Father Mortain had risen early, as was his custom, to jaunt through the fields and wilderland beyond the village. Men his age had to make an effort to remain in even passable physical condition. He only had to remember the graybeard elders of the seminary to convince himself that such was necessary. Sallow skin, sunken cheeks. It was enough to make Mortain shudder. It was no way for a man to go out, if he could help it.
And if, while on his morning trek, he happened to keep an eye out for the watchmaker, more's the good. Unfortunately, the good Father had spotted neither hide nor hair of the man since he disappeared last week. Naram willing, he would turn up soon, and unharmed. Perhaps he had taken a trip out of town, and had merely neglected to tell anyone? Skilton seemed like the forgetful type, and frankly that suggestion seemed more and more likely as Mortain considered it.
He breathed deeply as he passed alongside a barley field. Whatever small matters troubled the people of Winding, it remained the loveliest bit of country in all the land, and he was glad to be its priest.
In time, Mortain came to the high wooden tower from which Anzo, a most unusual guard, generally kept watch. Generally, that is, unless he was busy doing something else. Which he often seemed to be. The bug meant well, he supposed, but couldn't help but wonder that perhaps he was a touch... Unqualified.
In the spirit of brotherhood, the priest considered waving up to Anzo as he passed. As he could not actually see him up there, he quickly decided against it.
He's always going to and fro. You'll have a chance to greet him later, he thought.
Fair enough.
His bare feet sounding softly on the paving stones, Mortain made way toward the shops near the center of town. His ongoing collection effort was not going terribly well. His parishioners gave generously enough- that was true. No one could deny that. But fixing the shrine's roof looked to be an expensive proposition. Certainly more expensive than he had hoped. Unless he was going to request funds from the Archpriest, which was not a thought he relished at all, he would have to reach out to the local business community. To call upon their sense of charity and decency. Oh, and the Mayor. He would have to ask her, as well.
He wasn't particularly looking forward to that, either. Not that she was unreasonable. For such a young mayor, she had actually proved to be both unusually competent and unusually reasonable. He suspected that her father would have been very proud of her performance thus far. Even so, he hated the idea of asking someone who was for all her ability still just a young girl for help. It seemed like an unnecessary burden for him to place on her.
Well, he thought, a thin smile playing across his lips, if the shopkeepers are sufficiently forthcoming, I won't even have to ask the Mayor.
He came to the door of Nich's Niche Needs, a shop that was as fascinating as its name was difficult to say quickly. Though he had visited many times, he had trouble recalling a time when he had actually purchased anything there. With any luck Nich wouldn't mind. Business went rather well for him, did it not?
Pushing the door open, Mortain passed within, his eyes slowly adjusting to the change in lighting. He glanced about, seeing the shopkeeper nowhere in evidence. The fellow was in the back, he supposed, clearing his throat.
“Nich?” he called, peering briefly at some oddity nearby.
“Are you in? I was hoping to have a word with you.”
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