Ginouxe

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Kirsi raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What you are owed? There must be a misunderstanding here.”
She could feel her heart beating in her throat. Even though she knew, people calling her a witch in front of her, spitting it out as if it was some disease, still hurt. It made her want to either shut the door in his face or curse him as a wicked witch was supposed to do. Instead she took a deep breath and continued in a calm voice.
“His lordship has only given me the assignment this morning and details about the wished product would arrive later. I expected you were here to give those criteria. You surely understand that a gift to our ladyship is not to be a pre-made, anonymous trinket.”
As she dared to look the servant in his eyes, she wrapped her shawl a little tighter around her. The chilly draft would be uncomfortable for her guest and keeping the man standing outside for too long would look bad on her business. Yet letting the man in might have an even worse outcome. The man did not give her time to ponder over it much longer. With a surprisingly strong arm he shoved her aside and let himself in.
“So this is how the witch lives..” He murmured to himself as he looked around. Kirsi came in behind him, clearly annoyed and closed the door.
“Sir, I must ask you to please” But there was no chance to finish what she was to say, for he was already pointing accusingly at her. “You whore. You filthy whore.” There was a certain amusement to his voice as he looked at Ali. “Taking a job on the side are you? Extorting us with these useless trifles isn’t enough?”
She clenched her fists, but this time her calmness had left, her voice coming out trembling with anger. “How dare you. Don’t you have eyes in that withered skull of yours? The man has been attacked and is clearly wounded. He needs his rest to recover.”
“And what a rest that must be.” The man added with a smirk on his face.

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

It was not uncommon for her to get into situations that were deemed rather unsuited for women. Having an unknown man laying in her bed was a new one though. The folk already wasn’t too keen on her. Spreading the latest rumors about the witch of Eillin was almost a time spent well around here. And this surely would get the people to talk. She frowned as she gazed at the man who called himself Ali. In a way the childlike sound to it befitted his attitude. Wandering around alone in those parts of the forest surely was an irresponsible thing to do. She held back in scolding him for it. Instead she closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in deeply and answered him with a controlled voice, breathing out hardly unnoticeable: “Kirsi. Yet most people call me ’the witch’.” With a swift gesture she brought her hair to one side of her face, making sure it was out of the way as she took the cup from his hands.

Her eyes lingered on his chest for a moment. “Your wounds. They will need some time to heal.” The bright blue of her eyes pierced through him as she looked up again. “Although it isn’t an ideal situation, you can stay here. It is the most practical anyway. The healer lives nearby and I will be around most of the time, since I need to work on the orders.” The chair squeaked a little as she stood up. She grabbed the blanket that covered him somewhat and gently tucked him in. “But no need to think about such things just yet, Alidren. First you will get some more sleep. And when you wake up, I’ll make sure there is some food waiting for you.” A mingled feeling of caring and shame got stuck inside her as she made sure he was comfortable, making her cheeks turn red once more. Silly me, who do I think I am? His mother? Yet he needs the care. He needs someone to look after him, even if it is only for the coming days. I can’t make him move when he is like this. She gave him a small smile before she turned away from him to let him rest.

The rhythmic chopping of a knife was the only sound that filled the cottage for some time. Accompanied by Kirsi, softly humming a long lost melody as she prepared a broth for Ali. Yet a harsh knocking on the door interrupted the peace and quiet. It made clear it was expected to be answered and knocked a little louder when it found itself waiting too long. Kirsi looked quickly towards Ali as she passed him to open the door. The bed was not directly in sight, but a visitor would easily spot him non the less. Knowing who would be at the door, she opened it just enough to be polite, but made sure she obscured the entrance as she greeted the messenger of the lord. “Ah, I did not expect to see you so soon, Sir.” A bright smile accompanied her clear voice. The man standing before her was an ill-humored servant of Lord Moonbroch. Sleek, short, graying hair crowned his head. Deep lines had set his cheerless expression in his stone-like face. Still there was this stuck-up air in his ways. He was a servant of the lord after all. And he had been so for many years. It made Kirsi wonder wether his dutiful years had sucked the life out of him, or if it was just the man himself. In return she got a disdainful look from him. “You should know that my time is too precious to spend lingering around your door.” His eyes glanced over her shoulder, trying to have a peak inside. It almost made her chuckle. Curiosity lives in everyone. She leaned against the post, making clear she had no intention of letting him in. “Let’s get on with it then.”

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Kirsi shook awake from her trance as she suddenly heard the man speak. A light blush appeared on her cheeks.
She put away her handwork material and observed him as he tried to form his words. As she stood up and leaned forward to help him sit up a little, adjusting his pillow, she said with a calm voice: “I couldn’t let you die there in good conscience. Better to let that happen in a more warm and comfortable place.” She gave him a quick wink just before she turned to the kitchen place.

It was in the same room, just in another corner of it. She kept all her utensils and herbs there. To find her way through the many stuff standing and lying around she had to maneuver herself a little, but she was used to that. Creativity was all over the place and it kept her busy. She picked a few small pots filled with different kinds of plants and dried fruits and put some in the kettle that hang above the fire. “I do not know you well enough to judge what you do and do not deserve, so I will just treat you like I would any man, to the best of my capabilities.” From the table she picked a jug of water and poured some in a cup. Then she returned to him and handed him the drink. “You throat must be dry. I’ll give you some tea later that is more comforting, but this will still be good enough to drink away the first thirst.”

Kirsi picked up her project again. Even though she wanted to take care of the stranger, she also had to keep in mind that time was ticking. To finish the orders she needed all the time she could get. A slight fright went through her heart as she recalled the last order that got placed. Lord Moonbroch. She hoped the details would arrive soon.

As her hands worked on her lap, she looked at the stranger again, and realized she didn’t know his name. “I must admit, giving me your name might be preferable if you are to stay in my bed. People like their fair share of gossip around this place.” It would also be good to know where he came from and what his business was that let him close to the mountains. But she could she he needed his rest, and so decided to be patient.

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Her mind raced with small talk nonsense. Asking his name. What was his business here. How did he like the walk. As if this was a daily pleasantry to do. If she wasn’t so out of breath, it might had made her laugh.

It was late in the morning when they arrived back in town. Even though there was a brisk, snowfilled wind, folk were attending to their chores non the less. Some eyed them curiously, yet none insisted on helping them. Just before she reached her shop, she noticed a shepherd she was on friendly terms with. A single, tiny voice in the back of her mind spoke before she yelled out to him. What will all the people think?
“Elijah!” The man looked up from under his hat, squinted his eyes, which grew wider as he saw the two before Eillin’s shop. “Fetch the healer. Quickly!” He gave a small nod and was on his way.

With a stroke of her arm she cleared her table and helped him to lay down there. It was not the most comfortable place, she knew that. But it would give the healer the most space to treat the stranger. She grabbed an old cushion and placed it under his head.
“That will have to do for now.” Her eyes wandered over him for a moment. Taking in the lines of his face, the dark locks of hair somewhat sticking to it, his injured body. It was only then she noticed how tall he actually was. A fine man to look at. She wondered what kind of man he was and if he would live to answer her curiosity. She made herself move again, getting all the necessary things that could help the healer.

It appeared the man was in luck, for the healer shortly arrived after that and with the assistance of Kirsi and Elijah, took care of his wounds. It was rather swiftly done. The wounds were cleaned and stitched. But he had lost a lot of blood, which was a cause for concern and advice was given that he should rest at least a few days to a week. Kirsi gave the healer a slight nod and let him pick anything from her shop as a way of repayment. Both the healer and Elijah said their goodbyes after they had laid the man in Kirsi’s bed. She placed a chair beside the bed and sat with her spindle in her hands. She would make sure this stranger would walk whistling out of her shop if it was up to her.

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

As Kirsi had just left the town behind, the muffled sound of hooves trotting through the snow reached her senses. Even though the path was broad enough, she nevertheless stepped aside. The chance of this being noblemen was quite likely and if they were in a hurry it was better to be out of their sight. No need to draw unnecessarily attention. Her eyes glanced upwards in surprise as the riders stopped in front of her. It was the landlord, Drystan Moonbroch, with one of his valets. Quickly she turned her gaze down to the ground and gave a modest curtsy. The lord greeted her with a polite nod and observed her before he spoke in a low voice. “Good morning, a rather pleasant day in the harshness of winter, is it not?”
Not knowing where to look, Kirsi held her glance to the ground. “Certainly, my lord. I hope the snow does not cause too much trouble for the horses, my lord?” Within her she scolded herself. ‘Am I seriously starting a conversation with this man? Say your goodbyes and be on your way!’
“Not in the slightest. You are Kirsi of Eelin, if I am not mistaken.”
“I am, my lord.”
After an uncomfortable silence, in which even the horse started to show impatience, Kirsi decided to face the lord. If he was still standing there, there must be a reason for it. A stern look met hers. The man was not that old yet, but grey hairs stroke through his dark hair like lightning stroke through a thunderstorm. She heard he was a man of pride, which showed in how he carried himself. And there was this shrewd twinkle in his eyes, letting a brief chill go down her spine. ‘Be wary of this man.’ It echoed in her mind.

Her voice rang clear within the silence of the whiteness surrounding them. “Can I be of service to you, my lord?”
“I need you to make a piece for the upcoming festivities. A gift to my wife to be precise.”
Kirsi’s eyes turned wide for just the briefest of moments. An assignment from the lord was a grant honor to be sure and if done right would increase her clientele. Only she wished he had given notice earlier. She could forget about her own gown now.
“Answer me. Or this order will be lost.”
“Yes, my lord. I was only surprised by your demand. I gladly take the order. Please send the details about the gift and what you are willing to pay to the shop when I return from the monastery.”
The servant looked shocked and a small smirk appeared on the face of Lord Moonbroch. “Not ever did a subject give orders to me, let alone a maiden. You will receive what you inquire. But know that you will be rebuked for your directness if you do so again.” He paused for a moment to see she understood and was already moving his horse forward, only to hold it back one last time. “You mentioned the monastery. I advice you to stay on the path most traveled, for near the mountains there have been sights of beasts even a well-trained knight would not be pleased to encounter. I bid you good day, Kirsi.” And with that he urged his horse back to his castle.
Kirsi gave a last curtsy and waited until the riders were on their way again. ‘A rather uncomfortable first meeting with Lord Moonbroch, but at least something that could be worth my while.’

She continued her walk and thought ahead of the newly taken order, what to make and what materials to use. As she was lost in thought, her feet took her away from the road, unto the paths she was used to follow. It was a cry that abruptly made her attentive to her surroundings again. She stayed very still and tried to orientate herself, recalling where the sound had come from and if she would hear it again. Or had it been only in her mind? Just when she decided to walk on, there was the unnerving sound of a squealing and howling wolf. Her body froze, not knowing what to do. Then she recalled the first cry she heard, a human cry. She made her body take a step forward, and another and before she knew she was running towards the direction the sounds had been coming from.
‘I’m a damn fool. I might as well be running right into the jaws of this creature.’ Yet the sight were no jaws welcoming her. Before her, snow had turned into a beautiful dark red, and a man laying in the midst of it. A flash of memory showed before her eyes. She slowed herself and quickly took in what was actually there. No armor, not anything that seemed like a proper weapon, simple clothing. And still breathing.

Kirsi kneeled down beside the man and examined his wounds carefully. Blood was still seeping out of the wounds and even though they seemed deep, they were rather clean. Her mind acted fast, knowing with the amount of blood the man was loosing and the cold surrounding him, he would not last long. She grabbed for a habit out of her basket and tore it into usable strokes of fabric. It was not that she was familiar with the art of healing, but she had seen folk taking care of each others wounds plenty of times. A clear memory of her mother tending her father after an accident was mostly what made her hands know what to do. She cleared the wounds from any dirty cloth and covered it with the bandages. His leg she tried to tie up with her waistband, in order to stop the wound from bleeding somewhat. She did the same for the wound on his stomach, yet that was also the more worrisome one.

She eyed the stranger, her hand touching his face, lightly tapping his cheek in order to wake him up. He had to wake up. They had to move. She was not strong enough to take him to the monastery by herself. Leaving him here left him prone to the cold and other luring creatures.
“Please. Wake up!” Her voice was urgent and slightly fearful at the same time.
The bandages turned almost black as they slowly soaked up some of the blood. Tiny light blue drops appeared within the fabric, creating a spiderweb-like embroidery as they were connecting one by one. Seeing what was happening, she quickly grabbed two other habits and tried her best to wrap them around the man, hoping the energy would not only aid in healing the wounds, but also in giving the man enough warmth to not freeze to death.

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Name: Kirsi
Age: 26
Physical description:
A slender build with a somewhat elegant posture. Her facial features are fair, though her long, light brown hair is somewhat frisky and always finds ways to give her a slightly bewildered look. Bright blue eyes pierce through you. Though there is a certain sadness to them. Still a soft blush on her cheeks shows a certain liveliness, or temper.
She dresses herself in the old ways of her village, with a plain dress and colourful attires, like a waistband, apron and vest. Simple dark brown leather shoes protect her feet, which she has adorned with some legwarmers. A withered grayish shawl always covers her shoulders.

Bulletpoints for a background:
- A line of crafters on mother's side, where the women spun wool, dyed it with plants and wove whatever was needed. A small trace of magic runs through this bloodline, which flows into their creations as it was made. Depending on the crafter's intentions, it gave the wearer protection, love or healing.

- Her father came from a noble family, who had their own small county. Soon it showed he had a keen and open mind, quick wits and an eye for strategy. Being one of the younger children he was trained to be a marshal. Since their own county was rather peaceful, he was appointed to help allies. As he was examining the area on one of this trips, he met her mother and found himself mesmerized by her.

- Born in the cold winter months she was named Kirsi, after the frost that decorated everything with a sparkling shine. She was raised in her mother's village, a secluded place where the old ways were still followed. Yet some new ways had formed too when her father had became part of the settlement. Even though women had a leading role first, there came more equality as her father shared his knowledge. Bringing more security, yet also giving way to trade with the outside world. Which both brought fortune and disaster.

- Her grandmother and mother taught Kirsi everything they could about the crafts and the accompanying magic. In some regions their crafts specifically became known for their intricate colourful patterns. And while it wasn't spoken aloud, people could feel the energy flowing trough their newly obtained scarf, mittens or other attire. Some were grateful for this extra gift, seeing the extraordinarity of the skill. Though there were also the ones who were already turned towards the new faiths, who became unsure, even frightened as their heads were filled with the stories of demons and fiends trying to get to their souls by dark magic.

- As Kirsi became a woman, she was to embark on a solitary journey. It was a custom going back for centuries. The girl would step into womanhood, figuratively and physically by walking the old paths at the end of spring until mid-summer. It was ment to give the person time to reflect on its childhood, to experience their skills as they were by themselves and to form an idea of what they wanted to bring to others in the following years. As she departed, her mother gave her a shawl in which every colour symbolized a family member.

- Halfway her journey, the colours within her shawl turned grey. Some instantly while others slowly faded. She knew something was awfully wrong and decided to turn back. The screeching of crows welcomed her as she neared the village. Chills went up and down her spine as she saw slaughtered bodies in the village centre. Within her home she found her siblings and grandmother had died from a terrible illness. Their bodies mutilated. Staying, taking care of a respectable resting place for everyone, would be beyond her strength and would probably mean her own dead as well. Though in that moment, it was the most desirable way to be reunited with her family. As she walked out of the house, her sight blurred by tears, a faint form appeared before her. She rubbed her eyes and saw a wooden cross pierced through the body of a beloved family friend, another craftswoman. The cross was simple, though someone had taken the trouble to carve out a small emblem in the middle (The emblem of your characters family? Otherwise it will be a random family to whom she will hold an immense grudge). It fueled her anger and made her recall her intentions: to protect what belonged to her and to preserve and deepen her knowledge of the old magic of the crafts. It reached a whole different level as the emblem became a symbol of her hatred.

- The following years she traveled from region to region, learning new ways to her crafts, adopting them and finding ways to imbue them with her energy. While the healing energies were still within her, she felt they were inconsistent and sometimes a grey or even black fringe would appear in her creation, a sign of darker energies overruling the lighter ones. At some point she found the county in which she resides now. It was far away from her own region and though she clearly stood out and was seen as a foreigner, the surroundings agreed to her. With lush green hills and a large forest nearby, she was ensured of enough diversity for her crafts and wool supplies wouldn't be a problem either.

- Her shop slowly became well known. Although most people were wary of her and would keep their distance, they always ended up at 'Eelin' (after her mother's name) when they needed quality attire. And not all people looked down on her. The shepherds were kind and one had become a close friend with whom she would sing and play music every now and then. Even at the nearby abbey there were a few monks who enjoyed her company. Still it was frowned upon by the others and gossip and tales would go round of 'The witch of Eelin'.

The colourful threads in a troubadour's vest

Within a week the winter festivities would begin, one of the highlights of the year, and many were busy with the preparations. It was no different for Kirsi as the last orders came in, which ment she was spinning and weaving day and night. The other years she had been so busy with the orders that there was no time to prepare something nice for herself. But this time she had made sure there was some room left to create something magical for herself as well. Her eyes gazed outside, imagining walking around in her beautiful gown while the townspeople looked at her in amazement and admiration, instead of the usual dread and distrust.
Folk would often come to her for the unique and peculiar products she made. But apart from that they usually avoided her as best as they could. For some reason it was unthinkable to these small minded people that a young woman could be sustaining, even thriving, all by her own doing. Having started to work on some salves and oils hadn't made that viewpoint any better.

Even though it wasn't the most comfortable status to hold, Kirsi didn't let it stop her. She needed to be here. Not only was the region rich in all wool and dye related materials, after some time she had discovered that some who were responsible for her family's death lived nearby as well. Her hatred for what had happened lived on inside her. Inside her creations. And it was infecting her magic. On bad days she could see the foul colour drip into the yarn she spun, making it unusable. People kind of knew that there was something special with the wares they bought from her. Yet none had condemned it as witchcraft. It needed to stay that way.

Her mind wandered further and ended within the walls of the nearby monastery. She had promised to bring the monks some new habits and in return they would give her woad, which she required to make beautiful light blue yarn from. It brought her back to reality.
Shoot.. I completely forgot and they already needed them last week. I hope they can forgive me.
She placed her spinning wheel aside, grabbed the habits laying on a small pile and put them in her basket. After wrapping herself in a warm cloak she stepped outside into the chillness of December. The monastery was quite a walk away as it lay outside the walls of the town. But the air was fresh and the sun shone friendly, making the snow all glistening and the walk rather pleasant.

Sails and Spells

The captain saw beyond the mage’s appearance. In a way it was good to see his powers were weakening. The changes of an escape would be less. Yet it also ment, had he to be a proper pirate mage, his stamina had to match his bravado. There was work at hand. But that would come later, if he survived the way back and had not been stabbed in the back by one of the maids.
She looked up from her thoughts as Malcador addressed her and gave him a slight nod. With not too much interest she watched as he cast his spell, yet there was the slightest smile as he started to act as a musical conductor. Yes, too much bravado indeed. The other maids watched in amazement, for they had not ever seen such a thing happening in front of their eyes. A few giggled at the sight of coins moving to the bidding of the mage’s hands. The faint smile was still on the captain’s lips as she heard the suggestiveness in his tone and slowly shook her head. “Just about. Spare your strength for the way back. I do not want my maids to be needing to carry you, instead of the gold.”
She turned away to give orders to the others and whispered to the boatswain in the passing: “Do not let him out of your sight. I’m not in the mood for surprises.” Only a firm nod in confirmation.

Runa had just surfaced as she saw how Malcador was performing another spell. It seemed he had them all wrapped around his little finger. Though she knew that her captain would see through all this. It probably was all just a big scheme. Why else would she let a man join them?
Yet, at the back of her mind, there was a tiny voice emerging. What if it was a good thing they had found a mage? She glanced over at Trish, who rested against a rock as she had managed to get out of the water by herself in some way or another, glaring at the mage with a glimmer in her eyes. Sometimes Runa wished she was as easily swept of her feet as her friend. In moments like this, when her muscles felt sore and things felt strangely peaceful, she wanted nothing more than to be able to let her guard down. But doing so would be a mistake. Letting your guard down would only give others the opportunity to make advantage of the situation. And so she shook off the tiny voice in her head and climbed out of the water to join the parade back to the ship.

The way back seemed a lot longer, even though they were in a bit of a rush to stay ahead of the setting sun. As it turned dark, the wildlife and bugs were taking back more of their territory. With a small barrel on Runa’s shoulder, it made it all even more frustrating. Especially since she wouldn’t have the chance to pay attention to observing things for making the map. Luckily she wasn’t the only one grunting along the way. Having no need to surprise any men before them, more were exclaiming their annoyances. For some reason it was a bonding thing for the crew. Sometimes they even made a game out of it who was having the hardest time, making it all a bit more pleasurable. As most of the maids were given the task to carry the treasure back to the ship, only the boatswain was truly keeping an eye on Malcador.

They all had had a long day and couldn’t wait to be back at the ship, filling their bellies with warm broth and enjoying the satisfaction of having found the long awaited treasure. As the crew finally reached the beach, it wasn’t a wonder the ‘Dreadful Lady’ was a sight for sore eyes, making some of the maids sigh and quietly cheer in relieve.

Hey All

Welcome! I'll PM you.

Sails and Spells

Trish was one beam of light as she got Malcador’s smile, which made Runa wanting to puke. Her friend was always so easily captured by a pretty face and some smooth words. Pretty little lamb that she was, it probably was too much effort to look beyond that. Maybe that was why they were such good friends. Runa would take the effort, she didn’t mind being the coldhearted shield if that would keep them save.

Some of the maids grabbed more of what they could carry, while the rest watched as their new maid disappeared in the water, followed by his disciples of gold. After a moment, the others slipped into the water, collecting what ever coins might be rebelling by floating down to the sands below.

Runa decided to stay behind, preparing the next load of treasure to be hauled away. Though it wasn’t really necessary. Mister Mage would swung by and do his magic tricks again. He had mentioned his name.. She thought on it for a moment. Decided she couldn’t care less. And changed her mind again. A name could be powerful, at least when used in the right way. It would be stupid to let that slight advantage she could have slip away. She frowned as she was moving things around. It had sounded rather fancy, of course. A mage's name was probably half of one's reputation. Her posture relaxed as she examined a rather rough looking gem. It looked dark and light at the same time. Fluctuating between translucence and solidness however it was being held. It was Ravenwood. Malcador Ravenwood.

An almost unnoticeable spark showed in the captain’s eyes as the coins appeared above the surface. She gave a slight nod as Malcador addressed her. The maids that had stayed behind were dragging bodies away to create space for the treasure. But with a few words of the boatswain they stopped and prepared some minor containers to put the loose coins in.
“Mage, can you direct the gold into these?” The captain formed it as a question, but it was clearly spoken as a command.