Secrets in the Sands [Medieval Fantasy IC]

[Metronome]

"Aw yes, but I bet your lady can't help you if you were to be poisoned, or shot through with an arrow. My silly little herds can do much more than make good soup, my good man. I could make you stronger, older, or even save your life." Zinzie could tell the man was looking him over. Granted, he didn't look like much. His mess of curly hair was tied back with a bandanna, he had two feathers hanging down on one side, and a string of beads on the other. His ears were pierced, dangling little rings from them. He looked like some sort of colorful gypsy. However, if he could do what he claimed he could do, then that would make him a very good potion maker. Unfortunately, not many people knew that. Potion making being the rare practice that it was, it was hard to say who was good at it and who wasn't. A man could make a carrot that weighed 100 pounds and the people would think he was amazing.

Meanwhile, Orren was trying to hunker low in the back of the covered wagon. He didn't want to cost Zinzie his chance at good business, and he had a feeling that if the man saw him, Zinzie would be turned away. Or worse, Orren would be killed. People didn't take too kindly to lepers. Some even thought them to be possessed by the devil. It was easy to cast them aside without an ounce of pity.
It wasn't like they could feel it.

[RyuChi]

Chi was a little unsure of the mans gaze, it was calculating and a little intrusive but she ignored it as best she could as she waited for his name in return.
"Oh, of course! Excuse my manners-it seems traveling makes me forget them. I am Caldrin, son of Potter Delinier. Perhaps you've heard...? Ah, but probably not. He didn't like to make himself public."
Chi had in fact never heard of Caldrin's father, she normally knew quite a great deal about people but his name slipped her mind and she frowned, not liking to be naive in situations. What came next made her jump slightly, he swept of his hat in a graceful manner and bowed dramatically, she wanted to jump out of her skin when he did so. She didn't like to be thought of highly, it meant expectations and that was something she did no bode well with.
"At your service..." Still stooped low, he looked up at her, straight into her eyes. She kept her features neutral as he did so but the feeling it gave was not a good one, she wanted so badly to avert her gaze but if he made eye contact it would be rude to break it so she held fast.
His final word made her smile ever so slightly, she was pleasantly surprised that he was not fooled by her appearance, often people either did not notice or weren't looking at her in the first place when they spoke to her.
"M'lady." was his final word and she then decided it would be appropriate to let her eyes flit away and she shook her head.
"I am at the service of you, not the other way around. It would be best if you remember that" she commented, once again she did not sound rude or obnoxious but her voice was edged with a firmness that meant what she said. She took a small step back, as to enhance that gap between them not only physically but almost in a representation of the gap between their statuses. He seemed smart enough to get her meaning.

[Cadvin]

She didn't act nearly as surprised as he would have liked. In fact, she smiled a little; maybe she had been expecting it. Again, she look away from his gaze.
"I am at the service of you," She replied tersely but still not insultingly, as he straightened up and donned his cap once more, "Not the other way around. It would be best if you remember that." She took a small step back as he stood, as if to reinforce that they were not friends, and they were not equals. Caldrin's nature was offended by the girl's statement- he tended to view everyone as roughly equal to himself, be them king or servant. Besides his father, of course. His father had earned his place in society. While the majority of the family money came from his mother, she had been born rich and powerful. His father had no such luxury, and had to drag himself out from poverty through his notoriously dark magics. Caldrin raised a finger reproachfully, but then looked at her. That was the worst part- she was right. She had likely been a servant her entire life, and she would probably do something similar aboard this caravan. She had neither Caldrin's money nor his father's magic to pull her out of it.
He looked around. Bruno had left to give orders to the workers- he was currently talking to a colorful gypsy man. Caldrin stepped towards the girl, and before she could move away again, he muttered into her ear,
"Meet me in my wagon next time you can- it's the one with the blue stripe near the top. I'll give you a zala or two for showing up. I just want to show you something... see your thoughts about it."
He brushed past her and headed for the wagon he had rented- he wasn't about to share it with people that would break things or snoop around. As Bruno had rather loudly told the workers several times, he had less than a half-hour before the caravan left. It was best to be sure he had everything.

[Rahn]

Atvor was brought out of his thoughts by Bruno's yelling. He'd slipped away for a while, observing the colourful characters that made up the caravan, listening in on the various conversations between workers and merchants. Might've made a half decent spy, he chuckled to himself. He noticed the scholarly fellow conversing with someone he didn't immediately recognize. They seemed to be exchanging names, although the point of their conversation remained unknown to Atvor.

As mentioned, his attention was diverted to the recruiter, Bruno, who was barking orders at the workers, and subsequently approached by yet another who seeked work. Another recruit? It won't be long until we're tripping over each other, if there's even space left in the caravan.

The newcomer was a curious man, wearing attire somewhat resembling a fortune teller, or other similar professions of wandering folk. He claimed to be a potion maker, which was not exactly a common trade, at least, Atvor could not recollect meeting one in person. Bruno did not sound impressed initially, but the stranger seemed determined to convince him. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have more people knowledged in the art of healing. Who knows what we might encounter out there.. Atvor thought to himself, observing the newcomer.

[Rulaan]

One minute was up. The man claimed to deal in potions, but potions were fickle, and so were the people who claimed to make them. The potions trade had rapidly died during the Ithaeric Age, and most modern potionmakers were adept at creating poisons. Though a handy trade, there was no lack of poison in the world. Others who claimed to be a potionmaker was a fraud, thinking that a few shrubs mashed with berries and garlic would cure a man of disease or cause his balls to sag a little less. That much wasn’t true. He lost a brother believing in such fallacies.

Bruno remembered stories about the Dawning Age, of the ithuri woodpriests who wielded magic through nature and vial. Later, the world had the alchemists of Old Vinosca, men and women who brewed potions that reversed and hastened the aging process. One such tale was of Lyras the Lizard, who made a potion that grew back limbs as if they were trees. Even in the princedom, they had a fanciful legend of a man who kept a phoenix and used its feathers to resurrect his dead children. But these men were long-dead, footnotes in bygone ages, devastated by war and the destructive rise of magic.

"Atvor, make yeself useful. Make sure the wheels aren't going to fall off in the sand, will ye? Task fit fer a smith." He turned to Zinzie. “Very well, but be warned, frauds will perish. We won’t wait for ye neither, and ye wheelhouse be yours to contend with,” he declared, ending with a yawn. He noticed a shadow move, and eyed the odd-looking fellow’s ride with suspicion. “And that be who, hm?”

[Metronome]

The man was quiet for a bit too long, making Zinzie hold his breath. He grinned with relief as the man commanded another to check the wheels on his wagon. The wagon was secure, of course. Zinzie had always been careful to keep it in good repair. He was about to turn and head back to it when the man asked about someone, looking directly into his wagon. Zinzie turned to the see Orren peaking out, barely visible. He had to think quick.
"Oh, he's just a friend of mine; an assistant if you will. The poor man was caught in a horrible fire only a few days ago, and I've been working hard to help him heal. Best to let him just stay inside; he's in too much pain to do much of anything."

Orren heard Zinzie's explanation from his hiding spot in the wagon. Shit; now he had to act like he was hurt, too? In all technicality, he was injured, in several places even. But Orren couldn't feel his wounds, and thus they didn't bother him. He supposed he would just have to lay low throughout this journey. Nothing new.

[Rulaan]

“Can he fight?” the question was routine for him. A caravan of fighters was likely to scare off the ‘sand raiders’ the locals were mentioning. He heard one story from a guard that spoke of the ghost of some king, stirring in the deserts with an army of sand who used the sandstorms as steeds. Folly, yes, but Bruno wouldn’t take such chances. “How badly burnt is he? Can you fight?”

[Metronome]

"I'm afraid he can't," Zinzie said, answering for Orren. "And probably never will. Poor man's lost most of his hands. I myself have never given thought to fighting, but I would be open to learn." It was true that Zinzie wasn't much of a fighter. He was a man of medicine, not the sword. But new skills were always welcomed in his mind. Orren, on the other hand, was too weak to be much of a threat. Half blind, half crippled, and unable to hold a weapon, the younger man was completely helpless.

[Rulaan]

“Very well, get in line, the shadows be growin’,” Bruno growled, his voice guttural and tired. He was a man nearing his sixties, and recruitment was vexing. His throat was beginning to dry when he spoke at length, and his joints creaked with pain when he moved. His right arm, broken three times in his prime as a mercenary, was in constant agony. It rendered him near useless in a fight. Though if it ever came to battle, my body will fail and I will perish. This trip may be my last. The thought was one he rarely approached, yet it was inevitable. He would soon be useless to Thomahal, and would be forced to go home, to face the reasons why he was under the employ of an ungrateful ithuri merchant.

Departure: 0:20:00

[RyuChi]

Chi was about to turn away when Caldrin stepped forward and spoke into her ear, she hated when people got to close and she wanted to smack him over the head but she held herself down as he spoke.

"Meet me in my wagon next time you can- it's the one with the blue stripe near the top. I'll give you a zala or two for showing up. I just want to show you something... see your thoughts about it."

He left before she could reply and she stood there for a moment or two before shaking herself mentally and heading toward the newcomer, a gypsy looking fellow and next to him was a smaller guy, wrapped completely in bandages. She cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment what the bandages were concealing. She shrugged and carried on walking towards them, she needed a caravan to ride on and the gypsy man seemed like the friendliest person to ask.

She nodded her head in greeting, still nervous but she felt confident enough to speak first, "Hello, I suppose your coming on the journey as well?" She kept her eyes lowered but her voice was aimed at both of them.