The swarm of spiders crawls all over both Hawk and Emma, with the former trying to immolate them but unable to get his spell off and the latter taking a tumble off the side of the boat trying to get to it perpetrator. Unfortunately, despite being able to use the mooring rope to help her down, Emma slips on the wet side of the barge and lands with a bump. Still, at least there are no spiders down here. Although primarily a spellcaster, the opportunity to strike at a prone enemy feels too good to pass up so the half-ogre jabs at the paladin with its shortspear. It succeeds in adding injury to the insult, catching her in the arm, before retreating a safe distance away.
Meanwhile the spiders continue to harass Hawk, scratching and biting at him with their minute legs and teeth, a source of irritation as much as anything else.
Meanwhile at the other end of the boat, Roger's swing is wild and misses, though Majara's bomb proves rather more effective. One of the creatures, singed and smoking, lunges forwards after the gnome while the other again slashes at the pirate with its wicked claws.
Once again Majara's magical shield proves effective at deflecting the strikes but this time on of the claws catches Roger and tries to pull him towards it. The pirate stands his ground, however, and shoves the long arm away.
Round 2
Happiness is relative. For instance, Hawk is delighted that he is no longer throwing up into a pile of spiders and seaweed. He is less happy about the spiders biting him incessantly and crawling even further into his clothes. He’s pretty sure a small legion of them are invading his butt crack.
His first thought is to immolate himself, burning the spiders and the web at the same time. But the scores of spider-bites have left him weakened. A well-cast spell could leave him no better than the smoldering merrow corpse on the other side of the deck. NOT a preferrable result. He also takes a moment to watch the battle on deck. Blubbermonkeys? What’s a blubbermonkey!?
He shakes the spiders from his hand and weaves a spell, aiming it towards the stern of the ship. A wide plane of fire sweeps across the foredeck, roiling across the spiders, most of the deck, and a section of the webbing.
2nd Spells (4): x
1st Spells (7): x
Dancing Lights (3):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
Roger snarls as a blow lands home, and does his best to return the favor in the fight.
He's gotten a little bit a hold of himself and there's some more fight to be had in Roger's blood it seems.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
With a glance over her shoulder at the sudden flare of light and roar of flames, Majara notes that the spiders are badly smoldered but still extant. Still, that was quite the blaze...
"You seem to be rather less flammable than the spiders, Mr. Hargraves. I hope you won't mind some additional fuel to the fire."
Taking one more careful step down the stairs, Majara lobs another vial of flame towards the prow of the boat- in an upwards arc to clear the vertical distance that now exists between her and the swarm-- mostly just trying to not directly hit Hawkren.
****
With a glance over her shoulder at the sudden flare of light and roar of flames, Majara notes that the spiders are no longer an issue. She gives an approving nod. "I appreciate someone else who understand fire solves many problems," she calls drily to Hawk. Then she turns her attention back to the lorge waterbois.
Taking one more careful step down the stairs, Majara lobs another vial of flame at the just-visible shoulders and neck of one of the creatures-- ideally far enough back to catch the other, as well, and not Roger.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Sirio bolsters his allies from his hidden position. Cowardly, he thought. No. Clever. Tactical, he told himself.
He marches loudly down the stairs, trying to confuse and alert the giant green folk to his presence. He darts around their feet, coolly crossing to the other side of the creatures, taking their backs for a flank.
He calls at them loudly from in front of them, "You have made a grave error boarding this vessel, fish!" Then after getting behind them, "Yes, I was talking to you. Fish."
Bad enough that a fun night had been interrupted by spiders (always spiders!). Worse still when she'd taken a tumble off the side of the boat while trying to descend. Then, the damned half-ogre took a stab at her while she was on the ground, and walked off.
Needless to say, Emma was not having a great time.
I'd like to blame the wine, but I didn't really drink all that much, Emma thinks as she hoists herself up. At least, I think I didn't. Damned spiders!
Though she isn't feel on the ropes quite yet, Emma decides to try and heal herself up a bit as she gets to her feet. Unfortunately, perhaps still stunned from the fall (or perhaps her tolerance for wine was simply much lower than she had previously thought), the healing barely seems to have an effect.
She steadies herself and grips her sword, looking off towards where the half-ogre went.
You may have gotten an opportune strike against me, but I promise that won't happen again, she thinks.
Majara's bomb lands once again, exploding with a satisfying sound and once more engulfing the merrow's side in flames. They spill over onto the second towering creature and Roger's hefty blow also takes a chunk out of its flank. The almighty row that Sirio is making causes it to growl and reach out an exploratory claw towards where it senses the noise is coming from, but it's unwilling to turn its back on a heavily armed opponent who has proved it can swing a sword in a way that hurts.
The half-ogre looks up at its badly burned companions on the deck and then over to Emma, who has picked herself up, a grim look on her face as her sword glints with holy light. "Bah," it spits, hoicking up a large ball of phlegm. "It's done," he calls up to his companions in a deep gurgling voice. With that it turns and heads for the water, before wading in and starting to swim away. It doesn't look back, trusting the other pair to listen and follow.
Heeding the call, the two brutish greenskins take a step towards the edge of the boat, considerably more wary of their foes than they had been upon arrival. This had not been the easy supper they were anticipating. Injured as they are, they still manage to dive back into the water and start swimming away from the Mermaid's Klivanion with powerful strokes.
"Sulfursmuch," Majara mutters, which seems to have at least the invective of a curse, as the large forms retreat. She must dash right back up the stairs she had so cautiously descended, hoping the height of the stern deck is enough to let her see the retreating forms.
She means it more as deterrent than true shot, but it might hit...
"And stay gone," she calls at the backsides of the swimming creatures. Only as the deck is cleared of them does she ponder the leader's words. It's done? What's done....
From the higher vantage point, Majara's bomb loops up high into the air after the retreating water ogres before descending in an arc and catching them just before they can swim beyond your reach. In spite of the water, the slower one is once more lit up in flames. This is too much for the creature to take and its heart gives way, the charred body sinking beneath the surface. The slightly faster of the two merrow catches alight as the flames spread but has just enough left in the tank to keep going.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Round 3
Hawk reaches for his zen state. He watches the fire blister the seaweedy web, heading in his direction. The smell was awful but watching the fire dance was lovely in its own way. Would the flames hurt? Possibly, but pain was part of the process, like a tattoo. So, he waits to greet the fire as the monsters flee.
He didn’t hold grudges and he didn’t take the ‘disgusting spiders plus webs’ thing or the ‘hey, you mind if we kill and eat you?’ thing personally. It was just the way the world worked. And the spells were a good trick - worth remembering. It was important to keep things in perspective…
Then he sees a spider crawl out of the bottle of wine... His pot of outrage boils over. There were some things that were beyond the pale. You don’t kick puppies and you DON'T ruin a bottle of ’27 Sasserean Red with insects, arachnids, whatever. It was merely a quarter drunk and only breathing for an hour… barely out of the cradle! Now, THAT was truly monstrous… and unforgivable. Hawk doesn’t wait for the fire to burn away the webs. He weaves a spell to mete out grape-fueled justice.
Three bolts of barely discernible force shoot from his finger tips, weave between the ship’s masts, arc past Majara and Roger, take a sharp right turn, then speed toward the remaining merrow. The bolts slam into the back of its skull in rapid succession.
The fire stings a bit, when it reaches him. That seems appropriate.
2nd Spells (4): x
1st Spells (7): xx
Dancing Lights (3):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
As Emma manages to recover from her tumble, draw her sword, and charge forward, the half-ogre has decided to make a run for it. There's still the matter of the merrows, which the others had been dealing with - but by the time she gets to the edge of the landmass and within a reasonable range, both are down, and the half-ogre is beyond her range.
"To the abyss with you!" she hisses. She draws a javelin, but...
No.
No, it would be a waste of a javelin.
The half-ogre is beyond her range. There's little point in trying to hit it when it will likely simply just shrug off the hit and keep going faster than Emma could keep up.
She looks down to see a spider fall from her armor onto the ground below. Even though she's fairly certain it's already dead, she takes the javelin and slams it down on the cursed thing, before stomping on it a few times for good measure.
She glares out into the distance where the half-ogre has gone but lowers her sword arm and lets out a sigh.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Below deck, every sound from above is exaggerated. The nervous passengers huddle together, instinctively finding themselves in the back of the sleeping chambers away from the entrances and potential danger. Without being able to see how the fight is playing out they are reliant on their imaginations to fill in the gaps, which does nothing to relieve the tense atmosphere.
Every footstep echoes and there are several ringing explosions that sound devastating. A repeated hiss of flames follows in their aftermath and the heft of swung weapons is punctuated by muffled talk and the occasional shout or curse. A bodily thud of metal and flesh onto soft ground is followed shortly after by a pair of loud splashes, the noise rippling round the cramped rooms the same way the water is outside. One final quieter blast is succeeded only by an ominous silence.
From her watch point by the stairs, Hannelia taps her foot subconsciously in a steady rhythm, bow in hand and full of positive tension. As the hush descends above, she calls up "Everything ok up there?"
Sh!t. More witnesses.
He yells through the floorboards, ”We’re safe! The heroes of Saringallow have dealt with the enemy. It’s just a bit of a bloody mess up here. Really disgusting... Entrails. Give us a minute to clean up the worst of it.” Hawk sets about rapidly cleaning up the foredeck, slinging the ruined wine from the cups and putting them away, using his vest to swipe the spider and web ash off the deck, and finally trying to push/drag the smoking merrow to the side of the ship for unceremonious disposal... trying to remove any possible trace of his involvement.
It takes Hannelia a second to place the voice as Hawk but she is glad to hear from him. The fact that he stayed up there suggests that he is no coward at least and perhaps has some fighting skill too. She assumes that jabbing at enemies with tattoo needles is not likely to be particularly effective but maybe his walking staff could be used to crack skulls. Regardless, she's relieved that the party has dealt with the threat.
Something in the man's words rings a little false, however. Maybe he's exaggerating the mess, though she can't think why. He said they're safe, but that's not the same as unharmed. That might explain why something feels off. "Glad to hear you're all safe. Does anybody need healing? I'll come up, if so. Better not to move further than necessary. And don't worry," she adds in a lighter tone, "I'm more than happy to leave the entrails to you."
The tattooist chuckles through the floorboards, "What a polite offer, madam. Thank you for the gift of guts." He glances at the others, "No one appears to be urgently wounded. But some healing later would likely be appreciated."
As an afterthought, he grabs a bucket of water and sloshes it across the deck in a few spots hoping, at first glance, people take it as evidence of gore being washed away.
Hannelia’s concern for her friends wars with Hawk’s reassurance but she decides to give the man the benefit of the doubt. ”Alright then, I’ll be up shortly. Thanks Hawk,” she calls. ”I assume the captain heard but I’ll relay the message if not. I’m not going to argue with him if he wants to inspect it immediately though, that’s his prerogative.”
The footsteps coming towards her in the burly shape of Captain Rufinus tell her that he did indeed get the message. ”Captain,” Hannelia addresses him. ”My inclination is to leave them to it but it’s your boat and I can understand you’re wanting to check it out as soon as possible.”
”Aye,” he agrees, ”we’ll need to take stock of any damage but these things always look much worse straight after a storm’s hit so you get a more honest picture waiting. Sounds like yer friends have done us a very good turn, for which I’m grateful. I will be expecting a full report though.”
While she waits for the clean up operation Hannelia goes to check on Shel, giving a hug and offering soothing words. She then offers reassurance to the other passengers that the situation has been dealt with and offers what aid she can.
After about ten minutes a call comes from above and Hannelia, Captain Rufinus and first mate Arauna make their way onto the deck. ”Thank you for yer aid, we’re in yer debt,” the captain says to the assembled group. ”I’ll be requiring ye to run me through exactly what happened and what kind of threat ye repelled so let’s start by walking me through that and then I’ll inspect the damage. Better to understand what happened first.”
While the conversation takes place, Hannelia busies herself by finally getting to check on the injuries obtained in the fighting, applying magical healing where it is needed.
"The damage to the boat abovedecks appears to be minimal," Majara muses with a frown. "But I couldn't speak as to below the waterline. And I am not a sailor. Still, we're all present and-- wait, where's Blackford?"
Ah. Somehow on land. Majara tilts her head at the sight of Emma wading from the shore back towards the boat. "We'll lower you a ladder," she calls pragmatically to the other woman.
At Hannelia's offer of healing she shakes her head in the negative-- she is fine, the others all hurt more than she. In fact-- "It looks as though the tattooist took the worst of it. Both Roger and Blackford also received injuries."
----
When the captain and mate come onto deck, Majara inclines her head in acknowledgment of the thanks. "Some sort of waterbeasts, twice the size even of yourself. Webbed hands. We killed them both, but the current has taken them downstream by now. And there were some sort of spiders-- I am sure there's no shortage of their tiny corpses on the bow. Somewhat charred."
The gnome frowns, drumming her fingers on the railing of the boat as she gazes out in the direction of where the smaller of the brutes successfully fled. "The one thing I mislike is that their apparent leader said, It's done. Was there some design other than opportunism at play?"
The question seems directed at anyone who is willing to answer.
When Hannelia treats the tattooist, she finds he is covered in angry bugs bites along with one small burn.
Hawk hadn’t had time to work out a story with the adventurers or explain why he was trying to conceal his involvement when the captain asks for an accounting. He can only hope they minimize his actions or, at worst, he’ll gamble that the captain sees no reason to broadcast the events to the majority of the passengers. On the off chance that the fates favor him, he skillfully abridges his account, sticking to literal truths.
”Well, Captain, I was having a very pleasant drink with Miss Blackford at the front of the ship when these... briney webs I guess, hit us. I was trapped like a fly but Miss Blackford got free and fought the blackguards. And then there was a whole swarm of spiders feasting on me. I really didn’t see much as I was glued to the railing and coated with spiders for the whole time. There were some watery ogre-like creatures and a smaller one of them casting spells. Thankfully, Miss Blackford and her friends are skilled fighters. I'm not sure what would have happened to me if they weren't here.”
2nd Spells (4): x
1st Spells (7): xx
Dancing Lights (3):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
Sirio reappears, trying to punish the creatures from leaving, but they largely ignore him as if he were still not there.
After all the action is over, Sirio adds to Majara's puzzlement, "One ought to wonder..." he trails off.
And to Hawkren he cuts in, "Mr. Hargraves, no need for false modesty." He gives a slight smile, "A bit of turmoil and fire exposes one's character. It appears I might have misjudged yours on our first meeting. Consider this an apology." He puts a hand out to shake Hawkren's.
Hawk's eyebrow rises briefly then he takes the priest's hand warmly. "Your apology is unnecessary but gladly accepted, sir. And, to be candid, if you misjudged, it is partly because I intentionally mislead... down to my choice of hairstyle. Guile takes many forms, and I found one that suits my needs."
Captain Rufinus listens and strokes his stubbly chin, trying to put the information together from Majara and Hawk's combined accounts. One version of events is to the point, the other more colourful and both contain some seemingly unnecessary details about pleasant drinks and spider corpses. I suppose I did ask for a full report, he ruminates. "So the large... water-ogres, let's say, were slain but there was another one, some kind of magic user who ultimately fled? And you wonder if there's something more to it than a simple raid?" He looks over to Arauna.
"Bandit attacks or goblin raids are not unknown on the river. Town guards only patrol close to home and the army is always stretched," the woman says. "Even when there is some kind of more persistent or dangerous threat that needs dealing with there's always layers of bureaucracy and the response is slower than a dwarf leaving a a tavern." She wrinkles her face distastefully, clearly not putting a huge amount of faith in the Isgeri military. She runs a hand through her short chocolate brown hair. "Can't say I've heard tell of any unusual activity lately. This does sound like a much stronger force than average and I think we'd have struggled to fend them off without you here. But for my money it's a coincidence, not that I like coincidences much," she mutters as her thoughts on the matter come to a conclusion.
Rufinus nods. "Arauna's usually got her ear to the ground - well, the water - not much happening on the Conerica passes her by. "It's done" could mean anything. The fighting most likely, but we'd best check carefully in case it was some kind of distraction or they were putting down a marker. But unless we turn anything up, like as not we'll probably never know."
The captain takes a look around the deck. Most of the damage seems to be superficial - scorch marks and some unseemly blood stains but nothing that a good bit of scrubbing and a coat of tar can't fix. Majara's comment about there being no shortage of burnt spiders on the bow is only partially true. Hawk managed to get rid of a fair number of them, plus most of the remnants of the glutinous seaweed, but the evidence of his ordeal can still be seen. Rufinus calls for mops and buckets to swab the decks and finish the job.
Meanwhile Arauna leads a thorough search around the barge's hull. "Nothing doing, Captain," she reports back. "No damage worse than some splinters and a frayed rope that should be being replaced right about now. No sign of any markings or anything unusual there or on the shore nearby."
"That's good, or good enough at least. Thank you, Arauna. And I think that's been more than enough excitement for one evening. It's getting on so probably best everyone thinks about turning in. Thanks to you all, once again." With that Captain Rufinus makes his way back below deck, leaving Arauna to finish overseeing the last elements of the clean up.
Looking up it's clear he is not wrong about night having fully arrived. The clouds that were loitering in the early part of the evening seem to have drifted away and the sky is studded with stars. And now that the adrenaline of the fight has long since departed, there's a bite to the cold in the spring air.
With the captain satisfied, Hawk relaxes. As the night wind shifts, he catches a whiff of himself. Strands of half-burnt seaweed, fully-burnt spider, with just a hint of vomit lend him a perfume or - more on point - an ‘eau de toilette’ he’d rather not have.
He cautiously clambers down the rope ladder dropped to retrieve Emma then wades into the water between ship and shore. He pulls off his tunic then scrubs and rinses both it and his vest thoroughly, running them across the side of the ship, like an impromptu washboard.
"And don't come back you slimey lot!" Roger mocked the fleeing beasties, holding his weapon high as they fled.
"Thanks Hannah, this magic stuff's a fun change from patching yourself up with stitches." He nods.
"Goblins of the river those blighters be, that they dared attack a vessel as packed as this is a worry." Roger strokes his beard.
Emma trudges back towards the ship, noticing Hawkren descending to lend her a hand. It's appreciated, given her luck over the past bit.
"Not my best showing," she grumbles, though she nods thankfully to Hawkren for the concern. "Are you alright? Sorry about earlier - I was hoping to reach the spellcaster in time to make a difference, but just ended up making a fool of myself instead I fear."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Hawk does his best imitation of looking puzzled, "A fool? You? No, no... I don't remember it that way at all. As I recall, we were attacked. Then you charged toward the villain, grabbed onto a rope, and swung gracefully down to the ground. You may have had your sword in your teeth. Which is amazing as it's an awfully big blade. Then you pursued the blackguard, forcing him to run away." He gives her a wink so slight it might not even have happened.
"I'm fine - thank you for asking. The same cannot be said for my tunic and vest, both need a wash. The true tragedy was the premature death of that ’27 Sasserean."
He waits for Emma to climb aboard before wading in to the wash his clothes.
Emma lets out a small laugh. She appreciates the exaggeration. "Yes, well, spend enough time with a pirate, and you begin to pick up on some tricks. Should they show their faces again, we shall repay them for wasting the wine."
He smiles, "I look forward to seeing that. I'm still in mourning over that bottle."
It's perhaps not the most comfortable night you've ever spent in the densely packed sleeping quarters of the boat, though far from the worst, and for Roger a night in a hammock is a pleasant reminder of bygone days. Still, after all of the earlier excitement, it is pleasantly uneventful.
The following morning starts cold but bright and the dew gathered on the banks of the Conerica soon dissipates under the warming glare of the sun as the Mermaid's Klivanion resumes its journey.
Once everybody is up and about, not to mention fed, Shel makes a beeline for Hawk. "Good morning Mister Hawk. I been thinking," she says, cutting to the chase, "and I'd like you to do my tattoo again please. Properly, I mean, with needles and inks and that." Although she is polite, there's a briskness to her tone and the warmth that she displayed towards you yesterday is somewhat lacking.
Majara quirks a thin smile at Hawkren's flattering exaggerations, but doesn't add to them. She gives the man a brief nod of silent acknowledgment for his contributions to the fight-- but nothing more. If he doesn't want to parade his abilities, she can understand that. Her recounting of the fight didn't mention that he was the one to send the last arcane volley, after all.
****
The next morning finds Majara once again fishing, taking advantage of the early window when the river fish will be biting. She's still pondering the attack of the day before, and the leader's parting phrase that she is, perhaps, overthinking, but her hands stay busy with bait and hooks, and a small bucket at her feet is holding the (scant) catch thus far.
She glances over at Shel with a quirked brow when the girl approaches, but says naught more-- though she does take the chance to study her own healing tattoo, rippling her hand beneath the morning sun light to watch the brief illusion of motion in the moth-wings. The skin around it is still red (and itches abominably) but supposedly all art has a price.
She shamelessly eavesdrops on Hawk and Shel as she casts her line once more into the waters.
The next day finds the tattooist enjoying the sunny deck... then Shel comes at him like an arrow.
Hawk doesn’t understand the shift in Shel’s mood, but then again… Teenagers tend toward moodiness, right? Killing with kindness may do the trick. ”Good morning, Miss Shel! I hope you slept well.”
When her brusque manner doesn’t soften, he continues. “I’m delighted that you love your painting enough that you want to make it permanent. I would be absolutely honored to do the work… but, I have to ask, have you thought this through? This will be on you forever. I’d hate to think you might look at it in ten years and not be happy to see it. Also, it’s a lot of needlework – pain – for your first time. Have you considered all that?”
From his kit, he pulls out a brush-like needle with a tight row of ‘teeth’. He shows it to the girl. ”I’ll be using this to push in all the colors for much of your tattoo. Would you like to see what it feels like on your other arm, so you have some idea of how much this is going to hurt?” He readies an alcohol swab, in case Shel is determined to try the needle.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Yes," Shel replies defensively. "I ain't a child, Mister Hawk," though she's doing a more than passable impression of one with that response. "It's a sunflower. I can't imagine not loving sunflowers," she says, more of her natural exuberance coming through. "And nobody knows how they will feel in ten years," which is hard to argue with, at least. She does look at the needle with a degree of trepidation, however, though she tries to mask it with bravado. "Well... if that's the only way then it's the only way. How long does it hurt for?" she asks. A thoughtful look comes onto Shel's face. "Can magical healing help with the pain?" she asks. "I could ask Miss Hannelia, I'm sure she wouldn't mind." She dismisses the fact that she's pretty sure that Hannelia would be asking the exact same questions that Hawk has.
Hawk’s reply is polished, this wasn’t the first time. ”And I’m not treating you like a child, Miss Shel. Whether a client is 14 or 40, if this was anyone’s first tattoo and it was this large and this full of color, be assured I’d be having the same conversation with them. There are a lot of unfinished tattoos in the world, Shel, done by tattooists who didn’t tell their clients what to expect and make sure they were ready for it.”
"Well... if that's the only way then it's the only way. How long does it hurt for?"
Hawk is pretty blunt. ”As long as I’m working, you’ll be in pain to one degree or another. With a piece like this… it will be several hours. After that, it will be sore for probably a week. Perhaps Miss Majara has an opinion to offer as her tattoo is still fresh.” He speaks up, though it is largely unnecessary given the alchemist’s shameless eavesdropping, ”Miss Pricknettle? How does your hand feel today? Could you use a bit more lineament?”
"Can magical healing help with the pain?"
He almost smiles, as Shel looks for a loophole. ”It’s not like getting stabbed. It hurts but you aren’t damaged… so I don’t think magical healing would help. I suppose if you were knocked unconscious with magic, you wouldn’t feel anything…”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Aches like the Abyss," Majara says nonchalantly when Hawk includes her in the conversation. "Though less so than getting splashed by boiling oils or burnt by quickamber. Itches, though. I've my own tinctures and salves to manage it, however, thank you."
The line is cast out again into the water and Majara turns her head over her shoulder to give Shel a blunt, unblinking, violet-eyed gaze.
"I think you should do it. Life is for the living of it. Regrets are inevitable. On the other hand, many tallfolk seem to think that whatever a gnome might advise, you ought do the opposite. Tcha."
Majara looks back to the waters.
Shel nods along at Hawk's spiel, finding it hard to refute what he's saying. "Well, thank you. I appreciate that," she says, though she does look apprehensive as he describes the pain. She also welcomes Majara's opinion, or at least the part that backs her up, choosing to ignore the part about the wisdom of taking advice from gnomes. She doesn't have enough experience of them to have an opinion on the matter but Majara seems sensible enough to Shel in the time she's known her. "Ok then," she says, summoning her courage - or possibly just her stubbornness - "can we try that test please, Mister Hawk?"
Hawk nods and positions his pack so Shel can sit comfortably on it. He wipes down her other forearm and runs a needle lightly across her skin, assessing her reactions. He holds her hand and flaps it a bit. ”The trick is to stay loose if you can, don’t tense up, and try to breathe through the pain.” He flaps her hand more, ”Relax, Shel.” When her hand stop resisting, he continues, ”OK, so the head of the flower is closer to your wrist. That’s good, the skin is generally less sensitive there. I’m going to use the needle now, just a few passes in a spot where a petal would be.” He uses the brush needle, simulating the act of pushing the paint beneath her skin in rows, even going so far as to remove the needle and pretending to get more paint from a pot. ”How did that feel?”
He drops the brush needle in a cleaning pot and pulls out a smaller and finer one with only a single row of teeth. He shows it to Shel and explains, ”I’ll use this for outlining and finer work like the stem… The stem is on your forearm - which is much more sensitive. Stay relaxed, just know I may hit a nerve here.” He runs the needle as if he was painting the stem and stops after he’s hit a particularly tender spot.
He releases her arm, drops the second needle into the cleaning pot, then gets out some lineament but doesn’t apply it yet… letting her experience the after-effects for a little while. ”We’re done, no more needles. That’s what it will be like, just a lot more of it.”
Shel does her best to relax as Hawk had said, but she finds it hard to do so when anticipating a needle in the arm. The tattoo artist was not lying when he said it would hurt and she feels a pricking sensation as it breaks her skin. Still, she is able to let out some of the tension now she knows what it feels like and isn’t as painful as she feared. ”That ain’t as bad as a stirge sting,” she says, relieved, though of course there’s a considerable difference between the test and the repeated scratches that will be required during the lengthy period of time that Hawk needs to actually ink the tattoo.
Once he withdraws the needle there is a sharp sensation that quickly becomes a duller ache. This part is worse than she was expecting, the needle lacking the natural anaesthetic property of a stirge bite. Shel sucks in air through her teeth and flexes her arm. ”Let’s do it,” she says after a pause, ”lots of people have tattoos and they must all go through this so I can too. And it’s such a pretty design it’ll be worth a bit of pain.” She tosses her blonde hair and forces a smile, looking to the obstinacy and pride of youth to see her through the next couple of hours.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Hawk nods, and applies the lineament to her abraded skin. ”You’re the client, Miss Lupescu.” He quickly mixes nearly a dozen pots of paint in various shades, using the existing colour palette on her arm as a guide. He preps his needles. ”My plan is to do all the outline work first. It’ll be a good place to stop, just in case it’s too much for you... Say goodbye to your sunflower.” He wipes the paint away with alcohol.
He regards his client, ”You know what might help… having someone to distract you. And you can squeeze their hand when it hurts. Clients swear it helps.” He looks around the deck for a not-pre-selected-candidate-in-any-way. ”Miss Blackford? Emma! Would you come over here, please?”
When the paladin arrives, he says innocently, ”Emma, Shel has decided to make her tattoo the real thing. I’m hoping you’d be willing to hold her hand and distract her while I’m working. I think it’ll help take her mind off the pain.”
Was it shameless and manipulative? Yeah, it was… but Hawk could live with it. Once the ladies are comfortable with the arrangement, Hawk gets to work. He wants to make it a great tattoo but he’s also conscious that Shel, as a first-timer, probably doesn’t have the stamina for him to work with excruciating care. So, he works through the lining and painting process at a good clip. He tries to ignore their conversation and focus on the work… And having his head down over the work hides his grin rather well.
Though there are several people on the deck of the ship, Emma manages to carve out a decently sized space to practice her swordsmanship. Regardless of Hawkren's kind words the night before, she still wasn't particularly happy with how her part in events had played out - apparently, it was her lot to either fall behind or fall off while trying to aid the other members of the party.
At a certain point, her eyes focus on a man wearing a colorful, yet casual, outfit, playing the flute as he leans against the railing of the ship. The tune he plays is haunting - melodic and moody but somehow uplifting at the same time.
In turn, he has been watching her practice. She acknowledges the attention with a slight nod.
"Morning, stranger," she says.
"Morning, Miss Blackford," he acknowledges. "That's some fine sword technique you have there. A Paladin of Iomeade, eh?"
"What gave it away?" Emma retorts with a half smile as she pokes at her symbol of Iomeade, though she narrows her eyes a moment later. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage...?"
"Oh me? I'm no one important. Call me Wit."
"Wit, huh?" Emma says. "And what exactly is it that you do, Mr. Wit, besides making cryptic observations?"
"Oh, this and that," Wit replies airily, waving his flute. "I'm a musician, a storyteller, an observer of the human condition. I go where the wind takes me and try to bring a bit of color and insight to the lives I touch along the way."
Emma raises an eyebrow. "How poetic. And what insights have you gleaned about me, pray tell?"
Wit laughs. "All in good time, Miss Blackford. But I will say this - don't underestimate the importance of your role, even if it seems humble or overlooked. Always remember the most important words. The smallest cog can sometimes turn the greatest wheels." He lifts his flute to his lips once more and starts to play.
Emma frowns at the odd man, but a moment later, Hawkren's voice carries across the deck. "Miss Blackford? Emma! Would you come over here, please?"
"It seems duty calls," she tells Wit, though the man ignores her and continues to play his flute.
Mulling over the odd conversation, she finds Hawkren standing near Shel - and thoughts of the odd man vanish at once as she eyes the scene. Another tattoo? Something else? There's something about the look on Hawkren's face that makes Emma a bit wary.
"Hawkren - Shel - what's going on?"
"Emma, Shel has decided to make her tattoo the real thing. I’m hoping you’d be willing to hold her hand and distract her while I’m working. I think it’ll help take her mind off the pain."
What do I do? she thinks. Her first wild urge is to fall off the ship again - at least she knows she's adept at doing that. What would Hannelia do? she thinks next, before dismissing the thought considering Hannelia once exchanged her eyes with another creature.
A thousand thoughts and possibilities swim in Emma's head before she finally squeaks out a response. "Uh. Yeah! Sure!"
Alas. She's a Paladin after all - not a Bard.
Blushing at Hawk's request of Emma, Shel shoots Hawk a panicked look. She is too busy worrying about how to deal with the situation to have any suspicion that the man knows exactly what he's doing. "Uh, that's awful nice of you to think about me and help and all," she garbles, "but I'll be fine. I'm sure Miss Emma has other important, ah... paladin things to be doing and didn't you say this was going to take hours anyway?"
In her agitation her foot connects with one of Hawk's bottles and it topples over onto the deck with a loud clink. Fortunately the vessel is both empty and doesn't break but Shel is acutely conscious that she's not giving a great account of herself here, only adding to her embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Mister Hawk," she says, "I'm fine, honest. I just want to get started so it's over sooner and I don't want to be taking up more of anyone's time." She looks at Emma as she says this last bit but can't bring herself to meet the paladin's eye.
What’s that old adage? “You can lead a horse to water… but you can’t make her snog with that other cute filly at the trough even though she really, really wants to.” It was something like that.
Emma’s glare is a flashback for Hawk. It is strikingly similar to her mother’s. Ayep… She’s going to kill me. What is it with these Blackford women?!
Hawk debates bending to Shel’s wishes… which are conflicting with some of her desires, or so it seems. Or at least they are conflicting with the small ember of hopeless romantic in his soul. It would be an easy strategic withdrawal to ‘the client wishes…’ for him. But Emma’s glare makes it clear he’s doomed, one way or the other.
If I’m going to Hell, might as well earn the trip.
”Miss Shel, I’m starting with the outlining on some of the most sensitive parts of your arm. I want this tattoo to be as good as I can make it, since you are going to wear it for the rest of your life. Having you flinch or twitch at the wrong moment could ruin my lines,” he exaggerates. ”Let’s compromise. Miss Emma can keep you company while I’m doing the outlining. It should be a half hour or less. Then you two can decide whether you’d like her to sit with you longer. I’m sure Miss Emma can afford to put her sword down for thirty minutes to be here for you.” Without glancing at the paladin, he can almost feel the masterwork daggers coming from Emma’s eyes, a solid dozen of them. Hell-bound, for sure.
Shel mutters something inaudible about knowing what would actually help her relax if anyone bothered to ask her, but she complies with Hawk’s request. At the Varisian’s direction she takes a seat ready for him to begin his work.
After glaring a few more daggers at Hawkren, Emma shifts her gaze to Shel with a softened look. "No, no," she says. "I don't have anything more pressing going on aside from the random philosophical conversation. I'd be happy to keep you company while he works." She drags over a small crate to use as a makeshift stool. "How are you liking the journey so far, by the way? I know we haven't gone far, but still... and just in case you're worrying we're not listening - if there is something I can do to help you relax - even if it means me leaving or going to retrieve something - then please just say so."
Shel manages a ”Thank you,” without mangling her words and places a clammy hand in Emma’s, giving the swordswoman’s calloused fingers a tentative squeeze. ”Uh.. I’m ok, Miss Emma, this is real kind of you.”
As the morning passes, Hawk works away diligently at Shel’s tattoo. Once he completes the sunflower’s outline he stops for a break and to ensure that she’s happy for him to continue. She confirms that she is, the pain now being familiar, if not exactly diminished, and trusting to sheer determination and the promise of the destination to see her through. She’s not wrong on this as Hawk is undoubtedly a talented artist and the finished work is a triumph. For all of her earlier moodiness, her joy when it’s done is hard to contain.
Hawk’s attempts at matchmaking are rather more mixed, with Shel struggling to meet the paladin’s eye and the conversation doesn’t exact flow. ”Sorry, Miss Emma, I’ve not been much for talking. I’ve just been trying to keep my mind focused and block out where my arm is hurting,” she says, which is honest, if not exactly the whole truth.
Hannelia discovers the tattoo is happening once the colouring is well underway and Emma has been released from distraction duties. She sighs, not entirely thrilled by Shel’s impulsive decision, but she is positive in the face of the girl’s enthusiasm and waits until after the work is complete before having a quiet word for Hawk. The Varisian braces, prepared to defend himself for taking on the work. Sensing this, she tells him to relax. ”I’m not her mother, and even if I was, do you honestly think she’d listen to me? Or indeed anyone else - I know you talked to her about the fact it’s a permanent piece of art and that she should think it through. Ultimately it’s Shel’s body and her choice.” She smiles. ”Besides, I’ve seen your work and you’re both talented and professional and I respect that. I’d much rather someone who takes their craft seriously does it than have her running off to some sketchy place with questionable hygiene practices as soon as we get to Saringallow. Ultimately, you’ve made a young girl very happy and that can only be a good thing.”
Around midday the tributary from Elidir ends and the Mermaid’s Klivanion joins the Conerica proper. The change is not immediate but after a while there is a notable increase in river traffic in keeping with now being on the main trade route between Cheliax and Druma. It is one both nations are keen to see thrive, even if neither is particularly concerned by the fate of Isger outside of that. By mid afternoon the terrain is more familiar, the dense woodland north of Saringallow giving way to undulating farmland and signalling that you are nearly home.
Saringallow’s docks aren’t large enough to truly be described as a hive of activity but there are multiple vessels there when you arrive. ”Alright Arauna, let’s have you over here then,” a voice calls from across the water. Calannie Thistletop, the bluff, short-haired dockmistress is signalling where to moor the barge. Once that is done, her lieutenant, an immaculately-dressed halfling by the name of Halmam Sturdytoes, boards to take a fastidious record of the cargo and passenger list before, finally, you can disembark. Captain Rufinus bids you farewell, promising free passage in the future, should you require it, as thanks for repelling the merrow attack.
As you exit from the dockside you can hear Calannie bawl someone out for dropping a crate and sending cabbages spilling out all over the place before Halmam steps in to calm things down. They make an odd couple, the one swelling like the Conerica in a winter storm, the other placid as a tranquil lake, but they work well together and Saringallow’s docks have undoubtedly run a lot better in the years since the two of them have been in charge.
Having been out of town for a month you all have things to do and affairs to set in order, not the least of which is Constantine. The consensus had been to take him to the temple of Erastil and leave his troubled mind in the care of Father Ruvarra and his acolytes. With this in hand but your own immediate businesses to attend to, the Saringallow Seekers agree to meet up for dinner at the Witch’s End in a few days.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Upon arrival at Saringallow, Hannelia bids the others farewell, promising to catch up soon once she has things in order. Naturally she has planned things out but she still needs to put them into operation. First she heads home with Shel, introducing their new houseguest to her father. If Cammus Venator is fazed by this he doesn’t show it and welcomes Shel into the family home with his customary patience and good grace.
When Hannelia has a chance she fills him in properly on the events in Ravenmoor and Shel’s story in particular, including the loss of her mother. ”So she’s had a terrible time of things and she’s got a lot to adjust to. I doubt it will be either quick or easy.” Her father rests an arm on her shoulder. ”Probably not, but we just have to support her as best we can, whether that’s with company, space or whatever else she needs to help her with her grief.”
It is a period of adjustment for everyone, Shel flipping from the bright and inquisitive girl who had first caught Hannelia’s interest to raging hysterics seemingly on the toss of a coin. Hannelia sometimes catches her father giving her knowing looks as she struggles to deal with Shel’s volatile emotions and wilder mood swings. ”You might have been a teenage girl,” he tells Hannelia with a small smile, [/b]”but I lived with one. You got through it though and I reckon you turned out alright.”[/b]
”I’m sorry, Dad. You did an amazing job raising me,” she says.
”Nothing to apologise for. Growing up is a phase everyone goes through, not always easy on anyone, but it’s a necessary one. You did a good thing and a hard thing taking on responsibility for her – and you’re doing fine,” he reassures her. ”Shel will be fine.”
And over the next few weeks Cammus is proved right. The worst of Shel’s storms subside and the three begin to fully settle into their new rhythms. Hannelia had never given much thought to what it would be like to have a sibling. For obvious reasons it was not ever on the cards and one more mouth to feed during the lean years would have been an additional hardship, albeit one she has no doubts that Cammus Venator would have somehow managed. She has never asked her father about whether he may have wanted more children for equally obvious reasons. But she finds she has started to feel sisterly towards Shel and, pleasingly, she discovers that she likes it. It’s a change to the family dynamic for all of them but as far as Hannelia is concerned - and both Shel and her father echo her sentiments - it’s a positive one.
* * * * *
A week or so after returning back Hannelia has lunch with Roger and Majara at the Witch’s End. ”It’s exhausting,” Hannelia admits. ”We’re all figuring things out but Shel’s still very up and down. I think she is at least enjoying the stability of not being on the move every day.”
Majara responds with a lengthy list of pros and cons regarding youth behaviour and the merits of how to deal with them that feel almost like she’s reciting them from a ledger. As ever, Roger’s advice is more to the point: ”Ye can’t stop the tide so ye’re crazy to try. Sometimes ye’ve just gotta ride the waves.” Over the coming weeks Hannelia finds herself regularly reflecting on this and accepting its wisdom.
Her companions both tell her that the previous day a couple pledged in service to Desna had called in here and at Pricknettle’s Poultices and Potions. Word of the group’s deeds in Ravenmoor has spread, at least within certain networks, and the pair wanted to get a first-hand account. They are heading to the village to offer religious support and succour to the beleaguered townsfolk, and to address the corruption of the faith of the Song of the Spheres into worship of Ghlaunder.
Perhaps two weeks after that an itinerant priest of Desna, a younger man with twinkling eyes, makes a similar request of Hannelia. At the time she is at the temple visiting Constantine and, to her surprise, the occultist launches into a detailed account of their deeds, including the history of Ravenmoor and its decades in thrall to the Krieglers and their foul deity. She takes this as a good sign as Constantine is alert for a long period, speaks with clarity and by virtue of his account must have absorbed everything that had happened, even if he showed few outward signs of this at the time.
Hannelia suspects the priesthood may have their work cut out but she’s glad that someone is going to help the villagers, even if they may be wary of both preachers and outsiders right now. Maybe she’s being pessimistic; perhaps the Desnan missionaries will find a willing audience given the religious hole left by the demise of the cult of the Gossamer King. She hopes so, anyway.
Over dinner with the Saringallow Seekers not too long after the return Hannelia presents the party with a manuscript titled The Ravenmoor Conspiracy. ”I’m completely in agreement with you on this one, Roger,” she says. ”That’s definitely a far better title than The Conspiracy in Ravenmoor. I had plenty of time to write on the boat when I was sat with Constantine and working my way through the Kriegler Book. The latter was very helpful in adding context to our tale. I hope I’ve done things justice but let me know if you think I need to make any revisions.” She looks to each of them in turn, pleased to be sharing a meal with friends in more normal circumstances. The only mark against it, and Hannelia concedes that it’s a fairly big one, is the absence of Constantine.
* * * * *
Constantine. Poor beleaguered Constantine. If Hannelia had been hoping that being out of Ravenmoor and away from the source of his trauma would help, her hopes were somewhat dashed. Although there has been no repeat of his vision or inability to converse in the common tongue, he spent much of the return journey mute, seemingly lost inside his own head. With that, her hopes had turned primarily to the temple of Erastil in Saringallow. Time and space to recuperate under the ministrations of Father Ruvarra and his acolytes seemed the most likely place to nurse him back to full health. But the longer his condition lasted, the more worried Hannelia was that her friend might never recover and she simply wasn’t ready to countenance that.
Feeling guilty that she had left it to the others to initially arrange his care, even if she also had responsibilities to Shel, she called in to see him when she could. Father Ruvarra had gently warned her not to expect miracles and that progress would take time. The idea of taking him to the Sarini Estate, supported by his friends, is mooted to help him remember who he is, though obvious counter arguments were made that it too could bring back troublesome memories. Hannelia had, probably unsurprisingly, been on the side of caution but in the face of his otherwise glacial progress she came round to the idea that it was worth a try.
And it seemed to work. Perhaps it was coincidence but upon his return to the temple from the manor there was a change in Constantine. Slowly but surely he seemed to find himself, both with increasing regularity and for longer periods of time. Hannelia still felt he wasn’t quite who he was before, even when he was fully engaged he seemed to her more placid, showing less of the fierce intelligence, inquisitiveness, and boldness than he had previously. She questioned whether this was a self-defence mechanism, a way of protecting himself until his mind and spirit were fully ready to confront what had happened. Perhaps he will never be able to get to this position but as far as Hannelia is concerned Constantine has always been a fighter and she still believes in her friend.
* * * * *
For the first couple of weeks Hannelia is happy to just let Shel settle and choose what she wants to do. She offers the girl the opportunity to accompany her on various errands, which are taken up or not depending on how Shel is feeling at that particular moment. Hannelia doesn’t let her join any meetings with clients, deeming that to be unprofessional. Not that she has much opportunity for them, given how busy she has been with other things. What she has been doing is reaching out to people, calling in favours and trying to set up opportunities for Shel. When the girl is in good spirits she is inquisitive and keen to be doing things. AsHannelia had said that she could probably do anything that she wanted and has made good on her promise with a variety of options, Shel is more than happy to try her hand at anything. Certainly it would be fair to say that she applied herself with enthusiasm, even if her interest and skill levels varied widely.
After bemoaning a fairly disastrous first attempt as an apprentice seamstress, Hannelia tells her not to give up. ”Most people aren’t very good at things the first time they try them. Sure, some people have more of a natural aptitude for things but mostly it’s practice. Mistress Orliana can measure a customer’s size by eye and hem a dress in minutes but I’m sure she couldn’t when she was first apprenticed. And Mister Grundle said he really appreciated your help at Saringallow Sundries,” she says kindly. ”Maybe that’s because you naturally have a good way with people, maybe it’s because you know how to do it from helping your parents in the shop. Maybe it’s both. And maybe you’re doomed to be forever unable to sew well,” Hannelia grins to show that she’s joking. ”And that’s ok - nobody is good at everything.” Hannelia chooses not to add that she hates being bad at things, chalking that one up to personal growth in not passing on her own shortcomings to Shel. ”Most important, though, is to find what you like doing. If you enjoy it you’ll almost certainly do a better job. And there’s no rush, ok?”
The place Shel seemed hesitant to go - and admitted as much when Hannelia quizzed her on it - was the temple of Erastil. Given her experiences of Golarian’s pantheon has been limited to the worship of Ghlaunder, the teachings of Mayor Kriegler, and the events that unfolded when the group came to Ravenmoor, Shel expresses a wariness about religion and the gods. [i]Which is all absolutely fair enough,[/b] Hannelia conceded, chiding herself for not foreseeing that might be a barrier. She had only focused on what she saw as the potential benefits to Shel: the opportunity to learn more and acquire knowledge from Father Ruvarra and the opportunity to tend the sick and provide aid to those in need.
Overcoming her reluctance - mostly - she agreed to accompany Hannelia in the first instance to visit Constantine. Shel’s worries were somewhat assuaged by others telling her that Ildris Ruvarra is a good-hearted and kindly man, though of course the Mayor of Ravenmoor too had a formidable reputation. Upon meeting him, however, she relaxed - his humility and care for the people under his guardianship couldn’t contrast more strongly with Andretti Kriegler’s oleaginous charm and dominant personality. The meeting in this instance was a brief one as Hannelia introduces Shel and Father Kriegler leads them to Constantine’s chamber.
As he opens the door, a mouse scampers across the floor out of sight. ”I do apologise - I think the cats are going soft in their old age,” he smiles good naturedly.
Shel looks horrified at the thought, before adding defensively, ”I know it happens but I don’t like to think about it.” Impulsively she asks, ”Miss Hannelia… sorry, Hannelia, if we can catch it, can I keep it? I always wanted a pet but I weren’t never allowed a stirge when I was little. Momma never liked them much,” she explains. ”A mouse wouldn’t take much looking after and I’m sure it wouldn’t be no trouble. Please Hannelia.”
Father Ruvarra smiles ruefully, ”You’re welcome, with the church’s blessing.” He catches Hannelia’s eye with a look to say ‘Who am I to turn down such a heartfelt plea?’
Hannelia tries not to roll her eyes but she knows she has been well and truly skewered here. ”Ok. Yes, I suppose so,” she agrees and the joy on Shel’s face makes any potential inconvenience that bit easier to bear.
”Thank you!” she beams, throwing her arms around Hannelia.
”So that’s how we’ve come to acquire six mice,” Hannelia explains to an amused Cammus back home later, for it soon became apparent that the mouse had a family. The three of them are busy making a new home for them. Cammus finds a sturdy box and lines it with comfortable bedding to nest in. Hannelia is in her element tinkering with a series of locks and doors in order to be able to take them out easily, put in food and water, and clean the box out. Shel mostly watches with delight while a grey mouse excitedly scampers up and down her arm. She seems very taken with her new pets and, as the priest had put it when they departed with their new brood, ”Erastil watches over all families.”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
After the first visit to the temple Shel seems to have overcome her initial doubts and began to visit for lessons from Father Ruvarra about the gods. Unsurprisingly they start with Erastil and she finds that Old Deadeye’s care for family and community makes sense to her. She also gets a basic tour through the pantheon, blushing as she recalls the priestess of Calistria from the Mermaid’s Klivanion, and tries to work out where her beliefs mostly lie. ”You don’t have to pick one,” Father Ruvarra explains kindly, ”and you don’t need to be in a hurry. I might have given my life in service to Erastil but that doesn’t mean I don’t thank Sarenrae for the dawn. It’s very few who will take a monotheistic position and exclude all others.” Hannelia had explained the background in Ravenmoor and the priest had done his best to assuage Shel’s fears, particularly as she opened up and started asking more questions.
Similarly, she asks Hannelia about Desna, still cautious because of her being wrapped up and distorted when presented as the Dream Tender, but aware now that what she had grown up knowing wasn’t by any means a complete picture. ”She ultimately just speaks to me most,” Hannelia says. ”Not everything and not all the time, it’s mostly the luck and adventure aspects. Much like the good Father, I also like a lot of things about Erastil - I’m grateful for the family I have.” She puts an arm around Shel. ”And Irori’s pursuit of knowledge and focus on practice speaks to me too. But Desna sits closest to my heart.” She gives Shel’s arm a squeeze. ”Try not to worry about it. You’re understandably working through a lot of new information and it probably feels a bit overwhelming. Maybe it’s better to look at it a different way - what is in your heart and what you believe has always been there, you just don’t necessarily have a name to put on it yet.”
Hannelia is initially a little concerned that Shel is still worrying about this as she suddenly starts attending the temple with a much greater frequency. A little gentle questioning soon solves this riddle as Shel is only too happy to talk about the new friend that she has made and the two seem to become close extremely quickly.
Jhessa Florica is an acolyte of Shelyn and, like Shel, new to town. She has recently moved with her family of woodcutters and carvers from a small town on the edge of the Fangwood in Nirmathas. From what Hannelia can glean they have relocated for work reasons although there was also some kind of situation that the girl had been involved with at the local tomb when a ceremony had gone horribly wrong. Being sociable, of an age with Shel, and lonely from being taken away from the comforts and familiarity of home, it is hardly surprising that the two young women hit it off immediately.
The fact that her new friend is a follower of the Eternal Rose seems to particularly interest Shel, which Hannelia takes to mean she has perhaps found her patron. When asked about it, however, she is weirdly cagey about it. After some serious deliberation, Shel decides it is safe to share her biggest secret with Hannelia. ”So,” she says. ”Shelyn is my full name but I always had to keep it secret. Poppa had heared about this goddess of beauty somewhere and when I was born he said I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen so he named me after her.” She colours at the words, though at least it is a happier memory of her father given the more strained relations between them of late. ”But Mayor Kriegler taught us that all of the other gods were bad and had betrayed and shunned the Dream Tender. We weren’t never allowed to name them or know anything about them as a result of their crimes. So it was important that nobody ever knew that was my real name,” she explains.
”Well I think it was very well chosen” Hannelia says. ”I would never have guessed that though and I won’t be telling anyone either unless you want me to - that’s your story.” Shel looks mostly relieved but also more than a little flattered at this response. ”And you don’t always have to meet at the temple,” she says. While she doesn’t doubt that the girls go about their duties diligently, she’s also fairly sure that Father Ruvarra and those under Old Deadeye’s care don’t need the pair of them gossiping and giggling and constantly underfoot. ”Jhessa is welcome here any time. Why don’t you ask her over to dinner?”
”Can I?” Shel asks excitedly.
”Of course,” Hannelia smiles. ”It’s your house too.” Plus I’ll get to meet her rather than hear everything second hand, she thinks, having already heard rather a lot about how amazing Shel’s new friend is.
The first thing that strikes Hannelia about Jhessa is that she is head-turningly pretty. Petite, with a dancer’s figure and an artful tangle of blonde hair, she is undeniably attractive. Shel had described her as beautiful but Hannelia had put this down to the way most teenagers exaggerate and play up their friends’ qualities. In this case at least she had been on the mark.
She is clearly aware that others find her attractive but Hannelia is impressed that she doesn’t just trade off her looks, or at the very least is judicious in doing so. Jhessa also seems to have a good store of common sense and is a decent conversationalist and listener, though Hannelia finds her a touch pious on first impression. She also thinks she might be a little naive; not as much as Shel, though given her ordeal in the local tomb and the fact she survived it suggests that she has something about her. Ever-practical, Hannelia is not upset about the fact she can look after herself but she is sympathetic to the fact that she is young and the affair was unasked for. To be fair many people in such situations don’t go looking for trouble. Overall she likes the girl and it’s easy to see why her and Shel have hit it off.
What is also clear to Hannelia is that Shel has something of a crush on her new friend, though she doesn’t sense that Jhessa’s feelings extend beyond friendship. Although she is hesitant to involve herself, she can’t bear the thought of Shel facing further pain and potentially jeopardising this new relationship.
As it turns out, an opportunity presents itself to speak to Jhessa privately a couple of days later. While Hannelia has carefully considered words ready to go, the girl pre-empts her anyway. ”I know,” she sighs, a frown wrinkling her beautiful face. ”I’m trying to be careful and not give her false hope. I’m not looking forward to it but I guess I’d rather talk to her about it sooner rather than later. It doesn’t help to drag these things out. I’ll be kind - I don’t want to hurt her and I love having her as a friend,” she reassures Hannelia. ”And this… well, it isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this.” She smiles ruefully. ”I hope I’m getting better at it too.”
”And I hope you don’t mind me saying but I don’t think Shel would thank you for interfering. I won’t say anything to her.” Jhessa hesitates, looking torn on whether she should say whatever is on her mind. ”While we’re on the subject of unasked for advice-“ Hannelia acknowledges the admonishment with a nod, looking a bit abashed. ”I think you worry too much. Shel thinks the world of you for everything you’ve done for her. And I know you’re just trying to protect her with this but you can’t do everything for her. That’s what she got so frustrated about with her parents. I know you know all this because she’s talked to me about it and how you didn’t treat her like a child.” She rubs the sleeve of her dress. ”So maybe this is a reminder that you can’t stop her having her own experiences and, well, not all of them will go the way she wants. None of us get what we want all the time.” She smiles sadly at the truth of her words.
”I’m sorry, you’re right - I’ve overstepped here,” Hannelia says, feeling embarrassed. More than anything else she has done, Hannelia is impressed with the maturity and wisdom Jhessa is showing, well beyond her years and, most likely, more than some people ever achieve. ”I’ve intruded on Shel’s boundaries, and yours, though you’ve been too polite to say that. You have good sense and a good heart, Jhessa, and you should hold onto those things. I’m really glad Shel has you for a friend.”
The girl blushes delicately at the compliment. ”I’m lucky to have her too. It’s made having moved here a lot easier since I met Shel. Maybe it’s Shelyn’s will and we were destined to be friends”, Jhessa says.
As the two of them have been having an honest conversation, she ventures, ”Can I ask you a question?” Hannelia nods encouragement so Jhessa continues. ”It’s about your friend Emma… Suppose someone were to enquire about her romantic feelings, what would you say?”
Laughing, Hannelia says, ”I think it’s safe to suppose that someone has already asked you about it, probably multiple times. First, whatever advice you’ve given Shel, I’m sure it’s good. Second,” she pauses for a beat, trying to come up with the right words but ultimately settles for the cliche of ”it’s complicated.” She locks her hazel eyes on Jhessa’s sparkling blue ones. ”I mean on some levels it’s really not, but - and I mean this with a huge amount of affection for both of them -” she sighs heavily, ”neither of them make this easy.”
”Let’s start with Shel. I think she’s had a crush on Emma since she first set eyes on her. And that’s before we get to the whole hero who saved her and her village thing. It’s a powerful narrative and I’m certainly not criticising her for that but it does rather elevate someone to a status that they can’t realistically live up to. And it doesn’t help that when she’s in Emma’s presence Shel turns into a fumble-tongued idiot with all the grace of a zombie,” she adds drily.
Jhessa laughs and nods. ”I’ve met Emma briefly a couple of times and the first time Shel dropped a tray of food and the second she somehow managed to spill ink all over her sleeve. I still don’t really understand where the ink came from,” she says fondly. ”But I take your point.”
”And she’s young, Jhessa, and as far as I’m aware inexperienced. You may know otherwise and I’m not asking you to betray her trust. I’m sure you know this but Shel grew up in a small isolated place and her tastes run in a different direction to a lot of people so I can’t imagine she had many opportunities.” Hannelia stops, weighing up whether to share what she wants to say but quickly realises that she trusts Jhessa. ”When I first met Shel - in fact before I’d even actually met her - her mother was trying to marry her off.” She registers the shocked expression on the girl’s face. ”I don’t know if her parents knew that she likes women and disapproved, if they were unaware but were trying to pair her up anyway, or even if it was something altogether darker as part of the Ravenmoor cult. I don’t suppose it necessarily matters much but hopefully it illustrates my point.” Jhessa nods - it does indeed. I don’t know if Shel knew they were doing that or, if she does, whether she’s aware that I know so I’d appreciate it if you can please keep this between us,” she adds.
”So it’s not just that she’s young but she’s led a pretty sheltered and different life to a lot of people. It’s been a steep learning curve for her coming to Saringallow in all kinds of ways. To your earlier point, I can’t protect her from everything and I don’t want to get in the way of her growing up and living her life but I am saying to remember that Shel has some additional barriers and things to work through.”
Jhessa looks like she’s going to argue but holds her tongue before replying. ”Yeah, ok,” she admits. ”Sometimes it’s easy to forget when we’re talking about things and she’ll ask about something that I just take for granted. And it’s not like I’m some hard-bitten big city girl,” she smiles.
”On top of that there is a bit of an age gap between them. Not a big one and one that would become increasingly irrelevant but Shel is at an age where you do go through a lot of change - and we’ve just talked about the things that make it that bit harder for her.” Hannelia tugs at her ponytail. ”Although now I think about it, in her own way Emma has led quite a sheltered life. She also grew up in a small place and her life has always been pledged in service to Iomedae. Now judging from some of the stories I’ve heard, a military life can be pretty colourful but it’s also a highly regimented particular kind of existence. It’s only this last year or so that she’s really left Piren’s Bluff.”
She ponders further. ”I suppose this is a bit of a similar blind spot for me here - it’s easy to forget because she’s my friend and because, well, she is a hero, even if she would never claim that mantle. She’s courageous, strong of heart and mind, and more than lives up to her ideals. I trust her with my life. Literally.”
”But one thing that I am very much aware of is that she can be pretty oblivious to things happening around her. Especially when it comes to people.” Hannelia sighs again. ”When we were coming back from Ravenmoor, Hawk - the man who did Shel’s tattoo - hit it off with Emma and invited her for a romantic evening. Yes, I know,” she adds, seeing that Jhessa looks about to interrupt. ”Naturally Emma didn’t pick up on his intentions and invited me along, conveyed in such a guileless way that I didn’t realise either and came with her!” She rolls her eyes.
Jhessa giggles, tossing her blonde ringlets out of her face. ”It does sound like maybe she needs a chaperone. What did you do?”
”As soon as I spotted the set up - candles, wine - I realised what was going on and explained as much to Emma. Told her to relax, not do anything stupid and try and have fun. Which I actually think she did.” Hannelia omits the battle with the merrow as it isn’t relevant to the matter at hand. ”So you see what we’re dealing with here.”
”On the plus side, she is at least aware that Shel might be interested, mostly because I’ve mentioned it to her. And I don’t think she’s averse to it as an idea. Though that’s not the same as actually doing anything about it.” She smiles slightly. ”It doesn’t help that she rarely sees Shel at her best because she’s too busy turning into a human gelatinous cube when Emma is around.” Jhessa looks puzzled at the reference so Hannelia explains. ”A kind of ooze creature, the name is pretty descriptive.”
Jhessa laughs before reflecting, ”Yes, I see what you mean. It sounds simple as they are two people who seem to like each other, only they haven’t really got to know each other too well and I guess there are more obstacles than I’d like. It’s easier to navigate relationships when you have more experience to draw on. Though my first heartbreak led me to Shelyn’s grace, so I think maybe that had to happen in order to set me on this path,” she adds, a touch sanctimoniously.
”Wish I could say the same,” Hannelia says with a wince. ”I didn’t cover myself in glory with mine, even though I was the wronged party. But you’re right, longer term I learned some important lessons about myself, and other people. The thought of either of them being hurt doesn’t fill me with joy. She holds up a hand to stop Jhessa interrupting. ”But this isn’t about me and I’m certainly not going to get in their way. I would love them to find happiness and sometimes to do that, it means you have to take a risk and be vulnerable. Neither of which are things that come naturally to me but I’ve learned that for what’s really important it’s worth it. And I am good at working at problems to improve the odds.”
”Wise words,” Jhessa agrees. ”I think that shows real self-knowledge to learn and understand yourself like that. But what can we actually do to help?”
Hannelia rubs the heel of her hand against her forehead, thinking for a moment. ”Well, we should probably start by talking to them. Use some of these ‘wise words’ on them to gauge their interest and help them understand what some of the challenges might be. And encourage them to spend some time together properly to let things develop naturally.” She grins. ”Part of me just thinks we should lock them in a room with some scented candles, a crate of wine and get you to consecrate it to Shelyn to help them along. But another part of me knows that one of them will somehow end up setting fire to themselves.”
Jhessa laughs. ”Ok, perhaps not exactly that. But it sounds like a plan. Thank you, Hannelia,” she says earnestly and she steps gracefully over to the older woman and pulls her into a hug.
Hannelia is slightly surprised by the show of affection - though given Shel’s nature and the similarities with her friend she probably shouldn’t have been - but she returns it with real warmth. ”Thank you too. I think I needed that and I think we have a way forward.”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
As midsummer rolls into high summer, Hannelia’s name day comes round once again. Using it as an opportunity to reflect on her life compared to a year ago, things have certainly changed, particularly since Mayor Trinelli’s call for help just as spring began to dawn. In the months since, she has been thrown together with a group of companions - now friends - and worked with them to achieve some notable victories over malign forces.
It hasn’t all gone exactly how she would have liked - their deeds in Ravenmoor came with a heavy price, not least to Constantine - but Hannelia is proud of what they have accomplished. She knows that things cannot be perfect, even if accepting that doesn’t come easily to her, and she resolves to continue to do the best she can. She also reflects on that and the other ways she has grown as a person in this time. Although she remains cautious, some of her walls have been lowered and she is grateful to have found common cause with the other members of the Saringallow Seekers. It has built on her work with Zuke and given her newfound purpose.
Likewise the additional responsibility she has taken on in the form of Shel. Exactly what her relationship is with Shel is not easy to articulate - an adopted sister is how she is starting to think of her - but for the time being at least she is a de facto part of the Venator family and that’s certainly a good thing as far as Hannelia is concerned. It may have been a fairly quick-snap decision to offer Shel a route out but her instincts have so far not let her down as the girl has grasped the new life offered and is taking the first steps on her own journey. As challenging and maddening as she can be at times, it has been exceeded by the myriad ways Shel has enriched her life and Hannelia is delighted to watch her grow and, ultimately, she hopes, thrive.
Arguably the most significant way in which Shel changes occurs a few days later. Hannelia returns home one afternoon to find Shel absolutely fizzing with energy. The whole gamut of human emotion appears to be playing out inside her, though worry and joy, intermingled with some pride and a touch of fear, seem to be chief among them. A lot of words tumble out of her, along with the emotions she is radiating, so Hannelia struggles to make sense of things. When she gets Shel to calm down enough to explain, she picks up that something has happened to Coriander, one of Shel’s mice. No sooner has she grasped this critical information than Shel grabs her hand and pulls her into her room.
What Hannelia learns is that Coriander had fallen from the tabletop in the kitchen, landing awkwardly. ”She was still alive but she weren’t able to move at all. I think she had broken her back and was paralysed. And of course Sage and the kids were all running round like crazy in a mad panic. I felt like that too,” Shel admits, ”Poor little thing.”
Looking into the mice’s house, Hannelia counts six healthy creatures. ”But she looks ok to me,” she says, puzzled.
”I know. I healed her,” Shel replies proudly. Hannelia knows that Father Ruvarra had been teaching her basic care skills at the temple but no amount of talent there is going to do much for a broken spine. ”I’m not sure that's possible, Shel,” she says gently. ”Or maybe she wasn’t as badly hurt as you thought.”
”No, I healed her, Hannelia,” Shel beams.
Realisation dawns on Hannelia’s face. ”Wow, Shel!” she breathes. ”That’s amazing!” She pulls her into a hug. ”So Shelyn has answered your prayers, huh?”
Shel extricates herself from Hannelia’s embrace and shakes her head. ”I don’t think so,” she says, a more serious look on her face. ”I been saying my prayers but I don’t think it was like how Jhesssa does it. And I don’t think it was like how you do it neither.” She bites her lip, looking unsure. ” Hannelia nods encouragement and she begins tentatively, [b]”This is going to sound crazy…”
”I’ve seen plenty of strange things in the last few months, I don’t know that this is going to be any stranger than anything else,” Hannelia says kindly. ”And whatever it is, I have no reason to disbelieve you.”
Looking at least somewhat reassured, Shel flushes pink and blurts out, ”Sage told me how to do it!” She points at the largest grey mouse.
That wasn’t what Hannelia was expecting but she keeps her face neutral. ”Ok,” she says, trying to digest this information, ”Ok.”
”I’m not mad,” Shel says defiantly. ”He… he’s been talking to me for a while now. But I didn’t know he knew magic until today. He was in such a state about Coriander, as you can imagine, that he just told me how to use it to help her.”
”Can they all talk to you?” Hannelia asks.
Shel shakes her head. ”Just Sage. Coriander can’t. Nor Rosemary, Marjoram or Parsley. Sometimes I think Sorrel looks like she wants to but maybe she’s a bit shy.”
Hannelia nods thoughtfully, brushing her hair behind her ears. She has heard of numerous ways that individuals can access magic and other powers. This seems unusual but probably no weirder than any other method when she stops to think about it. Certainly many stories abound of wizards with various kinds of magical pets. ”Are you sure?” she asks, quickly holding up a hand and saying, ”I believe you!” when Shel prickles at the question. ”I’m just checking and trying to understand.”
”Yeah. I weren’t sure either to start with,” she concedes. ”At first I was just relieved that it worked and Coriander was alright. But I asked Sage and he taught me how to do another kind of spell. He said it’s a gift of springtime, as that’s when mice wake up after hibernation and celebrate life.”
Hannelia smiles. ”A precious gift indeed. I know you know this, but you need to think carefully about how you use these abilities. You did a great thing earlier but not all decisions on how to use magic are as straightforward,” she says seriously. ”And while we’re still learning about this and figuring things out, we should be cautious.” She smiles wryly. ”I know you think I worry too much but there’s a lot to discover and understand here and that takes time and practice. And I’m going to counsel discretion as well. The people of Saringallow can be pretty wary of what they see as sorcery and witchcraft. You can tell Jhessa,” she says, heading off the inevitable question. ”I trust Father Ruvarra too. And dad, obviously. But let’s keep it quiet.” She locks eyes with Shel, making sure that she understands, and gets the desired nod in response.
”Good. Thank you, Shel.” She grins conspiratorially. ”Now, why don’t you show me what you can do?”
* * * * *
It takes about three weeks after their return to Saringallow for Zuke to come calling on the Venators. Hannelia had looked for him a few times but there had been no sign of the gnome. ”Been out of town on a bit of business and had one or two problems to take care of,” he explains. ”Your old friend Talon let me know about a bunch of goblins and those mangy dogs of theirs. Seems they had laid their hands on a pair of wyvern eggs - the gods only know where from as I’ve had no sightings or reports of any and you’d expect an enraged wyvern parent to be on the warpath over missing eggs. But anyway, we went a-hunting and one more problem taken care of.”
He stops and looks across the kitchen table to the woman seated there. ”You must be Shel. Pleased to meet you,” he says, ”and glad you've come to visit our little town. Zukaloom Fingletucket.” Zuke turns to Hannelia and gestures towards Shel. ”I like this one. More than I can say for the other one you brought back from Ravenmoor,” he adds darkly. ”Did you have to bring him back?” Shel looks shocked at his words, unaware of the full details of what happened between Zuke and Elias. ”I could take that compliment back if you’re going to look at me like that,” he says peevishly. ”And don’t you start either,” he rounds on Hannelia. ”I’ve already had Majara tell me exactly what she thinks. Frustrating habit, that. Thinks I ought to go and see him - I’d say she’d lost her wits but her tongue was sharp as ever.” Hannelia doesn’t say anything, just stares at her friend and mentor. ”Fine!” he throws his hands up. ”I’ll think about it, ok?” He huffs, though for all his stubbornness there’s a fair amount of bluster mixed in and she gets the sense that he genuinely is considering the matter.
”I hope you’ve got more respect for your elders,” Zuke says to Shel. He nods in Hannelia’s direction. ”This one has always answered back. Clever hands and a clever tongue.” Shel just seems a bit taken aback by the gnome’s rapid fire monologue. It would appear that Majara, the first gnome she had ever met, was not atypical.
”Good storyteller too, it would appear,” Zuke says, fishing out a copy of The Ravenwood Conspiracy out of a large cloak pocket and throwing it down on the table. ”Perhaps a bit too nuanced compared to some of the more schlocky stuff the Pathfinder Society prints but all the better for it if you ask me. They liked your first one well enough, anyway. Heard a story they’re going to run it but they wanted to meet the author first and I had to disappoint them by telling them you were out of town.” He grins at the surprise on Hannelia’s face in response to his news.
”Seriously?” she asks, though in Zuke’s parlance ‘heard a story’ probably translates to ‘someone relevant told me first hand’ so she has little reason to doubt.
”Yup. I’m sure they’ll catch up with you soon enough, Hanny.” His grin widens at the expression of satisfaction and elation Hannelia is now radiating. ”Good work, you’ve earned it.”
Zuke’s information proves to be good and soon enough they do indeed catch up with her. Harlex Corvandus, a man white of beard and hair, with an energy about him that belies his grandfatherly appearance, calls by not so long after. Following an interview where both parties size each other up, Hannelia agrees to publication of her tale and membership of the Pathfinder Society. ”Congratulations, Miss Venator. We’ll be in touch,” he tells her.
And in the dog days of the sweltering summer heat, Hannelia is sent a missive informing her that the Society could use someone with her skill set for a discreet mission departing the next day. Information is clearly being kept under wraps and given it said that she might be away for some time, she packs and prepares thoroughly for a range of eventualities. She leaves word with the other members of the Saringallow Seekers that she will be out of town for a while.
Hannelia can feel nervous excitement building, though it is displaced somewhat by concern about leaving Shel. The girl points out she has come a long way over the last three months and promises she will be ok. Hannelia concedes the first point and worries about the second, though probably less than she would have done a couple of months earlier. Her father reassures her that they will manage just fine and Hannelia is glad that he will have some company in her absence. After a farewell family breakfast she heads off early to the rendezvous point and whatever adventures the Pathfinder Society’s mission promises.
Hawk was reasonably certain the awkwardness between Shel and Emma was nearly as painful as the tattoo she was getting. Clearly matchmaking wasn’t his calling, so he decides to sticks to his needles and paints… Even focused on the task of filling in a leaf with shades of green, Hawk couldn’t fail to note Hannelia’s sigh and not-quite-baleful look. He was going to get it from all sides today. What’s that adage about good deeds getting punished?
When the tattoo is complete and a somewhat more jovial Shel takes off, the tattooist stretches the kinks from his back and waits as Hannelia circles in for the kill… which turns out to be something far less dire.
”…I’d much rather someone who takes their craft seriously does it than have her running off to some sketchy place with questionable hygiene practices as soon as we get to Saringallow. Ultimately, you’ve made a young girl very happy and that can only be a good thing.”
He leans against the rail and considers her words. His eyes pointedly slide between Emma and Shel at their respective corners of the deck. ”I’m glad she’s happy. But someone else could make her far happier than that bit of paint will. I suspect I’ll never understand why some people choose to get in the way of their own happiness.”
He shakes the kinks from his wrists and smiles. ”Right! Into the lion’s den.” He pushes off the railing and heads toward Emma. As he gets closer, he raises his palms in surrender. ”I come in peace, bearing a gift.” He pulls a playing-card-sized piece of cut vellum from his pocket and offers it to the paladin. It’s an ink drawing of her mother. ”This is a bit large for a cameo, unfortunately… but I hope I got her likeness right. I’m not great at drawing people from memory. I hope I’ve captured something of her. If it’s wrong, I’m happy to give it another go.”
Hawkren leans on the ship’s rail sizing up the town and watching the passengers - especially the curious group of heroes - disembark. As they are about to be lost among the buildings, he yells, ”Drink more water, Miss Pricklenettle! We have a bet to settle in several decades!” He gives her a jaunty wave.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Week 1: Hawk’s gambit works. As the Klivanion slips downriver, purse strings open. Part of it is people liking Shel’s and Majara’s tattoos. A larger part of it is passengers wanting to hear a recounting of the battle on deck from an eyewitness to all those monstrous monsters and breathless acts of heroism… which, through subtle convincing, Hawk parlays into more tattoos to commemorate the event. A half dozen people leave the ship with tattoos of the Klivanion, monsters, or both. His biggest catch of the trip is, of course, the Calistrian priestess. It turns out beautiful people can’t stand being overlooked.
Week 2: Maybe it was the churlish Chelish nature of the locals, but Hawk finds Misarias a tough nut to crack. Even offering Asmodean sigil tattoos is a hard sell to the flint-eyed townsfolk. Hawk persists and - following Sirio’s advice - keeps observations about the House of Thrune out of his mouth.
Week 3: Diligence… and using a little of his own brand of Hellfire on a rogue hill giant looking for a screaming meal in the Misarias market square, pays off. Hawk has a bit of a fire sale on flaming Asmodean symbols after that.
Week 4: Hawk gets in a dispute with the Church of Asmodeus in Misarias. The tattooist believes in free enterprise. The Church believes in taxing his free enterprise. They want a cut of his profits from selling tattoos of their sacred symbols. The tattooist splits the difference. They retain their writ of the assessed taxes. He retains his hard-earned money and flees town - heading for Logas on the friendlier side of the border. As he walks most of the way, he spends little time working.
Week 5: Logas is a big town, yet somehow its purse strings barely open for the charming tattooist. The upside is no one tries levying a tax on his work.
Week 6: Getting into the Logasi boodle bags remains elusive and irritating. Hawk leaves his path to Fate. He takes his last earned coin of the week and tosses it in the air…
Week 7: The fates have spoken and Hawk listens. He barters passage on a series of fishing boats heading up-river. He trades his cooking skills, a tattoo or two, and a bit of money for passage. Fortune favors his choice and he manages to turn a tidy profit in nautical tattoos amongst all the sailors and fisherfolk he meets. Superstitious folk pay the bills… when they aren’t taking pitchforks to you.
Week 8: Hawk goes ashore at Wolfpoint, happy to stretch his ‘sea legs’ for a while. The military nature of the site reminds him of Piren’s Bluff. For the better part of a week, he does a brisk business in the usual sorts of tattoos that soldier’s like – weapons, Iomedae symbols, mottos, and a few pinup girls. He bases one pinup’s face on Shel. It proves to be quite popular. As Saringallow is the next town up the coast and he was assured by Majara and others that there was business to be done there… he decides it would be professional of him to check in to see how Shel’s and Majara’s tattoos are healing. With the garrison and town being only 25 miles apart, Hawk begins the short trek to Saringallow.
Total ALL IN: 87 GP, 11 SP, 3 CP
Replacement Hex Nail: -20 GP
Bottle of Fine Wine: -10 GP
Replacement Ink colored: -16 GP
Inn Stays: - 17.5 GP (35 days)
Food: -7.5 GP
NEW TOTAL: 17 GP, 1 SP, 3 CP
With the day’s journey at an end, most of the passengers disembark from the Mermaid’s Klivanion, at least temporarily. There is no such rest for the crew yet as fresh cargo begins to be loaded, no doubt to be supplemented by fresh travellers when the barge continues its southward voyage in the morning.
As Hawk watches the Saringallow Seekers depart, he suddenly feels the ghost of a touch on his sleeve. A delicate hand clad in a yellow fingerless glove rests there, so lightly as to impart no pressure. ”Your body of work is impressive,” whispers a silky voice directly in his ear. Hot breath warms his skin due to the intimate proximity of the speaker and he picks up a subtle waft of perfume, something fruity, perhaps, rather than floral. ”You’re a fine artist, yet that is but one part of the equation in what you do. There is also the pain, and it is the pain that makes it exquisite.” With these words Hawk feels a shooting sensation in his wrist where the hand has suddenly gripped it, its delicate appearance belying a surprising strength. ”Pressure points,” the voice continues, relinquishing its hold. ”The body really is a marvel. It contains dozens of such places that respond to the right touch. Perhaps… For a heartbeat, the voice tails off, though it is clear any coyness is feigned, the speaker in total command of the situation. ”Perhaps you would be so kind as to honour my body with your… art. You are skilled at your craft but there is much that I could teach you about pain. And pleasure.” The lips disengage from Hawk’s ear and though the hand too has withdrawn, the sensation from its touch lingers.
Given the priestess’ formidable seduction skills, Hawk’s fairly confident most people would jump at anything she offered, including a beating with a thorny branch. And maybe her offer and desire for a tattoo was sincere, it sounded so. But she could be trying to hook Hawk with the ease of most men… and that wasn’t about to happen.
The tattooist resists the temptation to give the Calistrian more than a sidelong glance, but a half-smile creeps across his face. His eyes return to the dock. ”Exquisite is an interesting choice of word, Mistress. Some describe the pain of tattooing as ‘transcendant’ as they come close to achieving their… artistic goal. Just a different perspective for your consideration. As for pleasure paired with pain… only those who have experienced Hell can truly appreciate Paradise, no?” He turns slightly to meet her gaze, eyes never falling below her face. ”Of course, it would be a great privilege to work your flesh… and craft a tattoo that will serve as a pleasured reminder and a point of reflection.” He weaves libidinal, artistic, and sacred notions into a tapestry of words.
”However, I don’t combine business with pleasure…” He lets out a sad sigh, as obviously false as her coyness, ”But, I have forgotten that policy a time or two over the years… for exceptional people.” He meets her eyes, gauging her desire while lightly challenging her, ”Do you wish for me to grow forgetful?” If she wants him on a hook, she’ll have to accept a hook as well.