravengro Creek. Walter has his coat back, and Vesmera is more suitably attired for the weather than she was last night. Vesmera stops, gazing upriver through the support struts.
Thank you for lending me that coat last night, she says. I certainly needed it.
Walter took in the bridge, listening to the water meander by underneath and the creaks and clomps their footsteps made as they walked across. The shade the bridge provided made the wind that ran through it colder than out in the sunlight, and Walter found himself, in the absence of conversation, looking up into the rafters at the mess of birds nests and spider webs. The walk had been short, and he tried not to watch Vesmera.
He found himself with a burgeoning smile when she mentioned his coat. "Yeah, um, sure. Any time," he said and he leaned forwards onto the wooden rail of the bridge with his elbows, looking out over the water. He suddenly realized that it might have looked a little odd for Vesmera to go out in the middle of the night and to return wearing Walter's clothing, and he blushed at the implication. He shuddered at the idea of Luthko Avanaki knocking on the door and asking to see Walter's father about something very important and meeting-- well, anyone in the entire house except Kendra-- and the awkwardness of even thinking it all made him unable to speak.
He got a mental image of Rajuna laughing and rolling on the floor.
They spend a few moments staring at the moving water, not saying anything. The weather is clear, if a little brisk. Eventually, Vesmera speaks up again.
So what brings you here from Lepidstadt? she asks. You seem to have a lot of friends from out of town. Are you visiting Miss Lorrimor?
-
He noticed she wasn't comfortable right away. He remembered Councillor Hearthmount-- fat, proper, 'respectable', and especially the way he looked at everyone in the room like they were persona non grata. Her words came back-- You're still here.
-
It was obvious to Walter what had happened. Someone had noticed her talking to him, and then maybe saw her with his coat. They thought that they could find out something, maybe rumor monger, maybe something else, and use it, and they were trying to have Vesmera do the talking for them. They had caught her before she left, and she'd had to run to the Councillor's or back from there to make it.
Walter looked at her, looked her right in the eyes and knew he couldn't lie. He knew people who'd burn everything they had down just to catch their enemies in the flames, and despite the filled furnace in Walter's heart, he wasn't like that.
He told her what she asked. "Oh, um, yeah. We're, er, not really friends though. Well, some of us are. Kendra-- er, Miss Lorrimor is the daughter of the Professor, um, Lorrimor. Petros. He lived on the other side of town," he explained, and gave a gesture. "Well, his funeral was... wow, yesterday, I think. It feels like it's been a long time. Er... sorry. We're all his friends. He, uh, helped me out a lot when I needed it, so, I thought it was only right to come say goodbye. We're all kind of staying together in Kendra's house until things get settled. The Professor's will asked us to stay for a month, so... I'm here for another twenty-nine days." He glanced at her and gave her a shy smile.
After a second, he lost his smile, contemplated for a split second-- he had to ask her, but couldn't, and so he made himself ask-- like raising a foot over the edge and then dropping forward. "I don't want to be rude, but... did someone ask you to ask that question?" He raised his hands amicably, palms open. "Sorry. If they did, um... that's fine. Don't worry about it. You don't even have to tell me if you don't want. You just seem like... you didn't want to ask me that."
Raj chuckles, "Well, most blades-women don't wear skirts, Miss. So if you've a yen to wear pants, that'd be the best way to strap on a dagger."
Kendra fires a small smile back in return. All right then, as soon as we're done here I'm going home to change, she says.
As [Kendra] becomes the 'attacker', [Raj] uses one arm to block and alter her attacks and his apple-switch dagger to poke lightly at the gaps in her defense. He taps her lightly in the belly, on the neck, between the ribs, across the arm, along the thigh, and so on in endless patterns. He waits patiently while she realises that every attack opens a hole in her defenses that she must be prepared to defend as well.
Kendra asks for a momentary break--she's not disheartened, exactly, but she has realised the enormity of what she is doing, and that if she ever has the opportunity to put these skills into practice, she will already be in mortal peril. Raj allows her the space to process the realisation, but it's only a few minutes before she is ready to spar again.
Raj waits for her to realise there is a pleasant rhythm in the syncopated dance, regardless of the peril.
strike-dodge... strike-block... strike-counter&strike... hasty counter-strike... Spin away& strike-dodge... strike-block... strike-counter... counter-counter...
When he sees the realisation cross her face, he lets her enjoy it for several long seconds before he 'cheats' by breaking the rhythm of the dance and showing her a trick he hasn't used before. He reverses his apple-switch, drops onto a knee and uses the balled fist holding his 'blade' to hook the inside of her knee. She tumbles to the ground. With his blocking arm, he catches her at the elbow and slows her fall to make it a languorous, harmless, spill. He finishes her off by poking her in the heart with an overhand stab of the switch.
Kendra lets out an involuntary yelp as she keels over backwards--but relaxes when she feels Raj catch her elbow. The relaxation is only momentary, however, as she realises the fight isn't over--but she isn't quick enough to block Raj's 'killing blow'.
He quickly gets to his feet and helps her up, brushing away any twigs or dirt from her skirts. "I'm real sorry about that, Miss Lorrimor. But that's something important. Never think the rhythm won't change and assume your opponent has a move you haven't seen." Raj becomes keenly aware that he's still holding her elbow and quite close. He releases her and steps back to retrieve his blades and burnoose. "We should be gettin' back. I probably kept you longer than I should. An' you don't need jaws waggin' 'bout the company you keep."
Kendra gives him a strained smile--she is clearly thinking about everything she has learned today, in her own logical and procedural way, locking down the lessons learned so she can access them in the future.
You may have kept me for a while, but I certainly needed the change of pace. And as far as the company I keep, my decisions are my own, Master Rajuna. She smiles as she says it; clearly the exercise and fresh air have put her in a good mood.
As they walk back to the temple entrance, Raj is far more comfortable being near the mage, at least when he sees her as a student of bladework. He gives her an earnest look and debates patting her on the shoulder but resists the urge. "You did real well, Miss Lorrimor, better than many I seen. At full speed, some of your shots woulda caught me good. Only other advice I can give ya is keep your head if it ever comes to a knife fight, rely on your learnin', and you'll be fine."
Why thank you, master. She sketches a mock salute. After a few more steps, she playfully slips an arm through his un-wounded elbow. Look at us, she says as they make their way through the orchard, back toward the Temple. The daughter of the town's most ostracised man, and an out-of-towner with some pretty serious scars. What will they say?
She favours Raj with a mischievous grin. Ah, who cares; by this afternoon they'll be far too busy checking out my backside in my riding breeches.
She releases Raj's elbow and strides ahead a few paces. Come on, we'd better get that arm seen to. I can't have my instructor unable to teach me because he's wounded.
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Walter took in the bridge, listening to the water meander by underneath and the creaks and clomps their footsteps made as they walked across. The shade the bridge provided made the wind that ran through it colder than out in the sunlight, and Walter found himself, in the absence of conversation, looking up into the rafters at the mess of birds nests and spider webs.
Walter could swear there's a redwing up in the rafters, but it flits from strut to strut so quickly he's not entirely sure.
So what brings you here from Lepidstadt? she asks. You seem to have a lot of friends from out of town. Are you visiting Miss Lorrimor?It was obvious to Walter what had happened. Someone had noticed her talking to him, and then maybe saw her with his coat. They thought that they could find out something...and they were trying to have Vesmera do the talking for them.
...
He told her what she asked. "Oh, um, yeah. We're, er, not really friends though. Well, some of us are. Kendra-- er, Miss Lorrimor is the daughter of the Professor, um, Lorrimor. Petros. He lived on the other side of town," he explained, and gave a gesture. "Well, his funeral was... wow, yesterday, I think. It feels like it's been a long time. Er... sorry. We're all his friends. He, uh, helped me out a lot when I needed it, so, I thought it was only right to come say goodbye. We're all kind of staying together in Kendra's house until things get settled. The Professor's will asked us to stay for a month, so... I'm here for another twenty-nine days." He glanced at her and gave her a shy smile.
Vesmera visibly relaxes at this news. She smiles a little smile as she watches the water going past below.
After a second, he lost his smile, contemplated for a split second-- he had to ask her, but couldn't, and so he made himself ask-- like raising a foot over the edge and then dropping forward. "I don't want to be rude, but... did someone ask you to ask that question?"
Vesmera's smile abruptly shifts into a look of almost abject panic.
He raised his hands amicably, palms open. "Sorry. If they did, um... that's fine. Don't worry about it. You don't even have to tell me if you don't want. You just seem like... you didn't want to ask me that."
By this stage, Vesmera's face has gone bright red, and Walter is keenly aware that he's made a miscalculation somewhere.
Vesmera stammers her way through an explanation. No! Nobody a...a...asked me! I j... she swallows convulsively ...just wanted to know because I... She trails off, and Walter has to strain to hear her next words. ...because I like you, and I don't want you to leave.
She turns away and rests her head against the support struts and closes her eyes. I'm sorry, she says. Now you'll just go away, like everyone else, because I'm so stupid, and weird, and because I talk too much, or not enough, or because I'm not clever enough, or because I'm too young, or because there's something else wrong with me. She thumps her head into the struts in frustration as a tear escapes her eyelid to snake its way down her cheek.
I'll just shut up now, she says. I'm sorry.
You may have kept me for a while, but I certainly needed the change of pace. And as far as the company I keep, my decisions are my own, Master Rajuna. She smiles as she says it; clearly the exercise and fresh air have put her in a good mood.
Rajuna raises an amused and approving eyebrow, liking the mage all the more for her grit while he tries his best to ignore the concomitant danger - it makes her even more attractive. The rogue covers his concern with a smile and a haphazard courtly bow, "As Mi'lady wishes. Who can gainsay her august wisdoms?"
Why thank you, master. She sketches a mock salute. After a few more steps, she playfully slips an arm through his un-wounded elbow. Look at us, she says as they make their way through the orchard, back toward the Temple. The daughter of the town's most ostracised man, and an out-of-towner with some pretty serious scars. What will they say?
He gives her a lopsided grin, "They'll say you got lousy taste in men."
Comrades and friends link arms, right? It doesn't really mean anything...
Nevertheless, being a man with a woman 'on his arm'...
feeling the soft swish of her skirts against his breeches...
the touch of her hand on his forearm...
and the drifting scent of sandalwood...
Raj can't help but imagine what it might be like to slide an arm around her bodice, pull this fine woman against him, and... The odd, muted slap of the scabbard against her thigh is like water dashed across his face. Fool! We ain't talkin' about tumbling some cow-eyed milkmaid impressed with a few flourishes of a blade! This is a wizard and a pretty fair hand with a knife.
Raj tries to mentally shoehorn Kendra into the cubby-hole of "fellow adventurer" and finds she doesn't quite fit. He'd worked with women before, plenty of times. It wasn't like he fantasized about all, or even any, of them.
So just see her that way. Simple. Just treat her like 'one of the boys'... Right.
She favours Raj with a mischievous grin. Ah, who cares; by this afternoon they'll be far too busy checking out my backside in my riding breeches.
Unfortunately, Raj's brain, heart, and mouth sometimes find themselves going rogue and backstabbing one another. So while his head said We're friends, keep it light and stop thinking about her ass... and his heart said Couldn't there be something more?, Raj's mouth decided to split the difference. Before he could clamp down on his response, it was out there.
"Ya can't blame a man for that. A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
There is an all but audible clack as his teeth slam shut. Raj turns as beet-red as an olive-skinned Varisian can get. He stares directly ahead, utterly mortified, hoping to all the Gods (including those he doesn't even like) that Kendra, Miss Lorrimor, has missed that comment.
She releases Raj's elbow and strides ahead a few paces. Come on, we'd better get that arm seen to. I can't have my instructor unable to teach me because he's wounded.
Raj can only nod in agreement while silently berating himself. What the F*!% is wrong with you!?! Are you out of your damn mind!?! What happened to "oh she's just one of the boys"???
And as far as the company I keep, my decisions are my own, Master Rajuna. She smiles as she says it; clearly the exercise and fresh air have put her in a good mood.Rajuna raises an amused and approving eyebrow, liking the mage all the more for her grit while he tries his best to ignore the concomitant danger - it makes her even more attractive. The rogue covers his concern with a smile and a haphazard courtly bow, "As Mi'lady wishes. Who can gainsay her august wisdoms?"
Kendra gapes momentarily as if she hadn't expected such words from Rajuna. Well, she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth, aren't you full of surprises? We'll be having tea and crumpets next, and using the drawing room.
Raj can't help but imagine what it might be like to slide an arm around her bodice, pull this fine woman against him, and... The odd, muted slap of the scabbard against her thigh is like water dashed across his face. Fool! We ain't talkin' about tumbling some cow-eyed milkmaid impressed with a few flourishes of a blade! This is a wizard and a pretty fair hand with a knife.
Raj tries to mentally shoehorn Kendra into the cubby-hole of "fellow adventurer" and finds she doesn't quite fit. He'd worked with women before, plenty of times. It wasn't like he fantasized about all, or even any, of them.
So just see her that way. Simple. Just treat her like 'one of the boys'... Right.She favours Raj with a mischievous grin. Ah, who cares; by this afternoon they'll be far too busy checking out my backside in my riding breeches.Unfortunately, Raj's brain, heart, and mouth sometimes find themselves going rogue and backstabbing one another. So while his head said We're friends, keep it light and stop thinking about her ass... and his heart said Couldn't there be something more?, Raj's mouth decided to split the difference. Before he could clamp down on his response, it was out there.
"Ya can't blame a man for that. A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
They haven't yet left the apple grove, and as Kendra turns around to face Raj, a sharp gust of wind sends a drift of petals showering over them. Kendra is heedless of the petals in her hair as she strides back to stand before Rajuna, looking into his eyes as though seeking something. As she seemingly finds it, her expression softens and she closes her eyes for a moment. When she re-opens them she bears a different expression--a wishful but pensive one.
My father told me once, that I would meet someone one day who would turn my head, and that I would leave him behind. Now all I want to do is be close to you, to touch you, to... She raises a hand toward Raj's shoulder, but lets it drop before it reaches him. I just didn't expect it to happen the same day I sent my father on his final journey.
She fidgets with her hands as she stands before Raj, clearly uncomfortable but ploughing on anyway.
There are so many things going on in my head right now, Raj. My life has changed overnight--almost literally. I am barely keeping my head above water, and I don't know if I can continue to cope with it all if I'm also...
She exhales sharply in frustration. I want to be with you, Raj. I just want it to be for the right reasons--and at the right time. I am still working through a lot of things right now, and I would appreciate just a little longer to settle them all down. I hope you can wait for me.
And then, she steps inside Raj's guard--just like he taught her only minutes ago--and plants a fiery kiss on his lips.
But then, I wouldn't expect you to wait for everything, she says breathlessly.
She steps back, smooths her bodice and her skirts and adjusts the scabbard on her hip.
Come on, we'd better get that arm seen to. I can't have my instructor unable to teach me because he's wounded.Raj can only nod in agreement...
Oh, and Raj-- she calls back, sporting an impish grin, --you are more than welcome to check out my backside in my riding breeches any time.
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By this stage, Vesmera's face has gone bright red, and Walter is keenly aware that he's made a miscalculation somewhere.
Vesmera stammers her way through an explanation. No! Nobody a...a...asked me! I j... she swallows convulsively ...just wanted to know because I... She trails off, and Walter has to strain to hear her next words. ...because I like you, and I don't want you to leave.
She turns away and rests her head against the support struts and closes her eyes. I'm sorry, she says. Now you'll just go away, like everyone else, because I'm so stupid, and weird, and because I talk too much, or not enough, or because I'm not clever enough, or because I'm too young, or because there's something else wrong with me. She thumps her head into the struts in frustration as a tear escapes her eyelid to snake its way down her cheek.
I'll just shut up now, she says. I'm sorry.
Walter watched her talk and felt dumb. Really dumb. It was situations like this that reminded him that no matter how hard he pretended to be, he could never be a smooth-talking wise adult like he read about in books or saw in real life.
He didn't really know when it happened, or what had made him do it, but he found himself with his chest pressed against her shoulders, arms around her from behind. He was amazed that he wasn't trembling or standing idly by. He hugged her, felt her hair against his cheek and the cold presence of her hoop earring on his chin. "Don't say that kind of stuff about yourself," he said, quietly, trying to be firm but likely wavering. "I'm sorry, I, um, think stupid stuff sometimes. Don't cry."
"You're not weird," he added. "Believe me, I'm weird, you just haven't seen it yet."
The idea that Vesmera liked him was good but it also kind of startled him. He'd never had a girl say that to him before. It'd always been the other way around, well, never said, just thought, and slipped away. When he hugged Vesmera, he had to think about how he felt-- did he like her too? He didn't want to be the kind of guy who went along with whatever girl said she liked him despite his own feelings. Walter wasn't sure if he liked her or not, but he also wasn't sure if he thought he might not like her just because he was thinking that he might not like her. But... she was pretty. He needed to do more conclusive research.
He realized he'd held her for longer than might have been appropriate and backed off with another "Sorry," hoping he hadn't said the exact wrong thing a second time in a row.
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He didn't really know when it happened, or what had made him do it, but he found himself with his chest pressed against her shoulders, arms around her from behind. He was amazed that he wasn't trembling or standing idly by. He hugged her, felt her hair against his cheek and the cold presence of her hoop earring on his chin. "Don't say that kind of stuff about yourself," he said, quietly, trying to be firm but likely wavering. "I'm sorry, I, um, think stupid stuff sometimes. Don't cry."
"You're not weird," he added. "Believe me, I'm weird, you just haven't seen it yet."
...
He realized he'd held her for longer than might have been appropriate and backed off with another "Sorry," hoping he hadn't said the exact wrong thing a second time in a row.
Vesmera's hands move to cover Walter's as he hugs her, clutching at him as if trying to keep herself afloat on his embrace. As he talks, her grip softens, and she offers no resistance as he finally backs away.
She turns around, pushing the tears from her face with the palms of her hands. She offers a weak smile. I don't know whether you're weird or not, she says. I haven't known you long enough. But I know I like you. You're not like the other boys who are only interested in cleavage--and I don't have much of that to go around, she says in a rather frank and fearless self-appraisal. I like listening to you talk--about old things, about places I haven't been, people I don't know.
She turns her head, looking down the length of the bridge, her eyes becoming unfocused. I'm sorry about before, it's just...I want the chance to get to know you better. She turns her head back to look Walter in the eyes. And I don't want you to leave. So if you're here for another few weeks, then I hope we can be friends, at least.
But more than anything else, I'd like to start this whole conversation over again, and show you around properly...like I was supposed to. She holds out her diminutive hand. Deal?
Vesmera is conflicted--she thinks she has feelings for Walter, but isn't sure whether she should act on them or just take things slow...and she is erring on the side of caution.
I am going to push things on a little from here...I don't really want to spend too much longer with only a couple of characters really having a decent chance to post. So while there might be a couple of out-of-sequence posts yet to go from the Raj/Kendra and Walter/Vesmera conversations, I hope nobody minds if I plough on.
Kendra's face--which had looked rather flushed when she came in from her sparring session with Raj only a few minutes ago--turns a pale green as she listens to Rose relating the exploits of Professor Hean Feramin, better known as The Splatter Man.
So that means the 'V' that was on the monument last night...
...is likely related to the events your father was investigating in Harrowstone, yes, Theron finishes for her.
So is The Splatter Man targeting someone? Someone whose name starts with a 'V'? Kendra asks.
While such speculation may well be worthwhile, any conclusions on that front would seem somewhat premature, Karrik rumbles, his arms folded as he leans on a table. After all, we don't even have enough information to be certain that the 'V' is the first letter of a name--the perpetrator could be spelling 'Lavinia', for instance, and we just missed the other letters.
He might even be spelling 'Vuk', Raj adds from the back of the group.
Dragomir shifts uncomfortably.
Kendra rubs her temples. So, what now?
Well, Walter ventures into the silence, I did, um, speak with the Sheriff, earlier. And he, well, he asked me to visit him at two. There is a pause. And he said he wanted you to come too, he adds, looking at Kendra.
Lem slides down from the human-sized chair he's been sitting on. Right, he says, assuming the air of gentle, subtle authority he's used to wielding amongst the faithful. We've got one miscreant left to find out about, then we should be able to start making plans to actually carry out the Professor's wishes. I suggest some of us stay here and search while the rest go visit the Sheriff. Any objections?
Nobody speaks up, and before long the group has split itself up, with Rose, Lem, Flori, Raj and Karrik staying to find what they can about the Mosswater Marauder, and Walter, Kendra, Dragomir and Theron heading to see the Sheriff.
First, though, Kendra insists on going home to get changed...
As Rose compiles the information the other researchers find, Karrik heads off into a different part of the archive, following an instinct. He eventually finds himself in the folio section of the archive, but he's not sure what he's looking for.
Rajuna relives the kiss as Kendra leaves the library to change clothes. He watches her move off gracefully, the swish of her hips. He buries his eyes in the book before him but his attention soon turns to an errant apple blossom that falls from his shoulder and lands on the table. He considers its beauty, inextricably tied to its ephemerality.
Grab the offered joys... because life is so short.
He picks up the delicate blossom and places it for safekeeping in an empty pouch. Raj can only shake his head at the changes of the last few minutes. His gauging eyes rove in the wake of the vanished and bewitching mage, only certain of one thing... that he is well and truly snared.
In The Past...
Vesmera's hands move to cover Walter's as he hugs her, clutching at him as if trying to keep herself afloat on his embrace. As he talks, her grip softens, and she offers no resistance as he finally backs away.
She turns around, pushing the tears from her face with the palms of her hands. She offers a weak smile. I don't know whether you're weird or not, she says. I haven't known you long enough. But I know I like you. You're not like the other boys who are only interested in cleavage--and I don't have much of that to go around, she says in a rather frank and fearless self-appraisal. I like listening to you talk--about old things, about places I haven't been, people I don't know.
She turns her head, looking down the length of the bridge, her eyes becoming unfocused. I'm sorry about before, it's just...I want the chance to get to know you better. She turns her head back to look Walter in the eyes. And I don't want you to leave. So if you're here for another few weeks, then I hope we can be friends, at least.
But more than anything else, I'd like to start this whole conversation over again, and show you around properly...like I was supposed to. She holds out her diminutive hand. Deal?
-
"Deal, absolutely," he said, and shook her hand. "I'm, um, glad you like the stuff I talk about. I kind of have this, um... fixation with books and old stuff. Remembering everything is pretty much my number one skill," he said, embarrassed and flustered but glad that she hadn't run off sobbing or smacked her face against anything again. He hadn't expected her to talk about cleavage, or just straight up tell him that she liked him. Girls were really weird.
Did he like her? She was shorter than him and smaller and it was something he didn't see often. Her palm in his fit like a man and a woman's ought to, not like it had when Kendra had grabbed his hand in the crypt, like a mother and a son. "I'd like that, um, being friends. At least," he corrected. He still wasn't sure if he really liked her or if she was just a target of opportunity. But the way it felt to hug someone who was his age and have her shoulders press against his chest... "The bridge is neat. But, um, since you wanted to, show me somewhere else you like. Ravengro's a lot different than Lepidstadt, and, um, I can talk about it if you want while we walk?"
He was aware of his heart beat, having risen, beginning to slow and pound less, and as it did so he could hear the voices. They sounded like they were far away, but the sound was funneled towards him like a person speaking down a hallway or a tunnel, but that was wrong. It took him a moment to realize what it really sounded like. It was like they were in an amphitheater, seated around the stage he was on. All of them were laughing.
Walter ignored them.
###
In the Present...
Walter returned from his long diversion with Vesmera, bade everyone greetings and then hardly had time to sit down, lay down his bag, take off his coat and crack open a book before Kendra and Rajuna returned.
The group spoke briefly and decided what to do right away. Walter wished someone had told him so he could have just stayed in the town. He stood up, closed the book, put on his coat, pushed in his chair and shouldered his bag again just as Kendra turned to go. "Um, I'm going to go with so we don't have to keep running around town, since, um, the house is right next to the town square," he explained, considering only efficiency. "Anybody else coming?"
He glanced across the room at everyone else and caught Rajuna staring after Kendra, determined. Rajuna glanced down at the book he had open in front of him and then Walter could tell something had caught his eye. Walter was filled with surprise and excitement that Rajuna had found something, an almost teacherly pride, but before he could speak, Walter noticed that he was staring at a flower petal on the tabletop. He had plastered across his face an almost-poetic expression, kind of dreamy. He gingerly took the petal and put it in his front pocket and looked infinitely pleased.
Walter didn't know what to say, so he just turned and left.
Karrik walks away from the group, still fuming about his short conversation with Dragomir. He was fine letting his conscious mind wrestle with the conversation. A part of him wanted to focus his attention on the problem of his currently unsuccessful research, but that was a frustrating effort as well. Plus, as the Professor once said, 'if you can't work out a problem in the usual methods, find a simpler task to occupy your mind and let your subconscious do the heavy lifting.'
So he turns a corner, letting his eyes take in book titles, map listings, and catalog headers as he runs a finger absently along a backs of neatly-aligned row of leather almanacs. Conscious mind working over Dragomir's words; subconscious mind hunting its quarry; both working in concert between the staccato thumps of thick finger in leather book spines.
---
Karrik hurries back into the midst of the group carrying a few documents and what appears to be an old map. He thumps them down in front of Rose while speaking to all of them in an excited barely-a-whisper. "Mosswater." A thick finger jabs a dot on the old map, which now reveals itself to be of the River Kingdoms. "Not sure how we could have missed that, but here it is." It's an epic mental struggle not to shoot an immature who's the scholar now?! look at Dragomir, whom he only now realizes is absent. "A short-lived but once-prosperous settlement that was overrun by merrow almost fifty years ago. If this is the right place, this is the key to our research."
He looks around, taking account of who all disappeared with Dragomir, "Where is everyone else?"
Raj looks up from his book, distracted from whatever he was mulling. "Chattin' with the Law."
Rajuna continues his research half-heartedly, only stopping to pocket several sheets of note paper. He rips a large corner from one piece and scratches some notes on it before surreptitiously pocketing it.
Raj spies the small cleric and pulls up his sleeve to show his hastily bandaged slash. "Father, you got some time to fix this for me?" He gives the older man a wink. "Why you could even lecture me on the dangers of shaving my arms, if ya want."
Raj spies the small cleric and pulls up his sleeve to show his hastily bandaged slash. "Father, you got some time to fix this for me?" He gives the older man a wink. "You could even lecture me on the dangers of shaving my arms, if ya want."
Lem reads diligently, following Rose's instructions. Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and he sees Raj pocketing something. The scarred man looks up to see Lem glaring at him disapprovingly. Then the halfling quietly hops off his chair and approaches Rajuna, speaking in hushed tones.
The Professor has quite a bit of paper you could have, Rajuna, paper that wouldn't risk us being banned from the temple archives. Maybe you should...what's this?
Lem sees the crude bandage, and a slowly growing dark stain under it where the wound has opened.
That is a serious cut! Receive Desna's blessing... he says, chanting a healing spell.
...and may She always watch over you, he concludes, as his eyes narrow and he quickly glances at Raj's pocket before returning to his research.
Kendra--now attired in a dark woollen bodice, bolero jacket and riding breeches, each with matching brass buttons, and with Raj's oversized dagger on her right thigh--looks apprehensive as she follows Walter and Dragomir into the Jail, with Theron bringing up the rear.
Inside, the decor is utilitarian--but thanks to the fire in the hearth to one side, at least it's warm; the blustery wind outside is now threatening a sleet storm.
Sheriff Caeller is sitting behind a well-worn desk, filling in a ledger. Behind him, an open door leads to the handful of cells that are usually empty--although today, one of the Sheriff's deputies sits on a chair at the other end of the hallway, presumably watching over whoever is imprisoned in the cells.
The Sheriff looks up as the small group comes in. When his eyes light on Kendra, he seems troubled. He gets up and shuffles a few chairs around so there are enough in front of his desk for everyone to sit down.
Come on in, he says. Nasty turn of weather this.
He wrings his hands for a moment as he shifts from foot to foot, apparently uncertain about what to do.
Can I get any of you a drink? he asks.
Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and he sees Raj pocketing something. The scarred man looks up to see Lem glaring at him disapprovingly. Then the halfling quietly hops off his chair and approaches Rajuna, speaking in hushed tones.
The Professor has quite a bit of paper you could have, Rajuna, paper that wouldn't risk us being banned from the temple archives....
Raj inspects the spot where his wound was and gives the cleric a grateful smile... then he taps on the pile of paper left on the table expressly for their note-taking purposes. He is amused, not offended. "Tsk tsk, Father. It ain't stealing if you take what's offered."
( hour after research began)
Karrik's revelation breaks the whole thing open; it's not long before the group finds everything else about the Mosswater Marauder.
Name: Ispin Onyxcudgel - Admitted By: Gurtis Vortch - Crime: Murder - Apprehended In: Mosswater - Sentence: Execution - Date of Arrival: 14 Gozran 4661 - Located: Reaper's Hold - Possessions: Smith's hammer, bone fragments, sundries - Money: incidental - Age: uncertain - Previous convictions: Nil - Remarks: Dwarf
The rest of your research reveals the following:
Only 5 years before his hometown of Mosswater was destined to be overrun and ruined by monsters from the nearby river, Ispin Onyxcudgel was a well-liked artisan and a doting husband. When he discovered his wife’s infidelity, he f lew into a jealous rage and struck her dead with his hammer, shattering her skull and his sanity with one murderous blow. Wracked with shame and guilt, Ispin became convinced that if he could rebuild his wife’s skull she would come back to life—but unfortunately, he could not find the last blade-shaped fragment from the murder site. So instead, Ispin became the Mosswater Marauder. Over the course of several weeks, the cunning dwarf stalked and murdered nearly 20 people while searching for just the right skull fragment. He was captured just before murdering the daughter of a visiting nobleman from Varno, and was carted off to Harrowstone that same night.
Only 5 years before his hometown of Mosswater was destined to be overrun and ruined by monsters from the nearby river, Ispin Onyxcudgel...
Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and he sees Raj pocketing something. The scarred man looks up to see Lem glaring at him disapprovingly. Then the halfling quietly hops off his chair and approaches Rajuna, speaking in hushed tones.
The Professor has quite a bit of paper you could have, Rajuna, paper that wouldn't risk us being banned from the temple archives....
Raj inspects the spot where his wound was and gives the cleric a grateful smile... then he taps on the pile of paper left on the table expressly for their note-taking purposes. He is amused, not offended. "Tsk tsk, Father. It ain't stealing if you take what's offered."
The halfling smiles genuinely, slightly reddening in embarrassment.
Of course, of course. Now you see why I stay on the road. A few short hours in this library and I fear I have already become Iona's twin. Carry on then. Just be sure you don't talk too loudly or step on my lawn, lest I become a true curmudgeon.
Raj's eyes crease with mirth lines. He says quietly, "Forget it, Father. I'll give you plenty of warning before I pull somethin' seriously illicit. I wanna see you at yur curmudgeonly best."
Can I get any of you a drink? he asks.
A raspy voice, unmistakably that of a man in the throes of a terrible hangover, sounds out unexpectedly from the cells down the hall. You can. Brandy would be best. And I'll-ur... the man's voice is interrupted by a brief fit of choking and gagging ...I'll take a mug of water as well. From the well, not the lake. Thing's rotten with effluvia.
The man continues, seemingly more to the deputy than to Sheriff Caeller. Speaking of effluvia, I'd really quite like to be out of this cell and about my business sometime this decade. As I said last night when you so charitably took me in, I simply need directions to the nearest lodging-house and I will be on my way.
Dragomir silently extends the bottle he bought yesterday for this occassion to the sheriff.
He then finds a chair and settles back into it with a friendly smile.
Walter waited for the strange man whose voice he could hear from the back room to stop speaking, and then, cautiously, answered. "I'm fine, thank you," he said, and sat down. Was that the person who'd painted the letter? He sounded a little... out of the weather.
"Well, um... you pretty much know exactly why we're here, sir, in regards to the late Professor's death. If, um, you'd like to go over everything you saw and heard and wrote down then we'd be eternally grateful," he explained to the Sheriff, and waited patiently for his reply.
Dragomir continues to smile and look eager for a drink.
We'd be much obliged Sheriff, for any help you can give us... we cared a lot for the Professor and we're eager for news.
Can I get any of you a drink? he asks.You can. Brandy would be best. And I'll-ur...
Theron glances down the hall as he hears the the man calling for brandy while in the middle of a hangover. You'd think a he would learn his lesson after emptying his stomach the first time... He thinks to himself, but then decides to do his best to just ignore the drunkard.
"Yes... thank you, a drink sounds like a good idea considering the subject." Theron says as he returns his attention to the Sheriff. "We're sorry to have to bother you while you are dealing with so many other problems, such as the scene last night and... other things." Theron glances down the hall for a moment before continuing. "However, like my friends have said here, we wanted to learn more about what exactly happened to Professor Lorrimor. Is it certain that he was hit by a carriage?"
Theron choose his words carefuly. He didn't want to involve the sheriff in anything involving the Whispering Way. In fact, the man probably would think they were crazy if they mentioned much at all about what they were dealing with. On the other hand, they were going to have to share some information if they were going to get anywhere.
Either way, he was going to do his best to avoid being disrespectful. After all, this was the man who was responsible for keeping this town safe, and from what Theron had seen the sheriff took his job quite seriously.
-
I might have the chance to make another post tonight, within five hours or so, but between the amount of work I've had to take home tonight and the kids feeling ill at the moment, I don't like my chances. : s
The obnoxious man's voice grows abruptly silent. Though no one is around to see it but the deputy, the man leans forward in his cell, turning his head slightly at the sound of the conversation. Did he hear someone mention "the Professor?" Could there be visitors inquiring into his death?
The Sheriff is briefly nonplussed as Dragomir hands him a bottle of brandy--almost like he'd been ready for the Sheriff's question.
You can [get me a drink]. Brandy would be best. And I'll-ur... the man's voice is interrupted by a brief fit of choking and gagging ...I'll take a mug of water as well. From the well, not the lake. Thing's rotten with effluvia.
The Sheriff's countenance becomes a snarl as he yells at the prisoner over his shoulder. That's quite enough out of you! I'm not above corporal punishment! The Sheriff turns back to the group in front of him. Sorry. Drunkard we picked up last night after the...er...incident with the monument. We can't find anything to link him to that, but let's say that right now that he's in here for his own protection; we're holding him for grievous bodily harm of his liver. The Sheriff's deadpan delivery makes you uncertain whether or not this was meant to be a joke.
He moves over to a wardrobe, from which he retrieves several glasses before returning to his desk and pouring from the bottle Dragomir gave him.
"Well, um... you pretty much know exactly why we're here, sir, in regards to the late Professor's death. If, um, you'd like to go over everything you saw and heard and wrote down then we'd be eternally grateful," he explained to the Sheriff, and waited patiently for his reply.
We'd be much obliged Sheriff, for any help you can give us... we cared a lot for the Professor and we're eager for news.
"Yes... thank you, a drink sounds like a good idea considering the subject." Theron says as he returns his attention to the Sheriff. "We're sorry to have to bother you while you are dealing with so many other problems, such as the scene last night and... other things." Theron glances down the hall for a moment before continuing. "However, like my friends have said here, we wanted to learn more about what exactly happened to Professor Lorrimor. Is it certain that he was hit by a carriage?"
As Theron mentions the word 'carriage', the Sheriff twitches and splashes brandy over his hand and his desk. Fiu de căţea*! the Sheriff swears in Varisian. He hurriedly picks up the ledger--with his wet hand--then realises what he's doing and hands it to Walter as the nearest person. Here, hold that for a moment. Please. He goes back to the wardrobe and retrieves a rag he uses to wipe down his desk. Waste of good brandy, he says mournfully, before handing one of the glasses (with around a finger of brandy in it) to Theron and another to Dragomir. He keeps a third for himself.
There is a silence as the Sheriff sips some of his brandy, then he looks at Kendra, sitting between you. For her part, Kendra--her back ramrod straight--looks like she is braced to receive bad news.
No, the Sheriff begins his explanation, Professor Lorrimor was not killed by a carriage. He swirls the brandy in his glass, his expression vacant as he remembers...
A cold wind barges through the door to the jail as Professor Lorrimor strides in. Clearly, he's in a hurry as he all-but slams the door closed again behind him. He is festooned with vials and other arcane equipment.
Benjan! he barks.