After a grimace at Kosaras apparent enthusiasm to eat the Morty Meat, he had to agree with her opinions on soups and broth. While Ration Broth could keep you going for an extra day or two it wasn't recommended or desirable. Soup, however, was a very different story but it was much less suitable as a travelling meal.
“May I ask as to what magic trick you performed? I hate to think of you in any sort of pain while eating, Lady Kathryn. Food may be one of many joys in life but it is a substantial one.” He was side on to the little ‘table’ the flat-enough rocks had formed and had founds a somewhat comfortable patch of moss to recline upon. With his elbow still resting upon the rock he gestured to his own little spread on simple cloth wrappings each with chunks unceremoniously ripped out of them. “Some cheese, meat and bread purchased from the market. It is rather delicious and you are more than welcome to it.”
His eyebrows flew upwards as Victoria described, near shouted, her flying experience. He eyes snapping between Victoria standing and laughing like a madwoman, and up to the dark shape of the raven up above them. BlackBerry himself was enraptured by this display watching with a grin at the crow bank and soar above them.
Oh to be as free as a bird and see the countryside lain out below.
His mood though quickly soured as Victoria described, again nearly shouting, the scene she saw. BlackBerry frowned at the idea of lunch being cut short and without even being able to sample the tasty looking jam he had bought. He then shook his head as he stood up.
“Let us hope that they are not looking for trouble from ones such as ourselves.” Shielding his eyes he squinted down the road towards the oncoming group trying without much luck to pick out the details Victoria described, he even tried taking a few steps forward onto the road again to get a better view. “Ten against four, armed with nought but farming equipment and bows. If it were to come to blows I would not be backing them.” A self indulgent chuckle sneaked out from his lips.
For a few moments BlackBerry was silent as he thought. Shifting side to side, foot to foot, corralling grim thoughts and worries into order. Then he clicked his tongue several times as the thoughts came conclusion. In his experience, other travellers were just as likely to be a boon, offering company or even supplies if you got along with them, as they were to be a hindrance, by stealing your things while you sleep and waking you up with a good kick in the teeth. BlackBerry rubbed his jaw as he turned back to the others.
“May I suggest we act in prudence; there are any number of reasons a group may travel in anger so let us not jump to conclusions just yet or act rashly. That said, Miss Cecily and Young Lizbeth should seek refuge in the wagon, out of sight and mention, until the group has passed or we have ascertained their destination and intentions. Best be on our guard until then also.” BlackBerry wasted little time packing his meal back into his bag and placing it in the back of the party's wagon. “Gods willing they are simply suffering from poor luck and temperament at this time.”
At first, still fearing her head may suddenly be removed from her shoulders, Mary dared to only look away from the Priest with only her eyes to the other person who with a flat masculine tone, whispered from their chair that they were in Mary's same position. When the voice then bid her to come sit next to them did Mary turn to look at the speaker; staring back at her was a pale face lovingly decorated with freckles, bright and wild brown eyes shone between locks of brown hair curling just past the ears.
“Lady Gwynn!?” Recognition momentarily shattered her sense of fear. She was so stunned at seeing the girl, now a woman, seated before her that she didn’t even follow the instruction she had been given. “What are you-”
The Priest, Mother Dula, like an eagle dove upon the rising murmurs of conversation, and Mary felt like a vole in a field as she was given a look of utter contempt. Then came the explanation of where she was, why she was there, and what was expected of her. A glance behind her confirmed that the Guards were, unfortunately, still by the resolutely closed doors. Another glance to the sides of the atrium offered some promise by way of tall empty windows if only she were able to reach them or even knew what was on the other side…
This is insane. A Dragon Rider! Me, a Dragon Rider! Even if this wasn’t all poppycock I’m not tall enough to ride a horse let alone a Dragon! Mary took several deep breathes as she followed the forming queue towards the front, towards the stage, towards the bowl that would decide her fate. I have to get out of here. I have to get us both out of here.
In a horribly short amount of time Mary found herself on the stage before Mother Dula who she resolved to avoid eye contact with at all costs. Mary scurried back down from the stage after snatching her paper, the Egg resting on its pedestal made her pause for a moment. Onnce back on the main floor she opened the folded piece.
3, the number written in ink gazed up at her. She crumbled the paper in hand and resisted the urge to look for her assigned table.
“Lady Gwynn. Follow me.” She hurried over and begun dragging the young lady behind her by the wrist, proper etiquette be dammed!
Trying to find some semblance of a private corner beneath the numerous eyes from the guards, Priests, and the figures in the boxes above, Mary lead them towards a vacant work table. Notably this table seemed roughly the right height for Mary’s stature instead of Gwynns, and set up with a neat array of chisels, hammers, brushes, and other tools Mary had no name for.
She let go of Gwynns wrist and in a hushed whisper said,“I’m sorry for that Lady Gwynn, and for not recognising you sooner, you have grown much since I last saw you. But what are you doing here? Did they hurt you? Are you okay?”
‘Not local in nature’ I bloody well should think not! BlackBerry wisely kept his mouth shut.
He made a mental note to very much not eat anything from her bag. Gods alone knew what Morty I had walked through and fought before being prepared for consumption. However he couldn’t help but be drawn in by Victoria's explanation of how her summoning trick and the stead it brought into being, and he remembered the trick she had managed to perform as they had left the township some hours ago. It all sounded rather interesting from his perspective that music could be an actual force of magic and not just have some unseen ‘magical’ affect on peoples moods.
But all these ponderings were quickly put to the side when Victoria offered to let him try handling the wagon, he let the mule move ahead of him and hopped onto the bench next to Victoria excitedly.
“Not at all, I must admit. Though I have helped on occasion when it came to ploughing the fields; leading the draft horses to turn and such. I dare say there appears to not be much difference, just behind the horse this time.”
As BlackBerry was handed the reigns the universe took a rare moment to look down upon the scene and give a sarcastic, single note laugh. Trying to drive a wagon mule on an unfamiliar road on your own was very different to leading a draft horse in a familiar field by it’s reigns with the farmer also leading by the plough behind, and said farmer likely doing most of the work. The poor mule in question snorted when BlackBerry tugged too hard in one direction, taking them dangerously close to the ditch at the roadside, and then whinnied in abject protest when it was wrenched frantically to the other side nearly into the side of their companions wagon.
BlackBerry grimaced with embarrassment when Victoria understandably snatched the reins from his hands and pulled the wagon back into line with the sound of something in the back clattering about. “Yes, yes, uhh after lunch yes let’s. Perhaps you could ah take me over the very fundamentals beforehand?”
While unfortunately there wasn’t enough time to set about making a fire there was time to enjoy a spot of lunch. Blackberry even offered up a few pieces of bread and cheese to Kosara to make some food for herself, and anyone else if they wished, and in the end the lunch had become more of a sharing buffet. During the preparations he overheard Lady Kathryn imparting some advice to young Lizbeth on grief and loss as the poor child had lost her grandfather. BlackBerry silently wondered if the man had perished recently during the Were-rat situation in the township. But now was not the time to think of such things, lunch was the current topic of choice.
“You can make rations go a little further by boiling them into a broth if needed.” He commented through a mouthful of bread and cheese, with his hand over his mouth of course, and lamented at not buying some butter.
“However, I should not recommend it. It being a rather thin broth if it may be called that at all. I would much prefer keeping to more substantial foods however. I must say that pie smells delightful Miss Cecily. A recipe of your own I might wager?”
The thought of food was quickly overturned by Korsara pointing out the travellers making their way towards them though BlackBerry didn’t look too hard. “Likely the same as us, travellers on the road from kingdom gone to kingdom come. We could invite them to join and see what news they bring.”
Mary let herself be herded with the others from the boat, surrounded on all side by Guards like a move fence of sharp metal caging them all. Their footsteps echoed through the halls almost to the same frantic beating of Marys heart. The Atrium they were led into at least held a pretence of welcoming its guests; food had been stacked atop shining metal plates, jugs of drink were surrounded by dutiful mugs and tankards, flowers in vases arranged in loving displays. The pretence however was broken by the Guards slamming the door behind them closed and taking up their posts. Tools and weapons stood to attention as well about the room, a few she recognised and even fewer she had used herself.
Mary pulled her arms tighter against her, her basket of the few personal items she had had time to gather hung from her elbow, and she pulled her purple shawl tighter around herself against an imagined breeze. About her the others mingled and talked in hushed whispers voicing the same questions rattling in her panic riddled head. IN the relatively calm she had a moment to look at the other captives, she assumed they had been dragged or lured here like her from what she over heard, and was surprised to see such a varied mix of people; Humans, Dwarves, Elves, Oreads, Undines, even another halfling like herself. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of one person however who looked to be a mix of Oread and something else, before she remembered her manners and looked away.
Then the explanation came. Like others in the room Marys first reaction was of disbelief, then silent anger at her King being accused of such a thing, fear that she had been accidentally chosen, and then the curtains pulled back, and Marys jaw dropped. Dragon Eggs. Her thumb nail she had chewed to the bed was completely forgotten. Dragon Eggs.
They were beautiful. Her gaze wandered across them each, feasting upon and devouring them each in turn. They were all as tall as her, if not slightly taller, and at first glance she wondered if they were a jewel or made of glass by the way the flickering torchlight danced upon their surface. Inside each was a Dragon, a beast of forgotten terrors, one of half remembered tales. One egg draw in her gaze and as her eyes fell upon it, a breath was pulled out slowly from her. She felt her heart twist with…longing.
Seven will be chosen. Seven will not be allowed to leave. Mary knew, realising this want with horror, which one she wanted to be.
A maddened laugh laugh slipped out and danced around the large room, the single ‘HA!’ danced manically between the stone walls before Mary had a chance to slam a hand over her mouth. She felt many eyes suddenly turn to her and as she looked to the stone tiles with unreserved determination, sweat pouring out of her again, she wondered if maybe she could change her mind and join the second group.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Mary said to the floor. She spun the gold ring on her finger.
She was going to be killed. She knew it. The Guards were going to jump her any second now for such an insult, everyone knew the stories of commoners being killed for simple mistakes in noble company so Gods knew what would happen here.
Pull yourself together! A tiny part of her screamed. It told her; Imagine they’re horrid customers, ask what they want and explain why its not possible, and hope they don’t bite your head off.
Trembling like a leaf, Mary drew her gaze up to the stage, to the Priest and those beautiful Eggs on the table. Her jaw flapped silently for a moment before her voice arrived. “You…Well that is…I’m sorry but, well, um…could you perhaps explain in more detail please?” The Atrium did its work pulling her fragile voice out of her. Her breath shook. “I may be alone in this but I am-please don’t take this as insult-I am not sure who you are.”
She took a pause to gather her strength gathered from years of customer service though it seemed pathetically out of place here.
“You say you are gathering warriors, but well. I’m afraid there may have been a mistake as….I am a simple washer woman, a lady in waiting. My skills aren’t in fighting or animal handling, let alone the handling of a…” The word lodged in her throat. It was a new word to her tongue having never needed to say it before. It carried weight. “A Dragon.”
But the Egg pulled her gaze away from the priestly elf and to it. It was calling to her, the Egg was calling to her, that much Mary was certain, and she leaned forward slightly with the need to answer. Fear kept its strangle hold on her heart.
Name: Maria “Mary” T’ashar Race: Halfling (Female) Text Colour: f49ac2 / Pink Special Skill: Seamstress.
Ambition/Dream: Before? To make the most beautiful garments, the most comfortable garments, to see her children grow into marvellous people and spend her days with her love. Now? She's a shell of her former self wanting to live a simple, quiet life without any fuss and die peacefully.
Personality Traits: Overall she is quiet and reserved, some would even say secretive, sometimes even about mundane things. Her voice holds a wounded rasp and rarely rises into a shout. But despite her overall timid demeanour, holding herself tightly together, there is a cast iron will glittering behind her eyes leaving her unable to back down from what she believes is right and won't be easily swayed from her decisions.
Childhood: Born in the depths of winter, within the depths of the Carnatia Countryside, within a simple household, Maria T’ashar was promptly taken up a small ladder as per age old folklore to guarantee success in her life. Much to her parents horror however she was a sickly child for much of her life; each year a horrid cough would rack her body, the spring would bring horrid sneezing fits, even the mildest summer brought about fainting spells, and autumn did nothing but herald the arrival of her winter illness. Thankfully as she grew older these ills would become less and less severe but the whole ordeal has left its marks upon her.
Even so, the days and sometimes weeks she was bed bound were a boring and tiring existence for a child and doubly so for a teenager. While Her parents and sister spent what time they could with her she had to find some way to entertain herself. Like many girls in the village she was trained to spin yarn and her long fingers allowed her to become very skilled at it, even rivalling many of the village women at times. From there she then began to move onto sewing, darning, knitting, even embroidery. As she grew in age and strength she was able to travel out of the house more, spend more time in the village, visiting the markets where those from the city Paravel arrived to peddle their wares and several took a keen interest in her work.
Adolescence/Training: For a young lady to be offered a job wasn’t uncommon. For a young lady from a backwater village in the middle of nowhere to be offered a job, with training, bed and board, and an allowance even, did cause several eyebrow raises and apparently even an ‘How Unusual’ to be uttered. Under the scrutinous eyes of the ‘well-to-do’ city folk Marias work took a thrashing, they demanded the very latest in fashion designs, the very finest standards of customer service, to be given the designs they asked for but not what they asked for. The first year of her work was brutal. But, like her early years, she survived. Every critique she listened to, every snide comment she bit her tongue, every mistake she examined, every success she studied, and her hard work was rewarded.
Maria’s skills quickly became the talk of the City, customers flocked from all sides to see what the seamstress Maria had designed, the one who could turn simple wool into the finest clothing. But among all her customers there was one she would always adore seeing the most even if all the time they got were a simple wave through the window as he went running past on his delivery run. Lucas had grown up as a street urchin turned budding writer and had been one of the few who had adored her work from the moment she arrived in Parevel to her current fame, and all the garish designs she had tried in between. It was to no one's surprise that the two were soon wed and Lucas, bearing no name of his own, took hers.
Like an arrow from a bow the years suddenly went flying by. The pair were able to afford a modest home with enough room for their son Palladio, then their daughter Charily. A letter from Maria’s sister arrived soon after the birth of their second Daughter (who they hadn’t decided on a name yet) requesting Mary’s help as she had fallen gravely ill the winter just gone. Maria spared no time and rushed off alone to her sister's aid.
Adulthood/After Completing Training: Maria returned weeks later to the charred skeleton of her home. She left the city, left the ruins of her home, left the ghosts of her family. She left her sister with nothing more than curses, blame, and anger, for if she had not called for her then maybe her family would have lived or at the very least her ashes would be resting with theirs.
She fled the city, the parish, and if it were possible she would have fled the country itself. Maria needed to put as much distance between herself and her past. Eventually she found the town of Iludon, a small parish with barely several hundred citizens to the name of House Louvre. For many months Mary lived out of the spare room of a couple (newlyweds Alfredo and Cairia Mauve), who would soon become her most trusted friends, while she did odd jobs around the parish. Eventually her skills caught the eye of the Lady Carnveil Louvre, who owned the parish, and she was taken on to be the Ladys personal seamstress / washerwoman / lady in waiting.
For many years Mary lived in peace, not content but in peace. She served her lady as best she could alongside the other household staff and kept her head low and lived a simple life letting no one know much of her past if anything at all. “There isn’t much to say.” She would say to anyone curious enough to ask. But her skills with needle and thread left her friends and coworkers wondering if there was something more to her.
The day soldiers arrived at the Louvre Manner was the day Mary’s simple life shattered. She led the General into the house, they bore no crests she knew but her Lady had said to let them in anyway apparently expecting them. Mary led the soldiers into the reception and offered refreshments, which the General politely declined, before she asked to excuse herself so as to fetch her Lady. Her Lady had chosen to dress very fine for the General, wearing some of Mary’s finest work including a dress embroidered with a flock of robins along the bottom flapping their wings excitedly as she spun into the room.
“I’m ready, I have my things all packed so you send your men upstairs to get everything.” Her lady proclaimed.
The General stood and nodded politely to the Lady. “Of course, but first I must inspect your work.”
The Lady started slightly at this and demonstrated the dress Mary had made as her own work. Then the General asked to see where she worked, how she used her tools, he asked questions of her craft that to Mary silently considered basic but the Lady struggled to answer. Her Lady’s lie lay shattered and obvious.
“Miss.” The General turned to Mary and pointed a finger to her arm. “That on your sleeve. Who made it?”
Mary looked down at the flowers and bees trailing from the hem of her sleeve up to her shoulder. “I did, sir.” Mary suddenly felt very warm under the General's Gaze, and the room felt just as cold.”
The General asked her the same question he had asked his Lady and Mary answered all his questions with ease. He then asked to see where she worked and she led the General and two members of his squad through the town, through the crowd of whispers and wide eyes, to her home. The General roughly inspected some of her pieces she was still working on and shuffled not uncaringly through her designs. He watched her demonstrate her craft at spinning, weaving, repairing a tear of a tunic. Hours passed of him asking her questions he seemed to only half understand the answers to and watching her work before he said;
“Pack your things.” He spoke with the gentle finality of a key turning in a lock. “We will leave as soon as you are ready.”
Character Themes: Grief. Anger. Flowers and new life.
Character Tragedy: A fire took her home, her family, her entire life was turned to ash in one night and she hadn’t even been there to see it. She often wonders what would have been, had she been there that night.
Character Flaws: Huge Impostor Syndrome, belittles her own abilities, and a general coward unless pushed.
Appearance: Well below the average height of many, even for a halfling. While she has a small frame she is healthily plump for a woman of her age. Her age shows through grey hairs sprinkled across her hair kept tidy and neat, in either simple a bun or elaborate braids depending on the plan for the day. She still wears a simple copper ring on her left ring finger.
Aaay thank you!! I did notice a few spelling mistakes so I'll fix those up. It was 2am my time when I posted earlier.
Dragon powers I've got the idea of it able to produce a silk from its mouth as well as fire, like a moth/butterfly. At first it's just plain old silk but as the dragon grows the silk becomes more versatile; it can change the colour, or have one of any number of properties (e.g. resistant to heat, resistant to magic, self repairing and such happy to throw ideas around) while still being just the same as any silk.
Hello! If there's still room could I throw a character into the mix? :) Got a first draft if so and happy to make any changes!
Name: Maria “Mary” T’ashar Race: Halfling (Female) Text Colour: Special Skill: Seamstress.
Ambition/Dream: Before? To make the most beautiful garments, the most comfortable garments, to see her children grow into marvellous people and spend her days with her love. Now? She's a shell of her former self wanting to live a simple, quiet life without any fuss and die peacefully.
Personality Traits: Overall she is quiet and reserved, some would even say secretive, sometimes even about mundane things. Her voice holds a wounded rasp and rarely rises into a shout. But despite her overall timid demeanour, holding herself tightly together, there is a cast iron will glittering behind her eyes leaving her unable to back down from what she believes is right and won't be easily swayed from her decisions.
Childhood: Born in the depths of winter, within the depths of the Carnatia Countryside, within a simple household, Maria T’ashar was promptly taken up a small ladder as per age old folklore to guarantee success in her life. Much to her parents horror however she was a sickly child for much of her life; each year a horrid cough would rack her body, the spring would bring horrid sneezing fits, even the mildest summer brought about fainting spells, and autumn did nothing but herald the arrival of her winter illness. Thankfully as she grew older these ills would become less and less severe but the whole ordeal has left its marks upon her.
Even so, the days and sometimes weeks she was bed bound were a boring and tiring existence for a child and doubly so for a teenager. While Her parents and sister spent what time they could with her she had to find some way to entertain herself. Like many girls in the village she was trained to spin yarn and her long fingers allowed her to become very skilled at it, even rivalling many of the village women at times. From there she then began to move onto sewing, darning, knitting, even embroidery. As she grew in age and strength she was able to travel out of the house more, spend more time in the village, visiting the markets where those from the city Paravel arrived to peddle their wares and several took a keen interest in her work.
Adolescence/Training: For a young lady to be offered a job wasn’t uncommon. For a young lady from a backwater village in the middle of nowhere to be offered a job, with training, bed and board, and an allowance even, did cause several eyebrow raises and apparently even an ‘How Unusual’ to be uttered. Under the scrutinous eyes of the ‘well-to-do’ city folk Marias work took a thrashing, they demanded the very latest in fashion designs, the very finest standards of customer service, to be given the designs they asked for but not what they asked for. The first year of her work was brutal. But, like her early years, she survived. Every critique she listened to, every snide comment she bit her tongue, every mistake she examined, every success she studied, and her hard work was rewarded.
Maria’s skills quickly became the talk of the City, customers flocked from all sides to see what the seamstress Maria had designed, the one who could turn simple wool into the finest clothing. But among all her customers there was one she would always adore seeing the most even if all the time they got were a simple wave through the window as he went running past on his delivery run. Lucas had grown up as a street urchin turned budding writer and had been one of the few who had adored her work from the moment she arrived in Parevel to her current fame, and all the garish designs she had tried in between. It was to no one's surprise that the two were soon wed and Lucas, bearing no name of his own, took hers.
Like an arrow from a bow the years suddenly went flying by. The pair were able to afford a modest home with enough room for their sonPalladio, then their daughter Charily. A letter from Maria’s sister arrived soon after the birth of their second Daughter (who they hadn’t decided on a name yet) requesting Mary’s help as she had fallen gravely ill the winter just gone. Maria spared no time and rushed off alone to her sister's aid.
Adulthood/After Completing Training: Maria returned weeks later to the charred skeleton of her home. She left the city, left the ruins of her home, left the ghosts of her family. She left her sister with nothing more than curses, blame, and anger, for if she had not called for her then maybe her family would have lived or at the very least her ashes would be resting with theirs.
She fled the city, the parish, and if it were possible she would have fled the country itself. Maria needed to put as much distance between herself and her past. Eventually she found the town of Iludon, a small parish with barely several hundred citizens to the name of House Louvre. For many months Mary lived out of the spare room of a couple (newlyweds Alfredo and Cairia Mauve), who would soon become her most trusted friends, while she did odd jobs around the parish. Eventually her skills caught the eye of the Lady Carnveil Louvre, who owned the parish, and she was taken on to be the Ladys personal seamstress / washerwoman / lady in waiting.
For many years Mary lived in peace, not content but in peace. She served her lady as best she could alongside the other household staff and kept her head low and lived a simple life letting no one know much of her past if anything at all. “There isn’t much to say.” She would say to anyone curious enough to ask. But her skills with needle and thread left her friends and coworkers wondering if there was something more to her.
The day soldiers arrived at the Louvre Manner was the day Mary’s simple life shattered. She led the General into the house, they bore no crests she knew but her Lady had said to let them in anyway apparently expecting them. Mary led the soldiers into the reception and offered refreshments, which the General politely declined, before she asked to excuse herself so as to fetch her Lady. Her Lady had chosen to dress very fine for the General, wearing some of Mary’s finest work including a dress embroidered with a flock of robins along the bottom flapping their wings excitedly as she spun into the room.
“I’m ready, I have my things all packed so you send your men upstairs to get everything.” Her lady proclaimed.
The General stood and nodded politely to the Lady. “Of course, but first I must inspect your work.”
The Lady started slightly at this and demonstrated the dress Mary had made as her own work. Then the General asked to see where she worked, how she used her tools, he asked questions of her craft that to Mary silently considered basic but the Lady struggled to answer. Her Lady’s lie lay shattered and obvious.
“Miss.” The General turned to Mary and pointed a finger to her arm. “That on your sleeve. Who made it?”
Mary looked down at the flowers and bees trailing from the hem of her sleeve up to her shoulder. “I did, sir.” Mary suddenly felt very warm under the General's Gaze, and the room felt just as cold.”
The General asked her the same question he had asked his Lady and Mary answered all his questions with ease. He then asked to see where she worked and she led the General and two members of his squad through the town, through the crowd of whispers and wide eyes, to her home. The General roughly inspected some of her pieces she was still working on and shuffled not uncaringly through her designs. He watched her demonstrate her craft at spinning, weaving, repairing a tear of a tunic. Hours passed of him asking her questions he seemed to only half understand the answers to and watching her work before he said;
“Pack your things.” He spoke with the gentle finality of a key turning in a lock. “We will leave as soon as you are ready.”
Character Themes: Grief. Anger. Flowers and new life.
Character Tragedy: A fire took her home, her family, her entire life was turned to ash in one night and she hadn’t even been there to see it. She often wonders what would have been, had she been there that night.
Character Flaws: Huge Imposter Syndrome, belittles her own abilities, and a general coward unless pushed.
Appearance: Well below the average height of many, even for a halfling. While she has a small frame she is healthily plump for a woman of her age. Her age shows through grey hairs sprinkled across her hair kept tidy and neat, in either simple a bun or elaborate braids depending on the plan for the day. She still wears a simple copper ring on her left ring finger.
BlackBerry was happy to hear that driving the cart wasn’t taxing for Victoria, in fasct she looked to be quite content sitting on her wooden throne. He smiled to hear her lament not being able to pen a song to the countryside which he agreed was rather charming in that simple and plain sort of way; his eyes hopped over the trees starting to turn, the passing fields recently harvested, and the browning shrubbery clinging to the edges of the road they travelled.
Much to his excitement it seemed the idea of lunch was catching on amongst the group. Lady Kosara had already made her way over to the other wagon to involve Lizbeth is choosing a suitable place to stop. Meanwhile, BlackBerry practically groaned in anticipation at Kosaras suggestion of freshly made bread, flat or otherwise.
“Freshly baked bread for lunch? Oh yes, do let’s.” Nodding enthusiastically, almost chuckling already with glee. “It will be just the thing to keep us going through this wind.”
“And worry not Kosara, for I did purchase some marvellous meat and cheese from the market.” He explained, still walking backwards with hand resting upon the mules harness for guidance. It would be rude not to face someone he was talking to. “And some bread also if we do not have the ingredients to make the flat bread. I was assured that it should last several days before being cut. However, I would be rather more partial to sampling this flatbread you speak of.”
“May I enquire as to how interesting of a flavour, you are suggesting?” He stared up at Victoria after she listed off her ingredients, and unfortunately possibly answering several questions he wished she hadn’t. “When a meat is advertised as interesting it rarely bodes well for ones stomach.”
“But otherwise it appears there is no need to worry about food, nor any lack of ingredients or rations at this present.” A simple shrug. He ignored the flag in his mind that he hadn’t bought any rations. “After all our destination is hardly far away from us. And once Young Miss Lizbeth and Lady Kathryn have found us somewhere suitable then we may set about making ourselves a wondrous feast, Kosara. Meanwhile our talented bard may perhaps inspiration whilst we work.”
“And then afterwards once we have allowed our food to settle, If you find it agreeable Victoria I could even give handling the wagon a try? Then you may put all the marvellous scenery around us to song if you wish.” He then spun around again misstep so he was back to walking forward beside the mule and called over to the other wagon with their travelling companions. “If all is agreeable to you as well Miss Cecily? I wouldn’t suggest we dally long if you and young Lizbeth are eager to make it home soon.”
“One more question actually Victoria, If I may be so bold, why do we not make use of your Phantasmal Steed? Forgive me I am not too familiar with such magics but it sounds to me it may be easier to handle a flesh and blood animal, and maybe even eat far less too.” Hurriedly BlackBerry addressed the Mule in question with his hand solemnly upon his heart. “Not that I saying you are eat more than your fair share sir, in fact you no doubt earn it given all the hard work you do.”
20 Gold Pieces. The little bag the famed Sheriff Gregory Arbelast had given him contained 20 gold pieces.
The number still him somewhat dumb and when he had counted the pieces in the little bag he was give, his mouth had flapped soundlessly for a few moment before his voice decided to make an appearance.
“This is rather generous Sir especially as I wasn’t even under your employment. Not to sound ungrateful of course.”
His conscience wrestled with itself for a moment. He placed the bag of coins onto the table alongside the other offerings he had inadvertently received. He wondered who it was the Sheriff had otherwise been expecting given the collection of quills, ink bottles, a book, another smaller satchel of various implements he had only a passing understanding of, now tucked safely away in his backpack.
“If I may. There is actually another matter I had hoped to discuss with you.”
He gestured towards a more private area of the Public House a little away from the rest of the group. It was nothing personal, as he had already informed the others his whole journey had simply been to find their employer, but he didn’t see any reason to inform them of the specifics. He didn’t wish to burden them at this point
“I do hope that this is not unseemly Sir, but I was hoping to ask if not for aid then perhaps for some information. Though I do not know if the stories are true I had heard tale that you travelled the Celadon Coast on some of your adventures.” His words tumbling out towards the end of the sentence before he took a breath to compose himself. “I Apologise I appear to have misplaced my manners and neglected to introduced myself. My Name is BlackBerry, a Monk of the Hiltoszin Monastery, one that is on the very edge of the coast itself.” A polite small bow with a hand to his chest.
“Unfortunately there has been come trouble brewing. A…ah.” His voice faltered for a moment. His thumb tap, tap, tapping along his fingertips. A breath rattled out of his chest. “A creature of um…A creature has been terrorising our waters now for several years. Decades, even. Unfortunately, very little is still known about it as it appears to attack only during storms, however I have no doubt it is responsible for many more of out ships which have gone missing.”
“And so I was hoping that you may know something…anything.” He shrugged and slowly shook his head. “I assure you that there nothing too small or insignificant about the creature you may know that I wouldn’t want or need to know. I…you…you are.” He gestured weakly towards the Sheriff. “Please.” There wasn't anything more to say.
"Rumors, mostly. Rumors and stories about events affecting a nation that was not my own. I gave them as much consideration as I would other rumors. My campaigning years were mostly spent on land, fighting in the Southlands and a bit near the eastern expanses. Was on saltwater but a handful of times, and nothing came of it - not to what you were speaking about. And I have retired to the quieter life of a regional Sheriff for many years now. I apologise, Adventurer. There is nothing I can offer here."
Admittedly, much of BlackBerry had expected Gregory’s response. But even more of him had been so desperate for another answer. As Gregory continued, BlackBerry’s face shifted took on a mask of neutrality. Each of Sheriff Arbelasts words grinding away at his hope without malice or unkindness, but with plain explanation and sheer honesty.
“Nothing?” BlackBerry whispered. “Nothing?” He said. “Nothing?” He snarled the mask fell off, sparks crackled but died just as suddenly as they arose.
“Sir. You…Do You. How could.” Frustration quickly turned to anguish and strangled the words in his throat. . “Sir please.”
BlackBerry then caught himself and took back the few steps away from the Sheriff he hadn’t realised he had taken. He drew a breath in through his teeth, an audible wince at his own embarrassing, practically shameful outburst at a man who had given him several marvellous gifts.
“I…I apologise Sir I appear to have forgotten myself. I had rather…hoped for another answer as you can plainly tell. I…I thank you again for your time and your generosity. If you have any need of assistance or hear anything…I…well…”
The words died in his throat caught and choked between despair and shame. He quickly excused himself from the Public House. He was as good as back to where he started and with only one more option left to him.
—
The days following the battle, and BlackBerry’s outburst at Gregory Arbelast, were relaxed and calm despite the fear and the baseless rumours of a revenge attack by Cavendish’s escaping allies which thankfully never came to pass.
And with the Harvestide Festival back in full swing there wasn’t even time to contemplate such worries for long. BlackBerry took every opportunity he could to enjoy the Harvestide Festival and all the games, music and food such an event entailed. On more than one occasion BlackBerry found himself as a not-entirely-willing participant to the various street performances on display, for equal parts to his apparent rarity in the area and the role he played in defeating Cavendish.
On top of this excitement there were also the townships children, the youngest of whichc would rush towards him with their parents either dragged along or hurriedly running over with frantic apologies as he was beset upon with furious questions. He would of course laugh away the parents concerns every time; “It is no worry. A child's curiosity is to be enjoyed and nurtured.” He let the younger ones touch his scales and horns absolutely fascinated by the colour and texture. The older ones of course kept their distance with a feigned air of disinterest which was quickly forgotten when he demonstrated his extraordinary breath, except one who insisted that “real dragons breathe fire.”
Of course, he hadn’t been the only one to have spent the past few days exploring the Township as he had bumped into Kosara also been buying her own set of cooking utensils. Now granted having multiple sets of anything seemed somewhat wasteful, but it was better to be overprepared than under prepared. Additionally, BlackBerry had spent enough time on the road with nothing but rations or leftovers and was determined not to do it again. Besides, having multiple sets of cooking wear meant they could make more complex and tasty meals, and he had no doubt Kosara had some interesting recipes up her sleeve even if some may just be a sandwich by another name.
Between all the festivities, and consoling a child he had accidentally upset after suggesting a lack of vegetables made his arm drop off, he was able to find sometime to himself to sit back and simply be in the moment. Sitting atop a low wall in the cool sunshine he also let himself enjoy one of the many, many treats he had found at the market.
Not long into his snack break a vaguely familiar halfling woman came up to him with a parcel in hand. When she unwrapped the package to reveal his old sword in much better condition than he ever remembered it being, he then realised where he had seen her before. As an added bonus the wrapping it was in was also a gift! A marvellous scarf dyed a beautiful crimson colour. He expressed his joy to see the woman again in much better condition than last time, as well as thanking her repeatedly for the gift and returning his sword. He wasted no time trying on the new scarf, not even bothering to take off the other one, and wrapping it around his neck and even his entire head half a dozen times.
“Oh this is marvellous.” His voice come from somewhere within the scarf.
—
BlackBerry was looking for someone. After stopping a few merrymakers to ask where he might find the person in question he was pointed towards towards one of the few pubs within the Township. He glided past the clientele who had spilled out determined to enjoy the last rays of morning sunshine of the season and entered the Pub, casting his gaze around the easy conversations taking place over breakfasts. Above them all though Lady Kathryn still managed to tower above them all even whilst sitting down and leaning into her own breakfast with gusto.
“Ah, Lady Kathryn.” His voice energetically crashed through the conversations around him as he drifted over. “You are well this fine morning I trust?”
“If I may trouble you for a moment I do have a request.” Still standing before her he continued, barely waiting for her reply. “After…acquiring some new equipment.” He patted the Viscous Sword in its sheathe hanging on the left of his hip, his newly returned sword hung on his right. He thought it best not to mention where he had gotten it from within ear shot of the townsfolk. The puzzled frowns of recognition it had already gathered over the past few days probably weren’t for the best. “It struck me that I likely didn’t take the best of care of my last one, or even knew how best to wield it even. If you might have some time to spare I was wondering if you could train me further in the art of sword fighting?”
Kathryn perked up hearing her name called. Despite not being as lady like as her title would imply, she still answered to it when she heard it. Looking over, she found Fjord calling out to her. Having just finished her breakfast, a nice bunch of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a breakfast beer, Kathryn met her new travelling companion with glee. "Some assistance can be arranged." Though the blade was still in it's sheath, she understood the weapon well enough.
"It's used a bit differently than what I am used to, but I'm sure I can give you a pointer or two. Just looking for tips and tricks? Stances and advice? We can practice a bit in the barn if you'd like?" She asked gleefully, excited to have a sparing partner who could provide her with an interesting challenge.
“Marvellous. Well, all of the above if there is time and you are able?” He smiled with his arm out wide in then added with a kind chuckle. “I assure you that however unfamiliar with such weapons it will likely still be leagues above my own, being more accustomed to uh more martial practices.” He then gave the air a few quick jabs to demonstrate. “Truth be told, however, I had based my assumptions upon your dress; rarely have I seen anyone with as many weapons upon their person.”
“Shall we begin presently or would later be more suitable?”
Kathryn chuckled at the assumption. Though it was an accurate one. She carried an abnormal amount of weapons on her person, and was well versed in all of them. Watching Fjord jab at the air, and seeing how he handled himself in the fight, Kathryn knew the foundations were there. "Come on, let's try it out. A lot of it is handling. SO I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly enough." Kathryn would lead her new ally towards the barn, and either make a master bladed warrior of him, or they may both walk away bruised and beaten.
Once they were both inside the barn, Kathryn would turn and draw the dagger from her boot. The closest instrument she had to his short sword on her person. Though she was sure that the other blades and daggers were about here somewhere. "It's important to note that a short sword is more a stabbing instrument than a slashing. Quick decisive stabs to break defences, and dish some punishment before your enemy can react. Making sense so far?" Kathryn asked as she planted her boots into the dirt floor of the barn. Bringing her right hand forward as if she were holding a shield, the metal glove held high ready for defence, and her left hand holding the dagger ready to close the distance.
BlackBerry nodded as he followed Lady Kathryns example sinking into his usual stance; somewhat side on to her to reduce contact area, left foot forward, right sliding back across the dirt and hay, and his knees loose. In his hand the short sword was raised to the challenge and glinted wickedly in the sunlight stabbing through the barns seams
“Ah I see. Not quite as the tapestries and tales of mighty heroes slashing through their enemies then. Not too dissimilar to Boxing then in fact.” He commented as his thoughts wandered to several fights held before Kathryn's advice. Thinking his arm was resting too high he let it fall so the swords point was aimed lower towards Lady Kathryns stomach. But their weight of the sword made his wrist begin to ache at that angle so pulled the point higher aiming more towards her chest. “I must admit I had never given my sword fighting form much thought beyond ‘hit before being hit’. It feels rather strange to have my arm resting so low.”
He tested the path of the sword, striking hard and fast into the air in front of him.
Kathryn would take the dagger in her hand, and use it as if a guiding rod to straighten Fjord's blade and approach angle. Taking extreme care to make sure the blade never touched her friend himself. Merely the weapon he held. "Don't get me wrong, you can use it as a slashing instrument. And skilled fighters do. But that is not it's intended role. Clansmen from Arcanaple used to tell of soldiers they would fight in tight formations, short blades piercing into them mere inches at a time. But always landing true as the formations they faced would continuously hold true. Brutal stuff really." Kathryn would step back again attempting to show a few different stances one could take.
"You can fight with weapons like these in all sorts of ways. But the original piercing styles seem like they would suit you better. Easier to get into a weak point in armor, between ribs, links in chainmail, and harder to parry against an inexperienced fighter. And can throw off an experienced once assuming you know how to handle said blade. Though make sure you watch yourself yeah? Knife fights are a great way to find yourself cut to bits and near dead before you even realize it. But I've seen ya fight in melee. Honestly, you can probably keep doing a lot of what you're doing as long as you're handlin' that blade with a bit more precision." Kathryn would step to the side of the dragon born, slightly correcting his stand, though this time with her hands and boot. Before guiding his hand with the blade to show good potential approaches with it. "Honestly I think you got most of it already. Just make sure you're practising with a blade as well as that fist of yours. Lots of similarities, but the differences will show when you got some goon trying to gut ya in return ya know?"
BlackBerry nodded enthusiastically as Lady Kathryn explained all this to him, committed it all to memory as best he could, and he allowed her to nudge him limbs into the correct position. He rocked back and forth slightly on the balls of his feet as he tested the new stance. Throwing another jab with the blade it practically sang along its new path. Giving a few more forward jabs he found the movements Lady Kathryn instructed him on were surprisingly similar to his own Martial fighting style; pushing off his back leg towards his imagined foe and then just as quickly pushing back, or even continuing the forward motion to press the enemy into a corner.
“Why that is very kind of you to say Lady Kathryn. I should indeed be saying the very same of yourself during the battle against Cavendish you fought most valiantly and thought on your feet. There is no doubt that you are a testament to the fighting prowess of your people.” Taking another few moments he tried slipping from side to side, to the right he stepped moving his right foot first and similarity moving his left foot first to move in the same direction. Giving another few jabs he found holding his arm at the angle Kathryn suggested was much more comfortable and steady than the one he had initially tried.
Becoming more comfortable with the initial motions he then gave a few testing jabs at different angles trying to imagine a foe before him and aiming for their weak points and even around their own attacks as Lady Kathryn had mentioned. “I must admit that I did receive some lessons many years ago. However, they simply pale in comparison next to your tutelage and you can trust that I will be practising as much as I may.”
The pair spent a few more hours as BlackBerry was put through his paces with the new sword, and under Lady Kathryn's diligent teachings he found himself able to wield the viscous blade with, at the very least, satisfactory precision. And as the lesson came to its natural end with BlackBerry earning himself a few nicks from his own mistakes, Lady Kathryn also passed on along several tips she had learned to keep his blades in decent condition when on the road. Overall, a successful lesson with a bag of animal feed as the only fatality.
—
BlackBerry walked alongside the mule as it heaved the wagon along the path, choosing to spend much of the journey walking rather than sitting inside the wagon not because he didn’t want to, (though Morty II did take up a lot of room and raise a number of questions BlackBerry didn’t want answers to) but because it was a rather fine day, and he could never sit still for very long. Instead, he ambled with the other adventurers along the road as they all talked about nothing of consequence, or otherwise enjoyed the sounds of the world around them. The chill winds that would occasionally rush by them reminding BlackBerry in no uncertain terms that the season were beginning to change and he rubbed his arm trying to convince some warmth back into it. The scarf he had been given sat at the bottom of his backpack unused for now as he couldn’t quite bring himself to give up his current scarf. Regardless he was thankful to himself to have taken the halfling woman's warning of the cold and purchased a worn though still respectable muted red shirt and grey sleeveless fur lined jacket . While neither articles were as brightly coloured as he liked, he couldn’t complain as they did the job keeping him defended against the worst of the winds biting chill.
He had initially found it somewhat surprising that he had received an invite to their current destination, but as far as he knew none of the other party members had protested. Though BlackBerry did wonder if it was likely down to Marita being asked to stay in the Township to help it recover, and from the sounds of it other members had left before then. He debated asking about the members who had since left. Regardless he was enjoying having the company on the road again.
But the otherwise uneventful journey left his mind to wander to more…concerning matters and even more concerning thoughts. The message from the Voice and it’s offer was never far away from BlackBerry’s mind.
Kosaras squeal coming from the wagon shattered his thoughts and dragged him into the present, to her excited cries about Friendship Rings. BlackBerry turned mid-stride and started walking backwards so he could face Victoria atop the wagons seat.
He gave Victoria a puzzled frown and repeated, “Friendship Rings?”
“Well, I suppose the pair are getting along. How are you doing Victoria? If you require a rest at all I’m sure no one would protest to find somewhere for lunch.“
- cooks utensils 1gp - foods - dried meats 3cp - cheese 1gp - jam 3sp - shirt and jacket (travellers clothes) 2gp - replacement bag of feed 2gp - various days spending 2gp - total: 8gp, 3sp, 3cp
JewelSerket
rivaan
Fetzen
Fading Memory
Natsu
Alby47
