Raj debates stepping away from this increasingly personal conversation, only it seems as if he is included. He leans against wall and shares, "A long time ago I learned to judge folks by actions not appearances. There are some ugly heroes as well as pretty villains out there. I'd be a fool to think I can tell the difference at first sight."
Kendra giggles at Rajuna's somewhat bold flirting, going along with the antics and hiding her face playfully behind the book she was reading.
"Oh, you!" she says, smirking.
The mood quickly sours, however, with the topic of birth parents and the like brought up. Kendra quickly puts the book down and moves over to join the group.
"I don't think your parents or circumstances of birth have any influence over how you actually act throughout your life. You can always decide what path you want your life to take." Kendra chips in, putting a hand supportively on Park's shoulder.
"Whatever influences and curses and whatnot that are in your history or your blood mean nothing in the grand scheme of your life, and I firmly believe that you'll do good in this world. Besides, you just accomplished a great victory didn't you? How'd that go by the way?"
”All things considered, Ms…” Raj falters, on the horns of a dilemma. He’d always called her Ms. Lorrimor but she seemed to enjoy the teasing before and he didn’t want to break that mood by being too formal. But he couldn’t just start calling her Kendra or Miss Kendra without a by-your-leave. He glosses over the issue and plows on. ”it, uh, went good. The spirits are all gone. Whatever remained of them was done in by the warden’s wife, and she herself has gone on to her just reward… There was a clue in what she heard from them cultists that points us towards Lepidstadt. But we figured when we return Doc’s books to the University, that’ll be the right time to pull on that thin thread.”
Park is surprised by Kendra's reassurance. He hadn't thought that she could hear all of that discussion. But, he had stopped paying attention to his voice when he got on the hard topic.
"We still have one thing to follow up on. The warden's spirit was taken by whoever drew the symbols along the foundation of the prison. We assume it was agents from the Whispering Way. Vesorianna did confirm that they removed his spirit from the prison but couldn't tell what they did after it was removed. They might have released him to the afterlife, or they may have imprisoned him. I'd like to know and if we find it to be the latter he needs to be released. Pharasma won't stand with such actions."
Raj rubs his jaw. "Can't imagine they'd do the Warden the kindness of releasing his spirit, so I'm assuming they captured him. I think the only spirits they wanted to release were the evil ones... but they miscalculated. They didn't realise Ms. Vesorianna was blocking that evil as much as her husband. Jewel of a spouse, that one." He says with clear admiration.
The thief switches topics and mood abruptly. "Who's hungry? After a day like today, I'm in a mood to cook. I'm thinking rabbit pot pie... simmered in chicken stock with garden vegetables. I'll be in the kitchen." He puts actions to his words and heads into the kitchen.
Zhandar seems to accept Park's assurances, though she is obviously troubled by his story. "I trust you as well," she says slowly. "But the thought that there is a creature out there somewhere with designs upon you frightens me, as much as it frightens me to think that my own sire may be plotting against me. You are very fortunate that the evil part of your parentage is not visible like it is for me." She brightens a little bit at the sudden thought that she is not as isolated as she had thought she was when she woke up this morning.
She regards Raj and Kendra with wry amusement. "I could eat," she suggests in response to his offer. "I suppose we have something to celebrate, so it seems appropriate that we do something special together."
As he passed into the kitchen, he remarks, "Always enjoy your victories - large or small." ... because they don't come often.
Park considers Raj's words, but doesn't have any real information. "I just don't know Raj. The agents of the way did that ritual to pull the Warden out of the prison. We don't know for sure if they even had the capability of binding his soul. Maybe once it was free of the prison it went naturally to Pharasma's realm? Vesoriana couldn't sense it, possibly because once it was beyond the prison it was past her reach to sense? Short of using powerful magic to contact one of the Grey Lady's minions I think our only option is to follow the agents of the Way and ask...."
"But, for tonight, good food and good company. Let's be done with dark topics for now."
He pulls the silver flute from his pack and adds, "I'm not a good cook, but I've been practicing a bit with this. Let's see if I can 'tweet' at least as well as Birdie does. Birdie? If you'd care to join me?"
With that he starts a happy tune. After a few moments his familiar joins in.
Rain is Ustalav's defining weather feature, and while Mila is certainly used to it, she would also be more than happy if it would have the good taste to stop and let things dry out enough for her journey to come to an end. The rain has hampered her journey at every point.
It turned the roads to mud so that when she walked, the pace was that much more of a slog.
Now, she is finally in Ravengro, and yet it still threatens to delay her even at the end of her journey, as she squints around in a gloomy, rain-hazed twilight, trying to read the names written on the boards of the houses and to find one house of many in a town that is thrice the size of her own. (It is still, objectively, a small town. But when you come from a much smaller one...)
Of course, it's much smaller than Chastel, for which she's thankful. Put her in the woods at night with nothing but a belt knife and she'll make her way back home with less unease than she had felt trying to navigate the bustling docks and packed* streets of the big city.**
With a heavy, put-upon sigh that would earn her a look from her mother and a comment about 'attitude', Milovica pulls back her hood and makes for the nearest door. Perhaps at least she can ask directions...
****
"You aren't going to know anyone there, or on the road! It's not safe! I don't like this, Mila, not one bit!"
"Mama. It's all roads or following the river til I reach the town, and Father Stag will watch out for me, you know that. I'll be able to meet the professor's daughter-- she sent the letter, so she'll be expecting me, at the least. Please. You don't need to worry."
"Girl, don't you tell me what I do or don't need to worry about!"
Years of experience with her mother's sometimes-sharp tongue had taught Mila that rolling her eyes (discreetly) and staying silent was probably the better part of valor. She packed another pair of warm stockings while Marta paced to and fro in front of the fireplace, glowering. Eventually, Mila sighed. "Mama, I have to go. The professor did so much for me. For us. You know that I need to."
"Well I don't have to like it! Bah. --take this."
"--your bow??? Mama-- I have my own, I..."
"Mine's better. I can't draw it like I used to anyway, you know that. It's just going to sit and rot. You had better use it. And you had better come back!"
"....of... of course I will, Mama."
"Oh, don't start crying, girl, then we'll both be a mess. None of that. Here-- I have some coin, to help you with your expenses."
"--MAMA. Mama-- that is not-- SOME coin, that's-- a LOT of coin. Mama-- however did you get-- where...."
"Blame your father. Each time he's visited, he's brought some money, to help pay for your raising. I put it all into this sock. I thought I'd give it to you on your wedding day, but, well. I suppose now. Right. Enough of this, hie with you now, get on the road. You're wasting daylight."
****
* Yeah Chastel is like 2000 people. It's not really the big city.
It's the third door that she knocks on that eventually belongs to Kendra Lorrimor. When it's eventually opened, a tall young woman stands on the doorstep, a bit bedraggled, her cloak dripping wetly and a pair of grey eyes gazing hopefully inside. There had been the sound of pleasant music...
"Er-- evening-- this is the Lorrimor residence, yes?"
Zhandar had just begun relaxing and even smiling at the performance when she hears the ominously loud knock on the front door. Her eyes quickly dart to the others, nervously. "Miss Lorrimor, are you expecting anyone?" she asks in her deep, gravelly voice.
While the large pot pie cooks, Park plays, and Zhandar fiddles with all manner of things in her makeshift alchemical lab, Raj has time for the front door. At Zhandar's question, he replies, "Let's find out."
He opens the door cautiously and looks at the soaked traveler. She looks as bedraggled as he had just a few days ago. He opens the door wider. The woman sees an athletic Varisian with dark hair, a swarthy complexion, and bright brown eyes. Most notably, half his face is a mass scar tissue with a set of (presumably) fang-marks running diagonally from his hairline, across his face (stopping to take a nick from his nose), then trailing down his neck until they vanish beneath his shirt. His most notable clothing options are the sheathed butterfly sword strapped to his leather leggings and the bright, floral, apron tied around his waist. As he assesses the woman, he absently wipes his flour-dusted hands on it.
”Ms. Lorrimor, you have another visitor.” He steps back and beckons the traveler in with a gesture even as he reaches to remove her dripping cloak and place it on a convenient wall peg.
For Raj's part, he sees a tall young woman, taller than most women of Ustalav. She has fair skin and dark hair-- like many Ustalavans, and practical, worn traveling clothes in the muted greys, greens, and browns of the Ustalav landscape. A pack on her back and a good deal of mud speak to some time spent on the road.
At the moment her expression is one of frank surprise and a bit confusion as she takes in the apparition before her. Armed, scarred, and... apron. Right.
"Ow," she mouths, half-consciously, at the sight of all the scars, and then his words make her remember why she's here. She clears her throat and tries to smile, hoping it looks neither as nervous nor as exhausted as she feels. The man, scarred as he is, is kind enough to gesture her in, so she goes with a tentative step, and looks around the comfortable interior for the professor's daughter.
There's... a woman. With horns. And red skin. And.... Mila's eyes get a bit wider yet.
He never mentioned-- his daughter-- is-- no, don't stare, Mama'd slap you good for staring--
"Miss Kendra Lorrimor," she says, trying for firm confidence but also sympathy. Okay, just like she rehearsed, now... "Please allow me to convey my sincere sympathies for the loss of your father, a good and noble man."
Delivered without any stumbling or without staring too much at the horns! Mila sketches a bit of a bow, unaware she is addressing the entirely wrong person, hasn't introduced herself, and also unaware that the scarred man is trying to take her cloak up until she registers his hands with a blink and a little start. "Err-- oh, uh, right, sorry-- I mean, thank you--"
Slightly off the end of the table, one foot up on a chair and a small bird resting on his elevated knee is an average height, blond haired, blue eyed man holding a silver flute. He gives the newcomer a brilliant smile and holds up a hand.
"Sorry Miss. That's Zhandar. Kendra is over there." He points with the flute. "I'm Park, and my musical partner here is Birdie. And now that you know who we are, perhaps you could start with your name? We don't bite...."
Milovica manages to disentangle herself from her damp cloak with an apologetic grimace at the Extremely Scarred Man, take a deep breath, and then look briefly deer-in-the-dancing-headlights at the correction. Oh. Ohhhh. That is not the professor's daughter. That's-- well, is it bad to look relieved? If it is, too late, for the expression had quickly crossed her face all the same.
"Oh, um, sorry! Er, hello, Miss Kendra Lorrimor. I... please allow me to... well, I mean, I think you heard it. The first time."
There's the scarred fellow, the red horns devil lady, and a... real handsome fellow. Milovica tries not to get whiplash as she looks between them all before finally focusing on Kendra as a safe bet.
"I'm Milovica Draznoi. My mama, I mean, my mother is the sheperdess of Erastil over in Morcei on the other side of the Shudderwood, miss, and we were both just... just real, real sad to hear the news. Professor Lorrimor, he..." Milovica takes a breath, glancing down at the floor then back up to Kendra.
"He helped us, when I was younger. A monster got hold of me and about scared my soul out of my body. But my da- my father wrote to your father, and he came out and looked me over and they all found a way to set me right, miss Lorrimor. If not for your father I'd probably be still lying in a bed somewhere, needing a nurse. And then even after I was better the professor wrote me all sorts of letters and I wrote back to him and I learned so much from him, and I think you were real lucky to have him for a father, Miss Lorrimor, and I am very sorry I got here too late to pay him the proper respects and is there any service I can do for you as his surviving family?"
It's debatable if Milovica takes a breath through her very earnest speech.
Zhandar blinks and cocks her head. She starts to correct the tall young woman, but finds she is speechless until after Park makes introductions. Was that a joke about my fangs? she wonders.
"Your story about the professor is similar to mine," she finally says, rasping through her mouth of brutishly large teeth. "The funeral was more than a week ago. I also arrived too late to attend, but I only met him once when I was very young and we corresponded in the intervening years. He encouraged my interest in the arcane arts. I swore I would accept an apprenticeship from him when I was ready to leave home, but it was too late." Her monologue awkwardly grinds to a halt, leaving her still staring directly at the woman with her piercing red eyes. At that moment, a tiny little monkey head peeks out from inside her coat and it waves a very small hand with very human-looking fingers. Zhandar appears not to notice.
The Extremely Scarred Man clears his throat politely to draw Milovica's attention. She notices they are almost exactly the same height. He says, "I'm Rajuna, or Raj, if you like. 'Ow' is my middle name." He gives her a crooked smile indicating he isn't bothered by her previous comment. "I have a serious question for you... Do you like rabbit? We're about to have some and I believe Ms. Lorrimor will invite you to join us."
(Good golly and Erastil's folly, the horns-red-devil-lady has some chompers. Don't stare don't stare don't stare. That's rude.)
"That's, um, that's tragic. I'm sorry you didn't get to learn from him."
Also, those red eyes. Creepy. Mila stares back into Zhandar's intense scarlet gaze, because it's polite to make eye contact with folk and it shows you are an upright kind of soul who is meeting them person-to-person. It's bordering on awkward, or well past that, when Scars speaks up and Mila can look that way with slight relief.
"Mr. Rajuna, it's nice to meet you. And for a fresh hot dinner, rabbit or just about anything else you could name, I would just about hike to the top of Diremark without boots."
She cannot entirely hide the hopeful glance she shoots back at Kendra Lorrimor (please invite me to dinner?), but in the process she finally notes the--
"Monkey?"
The slight awkward shyness evaporates as Milovica stares enraptured at the tiny creature. "It's so SMALL! Stags and stars, lookit those little feet! Hands! Feet-hands! Oh wow where'd you get him? Or her? I saw a monkey once in a caravan that came on through town but it wasn't the same sort, it was bigger 'n yours and had a face like a little old man kind of, oh wow the fur looks so soft--"
At some point, Duet will also no doubt be gushed over.
Raj nods at her answer then heads into the kitchen to check on the progress of his pot pie. With the pie looking just about perfect, he uncorks a couple bottles of red wine and sets the table.
The tarsier monkey climbs up Zhandar's collar and stands up on her shoulder, his tail curled behind him. He lets out an excited screech, bobbing up and down. "Oh, that's Fingers," says Zhandar. She looks at her familiar disapprovingly. "She doesn't have any food, and you mustn't take any of her things." She looks back at Mila. "I think he gets the gist of what I tell him, but he's very excitable and curious and sometimes he can't help himself. If you find anything is missing later, let me know and I'll check my pack. That's usually where he hides things."
Once the correct Kendra is identified, she is quick to move towards the door to usher the newcomer in. ”Come in, come in. Get out of the rain! It’s not good for you.” she says, adopting the motherly role she seems to perform for this group, and now one more.
”Don’t feel any regret about missing the funeral, dear, I understand life gets in the way of these things. There has been quite a bit of…unpleasantness lately, especially surrounding the professor and a few other things. But don’t worry yourself about that, there’s plenty of time to talk tomorrow about all of that.” she says, an obviously fake angry glare thrown at the rest of the group to make sure the point of ‘no discussing problems until tomorrow’ is understood.
She has a seat back at the dinner table where she has made seatings for everyone. Well, minus the newcomer.
”Park, do you think you could grab some silverware and a plate for Ms. Milovica? It should be in that cabinet right behind you. Yes, that one. Thank you!” she gestures to the new arrival, pointing to a chair sitting at one end of the table.
”As for service you can provide me, I think a wonderful night or company and stories about my father and you would do nicely.”
Park smiles at the request from Kendra. He points to the mantle, "Hop over to the mantle Birdie. We're about to have some dinner. Nothing that you would like. I'll get you your dinner later."
He puts the flute on the mantle as well and goes to help Raj set the table.
"He's just great," Milovica enthuses over Fingers, disregarding all the implied and explicit warnings about the trouble the tarsier might cause. "Have you had him long? --oh, and there's a bird too! Hello! Hello there, birdie! Hi, cutie! --did he just speak?"
Kendra's words fortunately keep Milovica from her enraptured journey to become a Disney princess. She clears her throat and nods gratefully at Kendra. "You're real kind, Miss Lorrimor. Um, I don't want to track mud all through your home-- let me just get presentable real quick if you got a mudroom?"
A few minutes later Mila's boots have been set in front of the fire to dry, she has at least briefly toweled off whatever moisture got past her heavy cloak, washed her face and hands, re-tied her hair in a temporarily more neat arrangement, and set her pack down as well as an unstrung bow that is fully wrapped in oilcloth to keep it dry and just resembles a long wrapped parcel, accordingly. By that time, the food is being served and Milovica's stomach gives a telltale, audible rumble as she sits down. With her cloak off, a pendant on a silver chain is visible hanging round her neck.
"Thank you. Thank you so much. Gosh, this is all very kind. Um, I don't know as I'm any good at telling stories, ma'am, Zergei is the storysayer back home, but, well, I still have some of the letters he sent me if you want to read any, your father I mean, not Zergei, and..."
Food is served. Milovica manages to obey good manners just long enough for someone else to take the first bite, and then starts eating with an appetite that might make people wonder where on earth she puts it all. Talking later. Rabbit now.
Zhandar shrugs in response to Mila's question. "Only about a year. Something that Professor Lorrimor said in one of his letters prompted me to investigate the wizard's familiar ritual after I came upon the poor creature as part of a traveling menagerie. I do not know how he got to Ustalav, but I felt a strange connection when I saw him in his cage on a tiny pedestal being forced to do tricks. I helped him escape and bound him to me, and I only sometimes regret it." She feeds the monkey pieces of rabbit as she talks, and absently scratches his head.
Park grins as Mila seems enchanted by the group's animals. "Oh, she talks alright. Sometimes it's hard to understand the chirp sounds that she makes as language, but I think that's because she gets excited and 'talks' too fast."
Food is set on the table and Park waits for the ladies to be seated before he takes his seat. Once seated he does wait for Kendra before digging in to his meal. It smelled.... really good. Between mouthfuls he does get out a quick "Really good Raj!"
Raj ditches his apron after generously portioning and distributing the piping, casserole-sized pot pie. He takes a seat at the table and enjoys some wine while his food cools a bit.
Between mouthfuls he does get out a quick "Really good Raj!"
The thief smiles, "Thanks. One of my best crusts, I think. And you really can't go wrong with braised rabbit stewed with veggies." He chuckles at a memory, "Ms. Lorrimor, did Doc ever tell you about our time in Vauntil? How I accidentally wound up in the 'Last Breath' festival?"
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During a lull in the conversation after the group's adventures in the haunted prison and elsewhere have been related, Zhandar asks: "Milovica, is it? May I ask what you intend to do after you have fulfilled your oath of service to Ms. Lorrimor? We have promised to remain here until the end of the month to help get the family's affairs in order, but then I believe it is our plan to go to Lepidstadt to deliver some books and continue the search for the members of the Whispering Way who imprisoned the warden's spirit and murdered the professor. Unless I miss my guess-- and I sometimes do, though rarely-- you wear an amulet with the holy stag of Erastil on it. From this and your bow I surmise that you are a faithful follower of Old Deadeye, and likely to be a skilled hunter. I hope I do not overstep by suggesting that your company on our journey would be most welcome. Would you be willing to join us? You have several weeks here in this house to get to know us before we leave, if that will help you decide." She smirks at this last bit, and Fingers looks at Mila and screeches again. "I think Fingers thinks getting to know me better will deter you rather than encourage you. Or maybe he's jealous? I think he likes you."
Raj glances at Kendra, worried that chat about the Whispering Way was violating her prohibition on unpleasant topics for the evening.
”Ms. Lorrimor, did Doc ever tell you about our time in Vauntil? How I accidentally wound up in the 'Last Breath' festival?"
”As a matter of fact you haven’t! We must rectify this error sometime tonight, for sure.”
Kendra gets fake upset again at the mention of anything to do with the current situation, exaggeratingly waving her spoon around the room before pointing it at Zhandar.
”No business at the dining table. She doesn’t even know what you’re talking about with this ‘oath of service’, nor of anything else. I’m sure she has a ton of burning questions about the situation, and the fact that my father was in fact murdered as you have now revealed it.”
Her face appears to have taken on an uncharacteristic serious look to it, reinforcing the idea she is not joking anymore.
”But just for tonight, for this dinner. We will dine, and we will reminisce.”
Her smile cracks back through the serious mask she put on, and she smirks playfully.
”Or you can take your dinner up to your room, young man.”
"Ah," Zhandar says, with a puzzled expression and no trace of embarrassment, as if she was unaware of the restriction. "By oath of service, I meant only that your new guest promised to spend the night entertaining you," she explains in a quieter voice. She sighs, chastened, and grumbles quietly to herself. She is obviously anxious to get to work, and perhaps annoyed about the delay in leaving Ravengro, but she defers to Kendra and makes no further objections.
”No offense taken, don’t get worked up about it. Just excited to hear any and all stories you may have about my father, in lieu of you two attending his funeral. It’s what he would have wanted, I am sure of that.”
She looks over at Milovica questioningly before speaking again.
”You said you had some letters from my father? I would very much be interested in hearing what he had to say. You don’t have to read them or tell us the personal details, just general messages and such.”
In a parody of Kendra, Raj starts shaking his spoon at Zhandar… and then at Park for no reason whatsoever. ”Yes! Will you please stop upsetting the apple-of-my-eye, the cream-in-my-coffee… she that has bewitched me with her grace, strength, and exceptionally fine tableware?!” He chuckles.
Raj settles back in his chair. ”I'll start - Vauntil. Your Da had me there tracking down a small cabal of cannibals. I was playing at being an apprentice cook at a fancy Inn – Doc’s kind of gallows humor it was – a cook chasing cannibals. Anyways, I was working there for months. Being the cook’s least favorite boot most days and sniffing around for cannibals at night. Learned a lot about cookin’, not so much about cannibals. Well, the head cook, I should say chef, he was a big wheel in town. And Vauntil, as ya may or may not know, is known for its food and wine. They hold the Last Breath festival every year and the crown is to win the ‘Worth Dying For’ title… for wine or food or perfumes. Well, the competition is literally cutthroat. ‘Accidents’ and betrayals of all sorts happen most years.”
He takes a sip of wine before continuing. ”I wasn’t supposed to be in the competition, low as I was, until the sous chef comes down grievously ill – near to dying – after taste-testing something for the head chef. So, now I’m the sous! It wasn’t glamorous, mostly just prep work, tending the fires, keeping things from boiling over, what have you… leaving all the artsy stuff for the chef hisself.”
”Doc had arrived in town to check in with me. I told him I was thinking about stepping off. Being center-stage was too public. Well, he wouldn’t hear of it! He’s like ‘Raj, we’re no closer to this cabal. We have to turn this to our advantage!’ So we hash on it over a few bottles of brandy. I’m not sure if it was his idea, or mine, or we just bounced ideas back and forth all night ‘til some drunken genius came of it… but the next day a rumor got floated before judging that our pie crust was exceptionally savory and flaky because we used rendered human fat instead of lard.” He smiles, ”We figured that might draw out a cannibal or two who’d be a little too keen to try our pie.”
”Well, the rumor may have set the bar too high on our crust’s flavor. It seemed like the judges were disappointed our crust didn’t taste salacious enough, especially with the chef denying high and low that we’d put human in it. So we came in 3rd. That said… it was a fine crust. You’re trying the recipe right now.”
"...I believe it is our plan to go to Lepidstadt to deliver some books and continue the search for the members of the Whispering Way who imprisoned the warden's spirit and murdered the professor...."
Milovica's fork clatters onto her plate as the word murdered penetrates past the priority of rabbit. She stares at Zhandar, eyes wide, mouth slack, and is still staring after Kendra gently chides the devil-woman. Murdered?
Professor Lorrimor was... was...
The rabbit suddenly tastes like ash, delicious as it had been a few seconds prior. Milovica struggles to swallow it down, then grabs her napkin to wipe her mouth in order to have a moment to gather her thoughts. And Mama would say never to talk at dinner without wiping your mouth...
She's burning to ask a hundred questions about the Professor's death, now, but out of respect for Kendra's clear wishes on the matter she only nods. It can wait until tomorrow. It... (murdered)
Without consciously deciding to do so, Mila touches at her stag pendant, perhaps Zhandar's words causing her to think of it. She traces the antlers lightly then picks up her fork again.
"Of course, Miss Lorrimor. Mostly at first he was asking about my recovery, and telling me about what had happened to me-- I had a lot of questions about it. It was... the monster that got me was a kinda undead, see, and he knew all about it and was able to tell me about it. Then I would ask him about other ones, in our letters, and he would tell me about those too. And also I would send him flowers from around Morcei, pressed and such, and leaves, and things like that, cuz he said he was working on a collection, and we both said that it was a lot nicer to collect knowledge on flowers and such rather than on dead things. Or sometimes like I'd send him a bird feather or a piece of snake-moult or just, you know, things I'd found in the woods."
Mila pushes a bite of food around with her fork, trying to get back to the happier state of knowledge she'd been in before knowing the professor's death had been unnatural. Their host doesn't want dinner ruined by that. Mila gazes down at her plate, hunting a happy memory-- then she has it, and smiles a little. "Oh. One time he sent me some honey cakes from here, as a treat. He said they were real popular in Ravengro. I didn't have the heart to tell him they were rockhard by the time they got to Morcei. I guess while I'm here I could try them for real."
At the conclusion of Raj's story, Mila blurts a small laugh. "Gosh. Well, uh, it's mighty good crust, Mr. Rajuna. Lard notwithstandin'."
Park pretends to choke for a couple of seconds as he finishes his helping of the pie. "Good one Raj. The 'rendered human fat' in this pie was truly delicious! I will want you to try and teach me in the future. Then maybe I can be your 'sous'? Sounds like work I might be able to handle."
"Sounds like I was the slacker in all things then. The professor and I barely communicated other than his occasional visits to the university. I did wonder sometimes if he was checking up on my behavior. Sadly I think I might have deserved more than just the checking. It took two years before I even learned what I wanted to learn! When I earned my dueling scar" He points to a barely visible mark on his cheek. "I was told that I should have been expelled. Dueling with a machete is dangerous!!!" He grins at that comment, then continues. "I did send copies of a couple of the songs that I wrote. Pitiful little things at first, but I think the last couple were actually getting pretty good. And I learned to put magic into the music. In that I'm still learning."
"You've been to University? Gosh." Mila looks at Park with impressed admiration, as the University, to her, is a half-mythical sort of place for the greatest minds in all Ustalav, or even further away. She's heard that there's hundreds of books there-- a vaguely daunting thought, as Milovica is not much of a reader. She knows her letters certainly, and reads from Erastil's text as needed (even if at this point it's as much memory as reading), and she can pen a letter... but all of Morcei had held only a dozen books between its people, and two of those were her and her mothers' copies of The Parables.
At any rate, she is now assuming Park is a genius. She looks wide-eyed at the scar, and the off-handed comment he makes regarding it. Okay, a sword-fighting duelist genius. And music too!
"That was your flute playing I heard when I got here. Golly. You got a lot of talents, mister Park. And ... you too, mister Rajuna-- cookin', and fighting and spying too it sounds like, sussing out cannibals... and, uh, Miss Zhandar, it sounds like you got all kinds of magic and like you're very learned too. I didn't know the professor knew so many...." she pauses, frowning, trying to think what word she wants, "...um..."
Deciding that there isn't any graceful way to end that sentence that doesn't sound a little bit insulting in some way or another, Mila looks at Kendra. She is only half joking when she says, "Do you, I dunno, turn into a dragon or something, then?"
Zhandar snorts good-naturedly at the word learned and smiles at Mila. "I'm more what the professor would call a 'hedge wizard', or what certain of my neighbors growing up called a witch. My magic comes mostly from harnessing the natural properties of things, and using them for my needs. Like medicine, or alchemy. Or even Fingers, here. I cannot conclusively determine whether my powers are arcane or divine-- they're both, depending on exactly what I am doing. That is why I hesitated when our friend Professor Lorrimor invited me to study with him in Lepidstadt. Something tells me I wouldn't have fit in very well with the rest of the students there, as I'm sure you must have noticed. But maybe because Park and I are actually the same ra-- ahhh, that is, we have the same-- the same ra... sons for studying magic..." Zhandar has obviously said something wrong, because she stammers and turns a brighter shade of pink as she tries to correct her mistake. As she slows down she apparantly gives up and savagely bites her lips shut as if she is berating herself. She stops talking and looks down at her bowl again.
"Oh. Magic what's natural, the magic that's in the rocks and the rivers and the woods and such," Milo answers earnestly, nodding to Zhandar's words. "Yes, I can't think they'd teach that stuff too well from books and inside walls. You got to be out and feel the earth and the wind and all that and let it talk to you. That's how it is for me."
Having said that with some confidence, Mila hesitates, then amends, "I mean-- it comes from Erastil, for me. Not that I can do all that much. But like... it comes from Erastil and it comes from the natural world and those two things aren't any kind of exclusive, because... because Erastil's in all those things, I guess. But yeah, you were right about my necklace. Um."
At the moment's awkwardness, Mila's brows knit a little, and she looks to Park, though has no understanding of whatever the faux pas was that has Zhandar looking upset. She don't look half as scary when she's blushing. I wonder, who ever heard of devil-folk blushing!
Park laughs and waits for his 'turn' in the conversation, then adds. "We've all got talents, or powers, and yes that was my flute music. I'm training Birdie, or she's training me. I'm not always sure which is the case. But the music I wrote was all me. My time at the University taught me more about myself than about the rest of the world. I wasn't all that good of a student, but I did learn to use music to make magic, just little things though. You have power from Erastil, then I'm sure you can do this." He sings a little chant and some lights appear. "Not the same, but useful if you need some light."
He grins at Zhandar and mouths the words, 'Later maybe'.
"Actually, my magic and Zhandar's arcane magic are very similar, but our casting methods are very different. She studies a spellbook to prepare spells. That gives her a greater variety of spells than what I have. She uses arcane words, gestures and material components just like a wizard. I learn how to use music to create a spell effect, that and a little will power. I called it wishful thinking when I was first learning and it didn't always work! And I sing a little, sometimes dance a little or wave my arms around...."
"Hey! As a follower of Erastil, are you a regular cleric? More to the point, can you channel the positive power to heal people when they are hurt? I just figured out a new power that works with that kind of power, kind of channels it through the people in the area to apply any 'extra healing' to any that need more. Not that I'm wanting to hurt somebody to test it, but it might be important to know so we can work together if it is needed. ??
Zhandar listens with narrowed eyes, unsure if her faux pas about Park's race went unnoticed. She is still aggressively embarrassed, but she looks up with special interest when the bard mentions his recent discovery. "A sort of compounding of positive energy?" she asks, curiosity winning her back into the conversation. "That would be very useful in response to attacks that damage people in a wide area, or when evil priests channel negative energy. Excellent for fighting the Whisp-- ah, I mean... that sounds very interesting." She shoots another uncomfortable look at Kendra and mumbles this last bit back into her bowl.
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At Park's question of if she's a 'regular cleric', Mila looks a bit sheepish, or perhaps uncertain, and rubs at the back of her neck. I don't know altogether what I am...
The thing smelled like death, like dying, like rot. Something about the smell wormed in past your thinking brain and got into the back-brain, the animal brain, the part that can only figure whether it wants to flee or fight. In this case it said freeze. Stand very, very, very still, and maybe it won't see. Maybe you'll live. Maybe it'll just kill someone else.
It'll kill Yvgeny, and it'll leave her alone. It'll kill Yvgeny, but she'll live.
She hates the thought as soon as she thinks it. She hates the fear of it, the selfish, base, animal fear. It's a fear that comes from outside her, that comes from that thing, that dead thing, and she knows it, some part of her knows it, knows that while she has her flaws cowardice isn't one of them, but this dead thing is making her a coward with powers she doesn't understand and it doesn't matter that she knows it's coming from outside her, because it still means she can't move. She is frozen, helpless, staring with tears spilling from her unblinking eyes as the creature turns to Yvgeny.
Yvgeny. Her friend from childhood on. They'd climbed trees together, waded in the creek, him and her and Zarna, the three of them thick as thieves, her mother would say, and she'd hurry through her chores in order to get to go play with the other two children. And slowly they'd been moving past childhood, together, growing up. Yvgeny had been her second kiss, stolen behind his family's barn, last summer on a rare, beautiful day, a day of sunshine and pollen and hay in their hair. Yvgeny has eyes as blue as that infrequent summer sky.
And now the light goes out of his eyes as the corpse claws his belly wide open.
She would scream, but she can't open her mouth.
Erastil! she shouts, in the silence of her head. Erastil, Pharasma, Desna-- anyone! Please! Please help! Stag-Lord, please!!
She worships Erastil, after a fashion-- the fashion being that he is the god her mother worships, and therefore he is her favored god, and in a village like Morcei a god of the hunt and the harvest nicely handles just about all your major concerns. Pharasma's the other, of course: lady of life and death, of new births and putting the old to rest, and making sure they don't come back. And she has sent up prayers to Desna in the past as well, whenever her father leaves, beseeching that the North Star will guide him on his travels and bring him safely back again. Milovica certainly believes in the gods-- it'd take a special sort of fool not to, she supposes-- but she's never prayed quite like this. Quite so desperately.
Even a month ago. Even then, she hadn't been able to think to pray. She'd just been scared. But her mother had saved her, and told her that it was through Erastil's strength, and maybe, maybe, maybe...
Please. Please. Let me save Yvgeny.
Something is coming through the brush. Something moving fast, twigs snapping underfoot. She knows in her soul that it is a stag, mighty, strong, capable of trampling the little corpse under its hooves without slowing. She can see it from the corner of her eye-- light as bright as dawn, bursting through the trees in the shape of antlers, charging forward...
The undead thing shrieks. It cringes from the stag's burning charge, and runs away, back to whatever hole it can find shelter in. Milovica can move again. She gasps, her limbs trembling now that they can, and falls to her knees before the stag.
Except the light has faded, and it is only her mother. Her mother, looking out-of-breath and red-faced, wild-eyed, desperate and frightened and terribly human. Just her mother.
Yvgeny, she says, but her tongue is thick and nothing comes out. Mama, help him, she tries to say, but instead she pitches forward and darkness claims her.
****
She is in a forest. The trees are taller than any she has ever seen, and thick. Somewhere overhead the sun is shining, but the trees grow so densely here that the sun is just a filtered green light, warm and pleasant, but muted. A carpet of moss is under her bare feet. When did she take off her boots? Oh well. It's beautiful here. Nothing could hurt her.
She spins, heart racing, and thinks she sees antlers-- but no, a tangle of branches around a knot of old wood. "...hello?"
She cannot see the speaker. The voice comes from all around her, deep and reverberating, down in her bones. For a moment she wants to defend her actions: to say she was being brave, that she was trying to save her friend, that she knew it would be dangerous, but-- but-- but--
(I don't hold with 'buts',) her mother has said, on more than one occasion.
Milovica holds her tongue. She hangs her head, because the voice is right: it had been reckless. It had been reckless the first time she came up here, and no matter how good her intentions this time, reckless now as well. She should have gotten her mother, or someone, anyone. But she had wanted to save Yvgeny herself. To be the hero.
When she makes no defense of her actions, the voice says
"Are you... are you Erastil, sir?"
Milovica hesitates. The immediate answer should be yes, she imagines, and yet-- in this place, she cannot lie, not even to herself. The truth is that she has sometimes thought there could be nothing duller than her mother's existence. Setting wrenched ankles. Praying over the crops. Fixing the neighbor's wagon wheel, or helping with a breached calf. These are the things her mother does day in and day out, this is what being a 'servant of Erastil' is, and... and at times she still dreams of the road, of setting off for adventures the way her father does. He has no obligations. He has no endless list of chores. He is free.
But he is not the one who came crashing up the mountainside to save her, either.
"I want... I want to be able to protect people," she whispers. "To help."
She bites her lip. She isn't sure. Erastil is her mother's god.
intones the voice, and then she slides back into the darkness once more.
****
"Well," she says after a bit of a pause, and after Zhandar's intrigued comments, "I mean, I don't know as I could say I'm a 'regular cleric' but, I mean, he lets me do some healin', yes. I can call on him and that livin' light will come out from his symbol, fill a room's worth or so, I guess. You say you got some way to make it better? Huh."
Park cringes a little when Zhandar started to mention the Whispering Way, but she stops herself. He shrugs at Mila's reply. "I'm a Bard. Supposed to be good with words, but.... Regular Cleric? Really poor choice of words!"
Anyway, Zhandar and Raj and I knew Horm. He was with us until just recently. He's a cleric of Sarenrae. He could call on the divine power of Sarenrae and harm any undead within 30', or heal anyone that had been hurt within that range. He used a bow too, really good with it!"
"What my new power does is to tap in to that energy and let everyone within the area.... 'channel' any of that healing power that is beyond what they need. For example, let's say that the four of us were attacked by.... Hm... No. Let's say that Raj was working to disarm a trap on a door. He's really good, but he's still capable of making mistakes. So the trap goes off and the area by the door explodes in flames. He's burned, bad, and I'm right behind him. I'm slightly shielded so I'm not hurt as bad. A cleric channels the positive energy of their God, projecting that energy to the cleric, Zhandar, myself, and Raj. The cleric and Zhandar weren't hurt at all so normally that energy just washes over them and does nothing. But, since I know that the channel is going to happen I activate my new Bardic power and that healing energy from the cleric and Zhandar can now be re-directed, by them, to whoever needs it. In this case, Raj. And if Raj is fully healed and has more healing power than he needs he could 'push' the extra to me. The only 'wasted' energy that way is if there's nobody still hurt and still a little power left!"
He sits back and looks around the table. "Is there any dessert? Or should we retire to more comfortable seating and a quiet drink?"
The cook/thief sits largely silent while the conversation flows around him, casually watching Mila. ”Dessert? No. Let me see what I can make.” He goes to the pantry and icebox, forgoing the floral apron, this time. Rajuna quickly whips up a small bowl of cinnamon crème. A taste test draws a scowl. He puts the bowl aside and whips up a second bowl. A taste followed by a nod indicates his satisfaction with the second try. He folds a generous mountain of berries into both iterations. He serves the better version to the others, keeping the first version for himself.
Kendra follows along with the numerous stories the group tells, laughing or scoffing at the 'correct' times. "You certainly are a group of interesting characters, aren't you? I am so glad to hear that my father had such good and fascinating friends, it is a small comfort to me." she says, getting a tad bit quiet towards the end.
She quickly moves on from her awkwardness as Rajuna brings out the dessert. "What, exactly, is this?" she asks, taking a bowl and scooping some out into it. "I haven't ever seen anything like it, how did you make it?"
"And don't you worry, Mila, just because I haven't seen this dish doesn't mean I can't make you some good old fashioned honey cakes." she says, smiling at the newest member of the group. "He actually was the one that taught me how to make them, so I'm sure you will be familiar with the taste."
Park takes a taste of the desert and smiles at Raj. "No Kendra. This is truly awful! I'm going to have to gather it all up and force myself to eat it to save everyone from this...." He chokes on his laughter before he is able to finish the sentence. "I'm kidding of course. Truly excellent Raj! You should move to a city and open a restaurant!"
"What, exactly, is this?... How did you make it?"
"It's a whipped cream... just plain old milk, sugar crushed into powder, and a little bit of vanilla and cinnamon. Then mix it fast enough to force air into it and firm it up. Add some berries and you're done."
"What my new power does is to tap in to that energy and let everyone within the area.... 'channel' any of that healing power that is beyond what they need..."
Milovica worries her lower lip with her teeth a bit, brows knit together as she listens to Park. He talks about it so... like it's normal, everyday, no different than how you'd talk about how much cloth you'd need to make a new cloak. She supposes at university they got everything all figured out proper, got it written down as to what "powers" do and just how far magic goes and so forth. In point of fact, Mila's never considered exactly how far the "livin' energy" of Erastil reaches out from her when she holds up the staghead, at least not in terms of measurable feet. She just sort of... knows. She knows if she's close enough to help someone with it, or-- and this has been the more common use-- if she's near enough that some nasty dead thing will get it in the face. Now that she thinks about it, yeah, she guesses it's probably about what he says: thirty feet, thereabouts.
Now that's just weird.
...Why would all the gods agree on such a nice even number? Why would Sarenrae and Erastil both only be able to reach their light thirty feet -- not more, not less-- into the world? Huh.
It is fair to say Mila has never thought about it all this way before-- with any sort of analysis or even critical observation. For her it's been a matter of ... trust, of faith, of calling on her god and knowing he answers. This sounds more like baking a cake, or something. Measurements. And if you got too much flour you can even it off and pour the excess back into the container, or shift it around, or whatever.
Huh.
Mila falls silent, having to momentarily process a whole new way of thinking about the gifts that Erastil gives her. She zones out slightly, her brows knit and a faraway look on her face, and when she comes back to, it's to see a big bowl of creamy fluff in front of her that smells like cinnamon and heaven. She blinks at it.
"Oh! Um, thank you, Mister Rajuna--"
The first bite is tentative. The following bites definitely are not, as Mila's eyes open wide and she once again finds the appetite she momentarily lost. Thirty feet, shmirty shmeet -- this seems a good sight more important.
When she's finished, Mila heaves a contented sigh and settles back in her chair, careful to wipe her mouth in case there's any cream straying around. "I haven't had any meal anywhere near that good since I left Morcei. And that was a while ago. You're a really good cook, Mister Raj. And I bet your honey cakes will be just as good, Miss Kendra. You've all been awfully kind."
A yawn threatens at the tail end of her words-- it has been a long day, with a lot of walking in it-- and Mila thinks wistfully how nice it would be to stretch out and close her eyes. But that can come later. She gets to her feet and starts collecting the dirty dishes from the table.
Rajuna helps with the dishes. "It's Raj or Rajuna, no 'mister', please."
Park notices how tired Mila looks and quickly gets up to help. Taking the dishes from her he motions for her to leave the kitchen area. "You're dead on your feet from traveling, and I remember how less-than-nice some of the town's folk were when I got here. Probably had to ask ten of more for directions to get anyone helpful. Raj made the meal. Least I can do is clean up after. Raj? Maybe help Mila find a room? Kendra will tell you which one." He gathers the rest of the dishes and gets in the kitchen to wash, dry and put things away.
Rajuna helps with the dishes. "It's Raj or Rajuna, no 'mister', please."
Mila opens her mouth to say something along the lines of sorry, it's how I was taught to talk to strangers, especially my elders but manages to arrest her mouth before the words get out. Is her elder? She side-eyes him, attempting to do so discreetly. The deep scars on his face draw the gaze and add years to her estimation of him; he also has the signs of what her mama might call "a life rough-lived" -- the weathering of time spent out-of-doors, or maybe periods of hunger and malnutrition, or just hard living. It makes it hard for her to judge his age. And he carries himself with the calm steadiness that she associates more with older folk.
But life in Ustalav can age a person quick. Another of her mama's pithy sayings. If you take out all that and just try and look past the scars and all-- he isn't that old. In fact, kinda young, probably.
...it's possible she's older than him, she supposes, which never stops feeling odd to her-- the moment when she realizes she's senior to people she just assumed she was younger than. In Morcei she knew everyone's age. In the bigger world, she's been doing a lot of guessing.
"Alright, m- Rajuna," she says, a little awkwardly. She's about to offer that since he made the fine meal she can do the washing up, but Park swoops in to beat her to the punch.
"Oh no no, I can-- really, I'll help, I'm not that tired, I..."
Mama, she thinks, would give her such a look if she didn't help clean up before going to rest. Conversely, well: Mama ain't here.
Mila hesitates a moment, sorely tempted by Park's offer versus her ingrained sense of what she ought to be doing. After a second, she offers a wan smile. "Well I'll at least carry my dishes on in to the kitchen, folk don't need to be waiting on me. I got off light compared to you anyhow-- this was only the third door I had to try."
Park nods to Mila. "OK. But I'll do the cleaning. You got lucky but you still had a long haul getting here. Almost everyone I asked pointed me right back the way I came, almost telling me just to leave and not come back. I think most of them are glad that we stayed now though."
He gives a nice smile and points her to the door. "Now I'll do the work in here."
Park nods to Mila. "OK. But I'll do the cleaning. You got lucky but you still had a long haul getting here. Almost everyone I asked pointed me right back the way I came, almost telling me just to leave and not come back. I think most of them are glad that we stayed now though."
He gives a nice smile and points her to the door. "Now I'll do the work in here."
Mila frowns, more questions tickling her tongue about the reception that the others got here-- and why would people be glad they're here now-- what's happened here, anyway--
--but, miss Kendra is still in earshot. And she is very sleepy.
"Alright, Mr. Park," she agrees meekly to his pleasant but firm statement that he'll do the dishes.
Mila duly goes where she is directed as far as a room-- (a WHOLE room? For JUST HER?) (Oh wow the bed's got one of those fancy feather mattresses) (Gosh)--
Mila prepares for bed, fighting yawns all the way, and dutifully hanging her overshirt up so it doesn't wrinkle and get musty. In her smallclothes, she crawls into the fancy, fancy bed-- and is lost to deep slumber before Park has even finished washing dishes, a few rooms away.