A Land of War and Strife (The Story)

[TragicAce]

Martyn

The village of Glenderk hadn’t housed a lord in ages. And I can see why, Martyn mused as he nursed a goblet of old innkeeper’s finest spirits. It wasn’t just the wine, though how it could prove to be both too sweet and too sour while retaining a stark bitterness was beyond him. At least it wasn’t watered down, like the ales that flaming peddler tried to pull over on him. No one swindles Lord Martyn Vashere, son of Lord Bergan Vashere, brother to the High Lady Galandere!

“Any word of my father, innkeeper?” It never hurt to remind these peasants who they served under, and he had done just that as he entered Glenderk. It would have been a hilarious tale were it not so disrespectful:

Last night the rain made torrents in waves. Refuge from a fortnight of harsh riding in the midst of a civil war never came easy. The depths of which he had to sink to! But no matter. He would ask his dear aunt for assistance and return with a legion of Murand’s finest horsemen. How Martyn looked forward to leading that charge. That thought was what preserved him through the chaos they had confronted. They being his unworthy vassals, a shoddy lot that likely wished high positions once the war was over. Yet he could not arrive by himself, for appearances sake. No worry of danger ever crossed his mind.

Glenderk was a frontier hamlet that traded mostly in sheep furs. Sheepherders interested Martyn not at all, and his weariness had sharpened his nerves. When approached by a watchman—in these uncertain times villages often formed watches—he expressed his disdain pointedly. Before the half-wit guardsman could speak, he bellowed: “Who does this village serve?!” The rain did not hamper his voice. The reply was meek—the guard was hardly more than a boy.

“W-we don’t serve anybody, the Village Council-” It was difficult to continue with a gauntleted fist to the chest.

Good times. Apparently the boy was the son of one of the village elders, and seeing the proud woman made to bow before him made Martyn happier than any of this wine ever could. Still, best to leave this place come daybreak tomorrow. The sheepherders smelled no better than their livestock. The plump, balding innkeeper gave a curt bow before replying. You could hardly call him an innkeeper in a building with only six guestrooms.

“Milord, forgive me but there hasn’t been word from the capital in weeks. You know as much as we.”

The well-fed man’s face started showing uncertain shock that changed to uncertain laughter as Martyn cracked up. It took a few moments to regain composure and tell the witless fool what was so funny. All the patrons were trying not to take notice. “You say I know as much as a bunch of sheepherders? DO YOU?!” His hands went to the scruff of the innkeeper’s neck, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Daryl

"Calm yourself, my Lord," Daryl said with the hint of smirk, his hand gripping the young noble's shoulder slightly harder than the moment called for. While he himself didn't care all that much for the man who had hired him, (Lords tend to make for terrible clients, but the pay far outweighs the hassle, he often thought to himself), past experience had taught him that making enemies in small villages like Glenderk never boded well; everyone knew everyone else, and the 'you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us' mentality ran thick through the streets and blood of the inhabitants.

To no surprise, Martyn shook off his leather-backed hand and glared up at the sellsword, his chest expanded as his face darkened with anger. Daryl held his hands up in mock surrender, but he did fall to one knee and bowed his head. "My apologies for my words and actions, M'lord; my tongue runs faster than my mind can keep up."

"See that it doesn't happen again; I will NOT have some hired mercenary lay a hand on me and not suffer consequences; any further willful behaviour will result in a dock of that precious pay of yours, understood?"

"Crystal clear, My lord," Daryl answered, his head still bowed low so that Martyn could not see how his jaw clenched as the words were forced out. He had no reason to like Vashere, but threat to his pay was enough to reign the boy's tongue for now. Rising causiously, Daryl addressed the Innkeep as the Lordling had returned to his wine. "Now, Innkeep, surely you know more than nothing? Word may not travel fast, but I refuse to believe it does not travel at all."

"If news of Lord Bergan has reached our small town, good sir, then it has not yet graced the walls of my inn," the man insisted, ringing a flat cap between his large hands through nervousness. His eyes fell to the Martyn's empty cup, and he jumped as if stung. "S-Shea! His grace's goblet is empty, where is your service, girl, fill it at once!" he hollared over his shoulder, stress clearly etched into his face.

A young girl on the other side of the small room looked up, her eyes flickering to the fine dress of the man seated by her father before she nodded and weaved her way back to the bar to grasp the pouring jug of wine. Curtsying low to Martyn, she refilled his cup before stepping back behind her father, her grey eyes locked on the floor as her dark hair fell into her face.

"M'girl, Shea. She's a useless thing, her mind isn't quite there I'm afraid," the innkeep muttered causiously to Daryl. The sellsword smirked before nodding his head in the girls direction.

"Now sir, no-one's mind is ever truely gone, it simply functions differently, that is all. Perhaps the young lady may know of my Lord's father?"

"If she does, she could not tell you, I'm afraid; she cannot speak. However, she may be able to take you to someone who does. She often wonders the village you see, and gets into mischief, I'm sorry to say. Maybe she's heard things on her travels?"

"Maybe indeed," Daryl said slowly, looking the girl over. She was shorter than both he, Martyn and the innkeep, and was much more delicate than her father. The black-haired boy wasn't below asking a young travern girl for help, especially if it meant getting his pay quicker than questioning the whole village before moving on to somewhere else. Lord Vashere, on the other hand, may not be so ready to accept a simple peasant's help...

Looking over to where Amathyne stood watch, Daryl motioned for her to approach. He had yet to gain the stoic woman's trust, but she was intelligent for the female species. "This young lady's father believes she can aid us on our search for Lord Bergan. Should we accept?"

[Eva]

Amethyne

During the commotion between Daryl and Martyn, Amethyne merely watched and offered only a few words at the very beginning. "I would say you know far less, carrying on as you do." Whether Martyn, Daryl, or the innkeeper heard her was not Amethyne's concern. For the rest of the 'argument', Amethyne stood to the side, completely disinterested in whatever happened next. She only roused herself when Daryl addressed her directly. So she approached him.

Amethyne looked up at Daryl (although only a bit; he was only slightly taller than her) and nodded in response to his question. "Do not tell Martyn the source." she said tersely. "He is a stupid man of pride." she added, certainly not trying very hard to be unheard. Of course, her first sentence had been fairly quiet, so if anything Martyn would be confused as to the identity of the 'stupid man of pride'. As quiet as she normally was, sometimes Amethyne enjoyed goading others. Daryl gave her a half-amused, half-warning look. "I will ask. Woman to woman." Amethyne said.

Amethyne approached Shea and looked her dead in the eyes. "We seek Bergan Vashere, lord of far more than he is rightfully entitled to." she said. "He resembles him." Amethyne pointed at Martyn. "Do not worry. We will pay you for assistance." Shea listened intently and took out her tablet, which she began to scribble on. "So that's how we're getting our answer." Daryl said, arms folded. Amethyne merely waited for the girl to finish writing, at which point she handed the tablet over to Daryl. The roguish man cleared his throat.

"man in armor argue Lord
mentioned Veniremen fort
fleeing something did not hear"

Daryl read quietly. "Veniremen Fort." Amethyne said. Daryl handed the tablet back to Shea and looked at his co-sword. "How should we explain where we received our information?" he asked. "Not my concern. If he is displeased, he can do the questions." Amethyne replied. "How long ago?" Amethyne asked Shea. She erased her first message and quickly wrote off a new one.

"Can't remember. Not long."

"There's that." Amethyne told Daryl. "If he's stopping at a fort, it has to be a for a while. Maybe a fortnight?" he asked, clearly aware of his own pun. "Our best course. We should leave immediately." Amethyne said.

"Lord Martyn, Daryl and I have done some questioning. We've pieced together from different accounts that your father may be at Veniremen Fort. The only reason we know for his presence there is that he feels threatened. Which civil wars are known to cause." she explained, somewhat unnecessarily. But Amethyne was not convinced that her 'Lord' was as learned as he put on. "If it helps, I know of a tribe that tends to travel around the Greybark forests near Veniremen. Merely a suggestion, should we require help."

[TragicAce]

Martyn

“At least at court my subjects were more subtle in their insults, Amethyne. I am no fool.” Martyn glared at the Daccarin woman, who he would have came to blows with long ago were she a man. It was a pity that such an exotic beauty was wasted on such an insufferable woman. “You forget the hand that feeds you, it seems. Of your kind Murand would have herded and butchered long ago, were it not for my Lady Galandere’s sympathy.” How soon they do forget.

That sellsword Winters was as bad mouthed as any of his profession, but his tongue could never match a woman’s sting. When all was done he would toss the man a handful of golden marks in a pigsty, and watch the pathetic excuse for a warrior grovel in the mud. He would know his place, then. Why did so many commoners forget theirs? Father has been too lenient on his lands, Martyn did not doubt. His head ached behind his eyes, in truth it had since this he arrived in Glenderk last night. The lordling’s patience was short and near its end. Too many cretins presumed to know more than they did. It was enough to strain the most reserved scholar, and Martyn was neither reserved nor a scholar.

“It was too much to hope he was dead, then.” He did not try hiding a boyish grin at the surprise that lit up in the ‘all-knowing’ Daccarin’s face. It was a shame the sellsword had relaxed his features before Martyn could catch a glimpse. The words Daryl spoke next were too ironic, given who the man was. “What you speak of is treason, my lord.” There had been a hidden gasp that flew throughout the tavern’s mainroom, the bartender looked as if his heart stopped beating. Maybe it had, for a pace or two. A disapproving scowl made its way on Amethne’s face, but before she opened her mouth the nobleman rose his hand for silence. And by the Divine Goddesses, she did. But he was not novice enough around women to think that she would not redouble on him later. Women were spiteful creatures.

“I think I shall take supper in my rooms, barkeep.” Martyn slipped two marks under his fingers to the man. The older man blinked twice when he saw them to be gold. Two silver would have fed his party for the night. “See that my…companions are fed a third of the usual fare. Dogs are most fierce when they’re hungry, after all.” He chuckled and not quietly. The man’s eyes rested on a pretty tavern girl, and for a moment he thought it over. Just a moment. “Be ready to leave with the sun.”

He made his way upstairs in a storm of silence. Wasted with this dirty lot, that one.

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Daryl

Daryl's hands balled at his sides as the arrogant Lordling took his leave. Giving his precious pay to a simple innkeep! And two gold peices! Silver would've covered them both easily, not to mention that the mere boy was demanding they be served less than they deserved! The audacity!

Breathing heavily through his nose, the sellsword closed his eyes briefly before dissmissing his anger. It would be well... he would still be paid greatly for his services, and from the sounds of things, he would not be in Martyn's hire fore much longer; the talk of treason set his teeth on edge, but the call of payment was too strong to ignore and abandon. Perhaps he would meet someone on his travels who would offer a higher price...

"Lords are some of trickiest men that inhabit our lands, I have found," Daryl said to Amethyne as he took the seat that Martyn had previously been sat in. He waved a hand for the guard to join him, and she took the seat across from him causiously. "Power should be earned, I think, not born into. It breeds arrogance and self-rightousness that we simple folk must then deal with."

"If you dislike him so greatly, why not leave?" Amethyne asked, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes peircing as she watched the sellsword.

"I've invested time in this traitorous bastard already; I may as well see through to the point were he will part with his coin. Why don't you leave as well? You hold no love for him, either."

"Whether I have love for him or not does not change the fact that I have sworn to aid him; I shant leave. And you should hold your tongue, sellsword; you are no better than he."

"But at least I'm honest about it," Daryl quipped back with a grin, leaning back in the chair with his hands clasped behind his head. The two were silent for a time before their small meal was placed before them by the serving girl, Shea. "You have my thanks, lady." The young girl looked startled for a moment, before nodding her head with a small yet nervous smile. It expanded when she caught the eye of Amethyne, however. After seeing that they were taken care of, she disappeared to serve the other patrons. "So..." Daryl started, taking a hunk of bread from the platter. "What are we going to do about this whole thing?"

[Eva]

Amethyne

Amethyne cocked her head and stared at Daryl. "I am not skilled at 'plotting'. But do remember that I was hired for only an amount of time. Once that is over, I am open to suggestion." she said. Amethyne bit into the stale bread and chewed. "I wonder if he realizes this. It seems not."

"Yeah, well. I don't like what he said earlier. Treason." Daryl said. Amethyne nodded. "I don't intend to follow him into such a thing. My oath does not include anything of that sort." Amethyne looked around before turning back to her 'comrade'. "I have an idea...I believe. I must pray before I can say anything for sure." she said. "Pray to what?" Daryl asked as Amethyne stood up. "Many things. These are trying times." she replied. Amethyne went to her closet-like room and knelt on the ground for prayer.

"Kelhmore, Lord of the Oath, I ask your wisdom for my oath. What shall I do about this treason..." she prayed.

[TragicAce]

Martyn

“Come in.” It had been an hour since Martyn had retired to his quarters—the most luxurious room they had, which looked more like an overgrown servant’s room to the lordling’s eye. There was a pair of paintings on the wall, done by nameless men, depicting bland woodland sceneries. Curtains that held dust between the ruffles, sheets that looked like they had been untouched for months. All in all it was a humble room, if somewhat neglected, but it was far less modest then sleeping in the open air, which Martyn had grown far too accustomed.

The door creaked open and that tavern girl appeared with a silver tray with hot soup and pork, from the look and smell of it. Only then did he realize his hunger, his stomach growling with approval. To his surprise his face grew hot. Blushing like a schoolboy…have I lost all composure? Martyn looked over at Shea and saw her cringe back a step. He quickly fixed his expression, a scowl at his own foolishness turned towards a welcoming smile. How he did hope that would not threaten the girl. Shea curtsied after placing the tray down on the table, and made for the door. Quick!

“Hold! I mean, I-” what a time for the headache to resume! It was as if someone were shooting him with blunt-tipped arrows from across the room. It took all restraint he could muster not to unleash his frustrations verbally. When he looked back at Shea, she was gone. Damn the Goddesses, she’s worse than a wounded doe. Sighing to himself, Martyn made over to look at his supper. All appetite seemed to have fled. A quick knock admitted Shea once more, with a damp cloth and a tea the lordling did not recognize. Though he was never one to sit around drinking tea.

She motioned him back towards the bed, rather forward for a maiden! It was a sign of his poor condition that he did not voice a suggestive comment. Against her wishes he would not lay down—in truth he had always been afraid of lying down in front of others, from a past event he witnessed as a child…Martyn shook his head to shake that memory. Cup in one hand, a warm towel in the other, the nobleman felt rather odd. Silence made him feel uneasy, so he started conversation.

“I appreciate this, urh…whatever was your name again?” She pulled a tablet from somewhere and started writing. How rude! Before he could begin to discipline her—Martyn was a natural at disciplining servants—she turned the tablet over.

“my humble apologies, Lord
please rest, you are in great pain
my name is Shea”

How peculiar. Well if that was the game she wanted to play.

“Let me hear your voice, I’m sure a delicate lass such as yourself could give the Goddess of Harmony a good showing.” Martyn was more curious then anything. Part of him wished she sounded monsterous, and the other part hated him for thinking so. She started to scribble.

“forgive me
I cannot speak, that gift
was never granted to me”

That gave Martyn pause. She was a mute? Well, there were certainly advantages to having a woman who could not speak her mind. What he would give for Amethyne to have such an ailment. Life was simply never fair. “Well Shea, you have my sympathy…perhaps…there are some benefits for muted attendants. Some Lords look far to seek such individuals as yourself, as it is more difficult for them to…” What, betray them to the law enforcement for rape and worse? “What I mean is, you would make for a proper servant, in a better dress. You even remind me of someone, come to think of it. Well, what do you say, er, write? Ride with us and you will serve me instead of this rotting tavern.”

There was a long pause; Shea’s face one of uncertainty. It wasn’t often one was faced with a life-changing decision like this, at least not one so openly. He could force her to accompany him of course, but that was a path for lesser men. Ladies-the pretty ones, anyway-ought to be treated better. At least the ones who didn’t carry swords on their backs. Finally,

“your offer is too generous
but I gladly accept
my gracious Lord”

“Good. There was a bay gelding in the stables when I arrived. I shall purchase it from the owner in the morn. We ride hard, so pack well your belongings. You may leave me.” Another curtsy, this one deeper then the first. When she closed the door Martyn let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. No, schoolboys have more composure then I! The headache had returned, this time with avengeance.

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Shea

Her heart pounding, Shea allowed herself a small smile before descending from the upper floor back down to the main room of the inn, hugging the serving platter to her chest. Catching her father's eye over the head's of the few patrons, she cocked her head towards the kitchens. Nodding, father and daughter pushed through the swinging doors and into the small room, where Shea placed the serving plate by the cooking range and turned to look at her father.

"Well? What is it, girl? That Lordling giving you grief?" Her father asked gruffly, crossing his thick arms across his chest and looking at her suspiciously. He loved his girl, truely he did, but she did have a habit of inventing tall tales.

No, father. Shea and her father had a method of speaking that was quicker than her writing all her thoughts down; they had worked out a series of gestures and expressions that Shea could make that had word-meanings to her father. He was indeed most gracious. Very much so. He wishes to take me on as his personal maid, she signed, smiling slightly at her father. He was silent for a few moments.

"What did you say, Shea?"

I said yes. What else could I say? He is a Lord; I had little choice.

"You always have a choice girl!" Throwing his arms up, the innkeep paced around the small kitchen agitatedly. Shea watched him with wide grey eyes. "How am I going to run this place alone? You never thought of that, did you? No, I didn't think so."

Papa... Shea placed her hand on his arm, slowing him to a stop. I love you, papa, but the maid of a Lord....I will make money, and I can send it to you. Sighing, the innkeep took her two small hands in his own as she stopped signing.

"I know, Shea... You're just so delicate. How will you manage without your papa to look after you? But you're a young lady now, and I suppose this will give you a life better than any I could give you. Go ready yourself and sleep well, my child. I will see you off in the morning." Smiling, Shea stood on her tiptoes to kiss her fathers cheek before pulling her hands gently from his grip.

Lord Martyn said they would ride at first light...

~~~

Shea sheilded her eyes against the rising sun. Daryl and Amethyne were stood waiting for Martyn as she was; Daryl winked at her before raising his hand to cover his mouth as he yawned widely. Amethyne watched her, making Shea feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Shea!" Looking over her shoulder, the girl's face broke out into a smile as her father jogged towards her. Meeting him half-way Shea threw her arms around his neck. I didn't think you would be awake! she signed, grinning.

"A'course I was. I couldn't let you go without seeing you first," he said gruffly, scratching at the stubble that covered his cheeks. "Listen, girl- I want you to be careful. You don't know where you're going, and the gods know how mindless you can be. You follow this Lordling of yours, and you never let him out of your sight, you got me?" Shea nodded. "Okay... I want you to have these." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a stack of letters, bound together by twine. None of them looked open. "They're from your mother. I can't read, so I don't know what they say, other than they're addressed to you. She told me to tell you that when the time was right, you were open them."

Papa...how will I know? It was hard to sign with her hands full, but she just about managed. He smiled sadly at her.

"She just said you would know. Your mother...she was an amazing woman, and I see a lot of her in you. Don't forget, okay?"

I won't, Papa. I love you. Hugging her father tightly once more, Shea brushed a tear from her eye as she felt an arm around her shoulders. Looking up, her mouth open in surprise, she saw Daryl smirking down at her.

"Don't worry, good sir; I'll keep an eye on your girl here," he promised, looking sincere enough...but he was a sellsword. "No need to be worried, little Shea. Amethyne and I will look after you while we're here."

Knowing that the man wouldn't understand the sign-language she and her father had, Shea just nodded. Removing his arm and rubbing his hands together, Daryl glanced back at the inn, the sash tied around his head fluttering in the morning breeze. "Now, where's that Lord of ours?"

[Eva]

Amethyne

Amethyne watched the girl, Shea. She felt a great deal of nervousness about her accompanying them, and she would not hold these feelings back. "Wherever 'our lordling' is, he is late. He sets such a fine example." Amethyne said. She turned to the girl and gave her an intense look. "For what it's worth, I will look after you. Woman to woman, I will say this: Men are entitled creatures. And if anyone tries to claim you for himself, I will put an end to it." she explained. Amethyne did not care how the girl replied; whether she was grateful or angered by the offered protection was unimportant. Amethyne's oaths did not rely on the agreement of others.

Amethyne was not sure if she included Daryl in her warning. As far as she knew, he was not a man who indulged in...such things, but it did not hurt for him to hear it. "I thought you didn't kill people." Daryl said, interrupting her thoughts. "Death is not the only punishment that can be given." Amethyne replied. "But may the Family of Gods forgive me if I cause it." she added, her voice much more somber.

"Uh, yeah. So, while we wait." Daryl said, stretching. "Tell me about this...Family of Gods. It's the only thing that can get you talking." he 'asked'. Amethyne looked from Daryl to Shea and sighed. She did not particularly enjoy educating the pale people about her culture, but sometimes it made her feel...intelligent, to do so. "The Family of Gods are the long-deceased ancestors of the tribal people. As told by the Shamans, the Family were the first beings to walk the earth, back in the time where the magics were within everyone and far more powerful than today. But with power comes arrogance, and so the first waged wars upon wars, slaying each other. The great death and strife of the land caused it to split, and split, and so did the people. It came that so few remained that the wars had to end, lest all be lost. Some of the first planted their feet and built homes, villages, and farms. Others wandered forevermore, the tribals that exist today."

"The Family of Gods are those who brought the peace. They gathered all that remained of the first and agreed to end the wars. They took within them a great deal of the magics, and the power alone destroyed their earthly bodies. The magics became rare, with very few capable of doing them and even they cannot compare to the powers of old. Without such power, the first could not harm the earth as terribly as before. The root-takers have forgotten this sacrifice, but the tribals have not, and so we revere the Family." Amethyne finished her tale, and looked at her companions. "So...the root-takes are the villagers and city people? Is that what you tribals call us?" Daryl asked. "That is what your kind do, yes? You plant roots in one place and stay there." Amethyne replied. "I don't." Daryl shot back. "Then you are as I am. A Between-the-worlds. That is what the tribals call travelers like us." Amethyne said. She cleared her throat and straightened herself up now. "When we have time, you should tell me what your people worship. It would make for an amusing tale." she told Daryl.

"But not now." The three vassals turned and saw Martyn approaching them. "Are you done with your sacrilegious bedtime stories, woman, or do you have more lies to tell?" he asked, eyes focused on Amethyne. "I do not. We are ready for your orders, my lord."

[TragicAce]

Martyn

“If my father is in Veniremen, then it is as I feared.” The lordling paused, not for dramatic effect but for the pulsing headache that made his eyes want to jump out of their sockets. “We travel to Lady Galandere, in Five Rivers.” Five Rivers was the industrious city of the South, the seat of Andar, of which Murand was but one of three of its provinces. The province ruled by his father. Though not for much longer, I would wager… Forces that moved unseen were about, though any more then that was uncertain.

“Hope you’re a favored nephew, Martyn. I’d not take to Five Rivers for less than gold.” Daryl was in typical condition. The condition of being shamelessly coin-hungry. All peasants could be bought with enough coin-for some those marks needn’t even be silver. How could there be finer emotions such as chivalry and love when one was permanently fixated on wealth? It is all too obvious that is why nobility must lead, those born without the pettiness of the low. That confirmation did little to soothe his growing headache, however.

The morning had just broken, dew from yesterday’s rain keeping the air surprisingly humid. Summer had just started, and it set to be a scorcher. The pulsing in his head would not pause—not for a moment—and his surroundings started to blur. It could have been seconds, hours or years before he fell from the saddle. The stirrup kept the fall from doing much harm. He thought he could hear voices, but all he could see was the sun. It was rather high in the sky, now.

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Daryl

"Oh gods help us," Daryl grumbled as Martyn tumbled from his steed, his foot catching in the stirrup and stopping him from cracking his head on the ground below. Dismounting his own beast quickly, Daryl grabbed the Lordling under the arms and pulled him away from the horse, which was stamping its hooves at the disturbance of weight from its back. Holding Martyn up as the lord blinked lazily, Daryl watched and Shea approached the agitated horse, her hands held in a comforting gesture as she edged towards it. Snorting, the beast allowed her to touch its long face, and the girl smiled.

"Is he well?" Amethyne asked, her tone sounded disinterested as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I think so. He's not unconscious, at least," Daryl observed as Martyn groaned and pushed himself from Daryl's grip. "Are you sure you are well enough to ride, Lord? We wouldn't want anything to happen to you on the road." Daryl's smirk was unnoticed by the lord, but Amethyne and Shea saw it. The guardswoman gave him a resigned look and Shea looked slightly shocked, though her lips curled into a small smile. It was sweet.

"Don't be a fool, of course I can," Martyn answered, his words slightly halting, but still possessing the disgusted and arrogant tone the man always used when talking to the sellsword. "It was a slight dizzy spell. Now-" Pushing the dark-haired boy from him and managed to pull himself back into the saddle with some dignity, Martyn looked down at Shea, his face softening somewhat, "-we need to aquire the young lady here a horse."

[Eva]

Amethyne

After a horse had been acquired for Shea and everyone had settled down, the small group finally started to leave Glenderk. As she rode, Amethyne recited prayers in her head and under her breath, questions to the Family of Gods. She rode at the back of the line, with Daryl at the front, Martyn behind him and Shea behind Martyn. Martyn held the map, largely by default. The merchant who had sold the map to them had admitted that it was slightly out of date, but thus far they had encountered no obstacles that weren't mentioned on the map itself. According to the map, the distance between Glenderk and Five Rivers was a few days' worth, more or less depending on how quickly they went.

Several hours passed uneventfully. And then several more. The skies started to darken just as Daryl saw a sign that pointed them to a nearby town. He stopped and read it. "Merry Lay-town." he read out loud to the others. "Another one? How many villages are named Lay-town in this part of the world?" Martyn asked. "I suspect it was just named Merry, a long time ago. Before Five Rivers became such a hub." Daryl guessed. Amethyne and Shea caught up to the two men and looked at the sign. "Another Lay-town. This one's called Merry." Daryl told them. "How fortunate. We should stop here and ask some questions. Maybe rest, if it is truly late." Amethyne suggested. She was somewhat more tired than she cared to admit. "There is a chance that my father stopped here on his way to Veniremen, or someone saw him passing by." He thought for a moment. "Yes, this we should ask some questions. But we will leave immediately if we have reason to." Martyn declared.


As the four entered town on their horses, each of them noticed the scene unfolding. People rushed into their houses as the sky grew darker, none of them noticing the newcomers. Martyn looked around at the scattering villagefolk and saw two people who were standing around and shouting orders. "Get inside and don't make a sound. The militia can't come to yer aid once it starts." one of them, a heavy-set woman, called out. "You there. What is the meaning of this chaos?" Martyn demanded as he rode up to her. The woman looked up and saw his fancy, compared to her, clothing. "Pardon my manners, milord, but we have no time for hospitality. The best I can offer you is a hearty warning to get out of here." she said, her voice much gruffer at normal volume. "It must be very grave for you to act so blatantly disrespectful." Martyn replied. Another person, a young man, came up. "Pardon me as well, but there is a reason." he said. The woman nodded. "I'm Lisbeth, the...I suppose head of town is what I am. Come with me, if it pleases you." she said, motioning for the four to follow her.

Martyn, Shea, Daryl, and Amethyne were ushered into a small hut that was barely kept lit by a flickering lantern. "Our village is being attacked by tribals." Lisbeth said bluntly, once everyone had settled in. Martyn sat in one of the two chairs available, while the young man sat in the other. Everyone else stood. "Two weeks they sent their fighters with the bone clubs and tooth-spiked spears after us for the first time, then again a few days after, then again another few days, and now tonight. We have lost many, mostly our fit men, and now our militia is small. It's so bad that even I must fight." she said. "So those damned tribals have finally decided to start a war? It was only a matter of time." Martyn said. Amethyne remained silent. "Well..." the young man started. "It all began when some of their witches came to our village. Their whole tribe was parked a bit away, where the trees are thickest. Some of the elders wanted to send a warning." the man stopped there. "I am sure you know how this ended." Lisbeth said for him.

She paused for a moment and bit her lip. "I would not be so bold as to ask any of you to stay and help us. It is not my place. But...if you have any extra equipment, a spare sword or even a knife, it would help greatly." she said, glancing from one person to the next. "You would have to make it worth our while." Martyn said. It was hard to tell if he held contempt or pity for the people, but either way, he had laid down the demand. He looked at Daryl, as he did not feel like bargaining at the moment. "We need aid as well. Specifically, we are looking for any information on the whereabouts of Lord Bergan Vashere. And anyone who could give us assistance in finding him." Daryl offered. "Lord Bergan? Yes, he was here." Lisbeth said, after a moment. "At least, there was a man in lordly attire who introduced himself as such. He stopped here before the attacks began. I'd say...about four weeks ago." Daryl, Amethyne, and Martyn looked at each other. "He needed some supplies and a guide. Elder Eddelbart, may he rest in peace, suggested his niece Serha. Good thing, too. People have been saying the roads to Five Rivers have been a bit chaotic." she finished.

The four 'adventurers' turned away from Lisbeth and began speaking. "This makes no sense at all. He was here three weeks ago, yet Shea saw someone like him 'not long ago'." Martyn said. Shea nodded her head, the first time she had made herself noticed in a while. "Perhaps he came from here, to Five Rivers, then Glenderk, and then Veniremen? That may explain why he needed that guide." Daryl offered. "Not easy." Amethyne muttered. Martyn looked agitated. "OR, has it occurred to either of you, he took this complex route to shake off a pursuer?" he snapped. Both glared at him for a moment but quickly shook it off. "Yes, that does make sense." Daryl admitted. Behind all of them, Lisbeth looked impatient. "Did Lord Bergan mention anyone following him?" Daryl turned and asked. Lisbeth tapped her foot on the ground and thought. "No, but something odd did happen. A strange looking woman showed up and said she was going to wait here for someone to show up. Been paying every night for a room at the Merry Night Rest. And a little while after her, a witch hunter came into town. The attacks started around that time, and since the tribals had shamans, he stayed to help. The girl's still here too, far as I know." she said.

"I think we should stay here for a while and ask some questions. It's dangerous, but something strange is going on with your father." Amethyne said to Martyn. Lisbeth's eyes widened. "You're the Lord's son? Milord, you should not stay here for long! It's too dangerous!" she warned. "I will be the judge of that. You have been of some help, woman, but I do not need your concerns." Martyn said to her. While they talked, an idea slowly formed in Daryl's head. "Say...we could fix this whole problem." Daryl said. Everyone in the room looked at him. "What if we found these tribals and Amethyne convinces them to leave? Then we can have all the time we need to talk to the locals about your father." he suggested. "I thought she was one of 'em. A credit to her people, if she's traveling with you, milord." Lisbeth said, gesturing to Amethyne, who did not look pleased.

Amethyne sighed and shook her head. "How can I convince them to put down arms? Blood of the tribals has been shed on this ground. As the Lines of the First said: 'Vengeance is equality. Blood is paid in blood, and no injustice can go without judgement.' Even if they have repaid the loss of the shamans, this tribe may decide that Merry deserves to burn. If that is their decision, I may be unable to sway them." she said. "And I cannot say that it is undeserved." she added. "But we can try, right? Martyn, you can order her to try. These people serve you, and it's a lord's duty to protect his people. You should send Amethyne to talk to the tribals." Daryl said. Amethyne glared at him harshly, and then looked to Martyn. "If...if you feel it is best, then tell me. I will do what I can." she looked at the ground, angry. All eyes in the room were on Martyn at that moment.

[Gafe]

Navarro

[/b]

The sky above the inn grew darker, mimicking the somber faces of the townsfolk hurrying in front of it. Or perhaps the grim facial features in the people were caused by the increasingly cloudy weather. One could never know in a place as tainted by coarse magic as Merry Lay-town. The witch hunter had seen barbaric magic users too many times, more often than not results of erroneous teachings in lore mixed with rusty local traditions. And that was fine, the magical truth was tricky and grasping it, a challenge. The problem was when cultural pride and self-righteous stubbornnes locked the ill-developed magical pseudo-knowledge in place, refusing to see the depravities in it and thus, the holy light and salvation in the truth Navarro offered. The tribal shamans were a prime specimen of this kind of magic-user.

Their magical feats were certainly impressive. To bend natural forces around them with apparent mild ease to achieve that sort of effect spoke of a long lineage of magical tampering. Tampering that had resulted in the development of several shamanistic - though crude-looking - artifacts to harness their magical talents. In a guestroom, with his back to a window that overlooked the Merry Night Rest Inn, eyes closed in thought, Navarro frowned. The tribals' culture was too thoroughly interwoven near the core by both the magic of their shamans and their lore for their own good, not to mention rooted in place by centuries of tribal history. An extensive and (he thought) tedious history of messing with magic in ways that threatened the seams of their very universe. A vein throbbed, fighting containment, in his left temple.

In seemingly response, his eyelids opened, exposing blue eyes to the mercy of the darkened environment. Turning, he inspected the view his window provided for what was possibly the fortieth time in the day. In the streets, as expected, people shuffled into their households, declaring an omen of approaching tribals with every terrified pace. What was unexpected were the four unfamiliar faces following Lisbeth, the woman in charge of Merry Lay-town who'd given Navarro an excellent excuse to extend his stay in the town not only without suspicion but with relieved and welcoming attitudes from the villagers too: dispatching the invading tribal shamans. Speaking of which, a woman in the quartet trailing after Lisbeth seemed to have features touched by tribal ancestors. Odd. Maybe as odd as her companion, the man who carried himself with the petulant upright posture of a noble. Piqued in the slightest by the group, his eyes fell quick as vultures upon a carcass on the other two travelers. The way he had hoped for them to be as uncommon as the tribal and the noble surprised him, hopes that died as they locked on the other male and female. At first glance they had nothing special about them. Navarro did not spare a second glance on the group.

Instead, his blue gaze fell on the building opposite of him. The Merry Night Rest Inn. A nice place, he was sure, definitely more popular and larger than the one he currently stayed at. The witch hunter preferred to be in a geographically-advantageous place, not to mention it was kinder to his pocket. Delicately, his right hand touched the window glass, the vials in his clothes chiming lightly to the movement. Navarro had failed to notice the moment he'd raised the hand. Advantageous because the room he'd taken had a perfect, square view of the front of the Merry Night Rest. He had the place under close surveillance.

Meals were taken up to his room and eaten before the window. Nights were almost sleepless and filthy curtains never completely shut. The moments when he left the room were the only moments his eyes diverted from the Merry Night Rest, which he only did if the tribals invaded. Like tonight.

Out of habit, he fished a corked ruby vial from his clothes. Inside were a number of black particles. Gently, he put the vial on the wooden floorboards. Just as gently, it rolled towards the window and adjusted its position. The corked end pointed at him while the end with the ebony powder faced the inn before his window. Soot from dragon marrow had an acute liking for the magically apt, refined or otherwise, and would float over to the magical presence if given the opportunity and if not destroyed by a breeze. Captive inside a container of any sort it worked as a witch compass of sorts. Which meant the witch was still in the inn.

In the floorboards, the wind slightly shifted its position, following the street outside his window. Navarro was quick to pick it up. The tribal invasion, shamans and all, was close enough. The hunter made his way outside the inn.

He had expected to see the militia outside, which he of course saw. Whom he had not anticipated were the four strange faces who'd been with Lisbeth moments before. Actually, he only saw three of them and Lisbeth, the tribal girl was not with them, and they were all staring ahead at the road. Navarro made his way to the woman in charge all while following the path of their vision. The tribal girl was farther along on the street, her back to them, facing the incoming invaders. The hunter could not be sure, but it seemed that the girl's skin bristled and trembled with something resembling controlled anger. A lot of it. Navarro slung his crossbow over his right shoulder and realized the sounds of battle were yet to begin, even though the tribals were already in sight.

"Lisbeth, what is happening?" He inquired, loud enough for the three strangers to hear.

[TragicAce]

Martyn

“No business of yours, you—” A sudden ache in his mind threw off the string of curses Martyn had lined up for the intruder. He did not like interruptions, especially not while he was in such a state as this. Cold, tired and dirty. The wind was ill, and though the lordling was no poet that’s how it truly felt. Even a witless fool recognized the stench of battle growing stronger, an acidic blend of drunkenness and fear. He wouldn’t mind being drunk, now. Maybe more than a little, Martyn mused as he looked over at the barbarians making their way into view. The militia that remained in Merry hadn’t the composure to stop their shaking. If they had more time, perhaps this would have ended differently.

“Mount your horses, Shea, sellsword. Amethyne might be one of them, but negotiating a truce is hard enough with sane and civilized men.” Getting atop his horse proved more difficult than it should have, his gelding looked to have three manes sometimes, all fuzzy. In any case, he was not fit to fight. The lordling wanted to leave as soon as they got here, but failure to at least attempt some sort of aid would cost him pride from his subordinates. Though that was a far cheaper cost then his life, to be sure. A flash of irritation brought with it something else-his vision left him completely, for a moment. But it wasn’t darkness that filled him, it was someone else’s sight. That’s all that made sense, though it was absolute lunacy.

The eyes were watching the road in front of where they currently stood, but it was littered with crows atop countless carrion. His eyes blinked, and the carrion grew closer. Elk didn’t wear tunics, wear bits of armor and hold spears. It was a slaughter unimaginable-bodies blown from the inside out their...and then suddenly, a figure appeared, walking leisurely atop the road paved in human entrails.

That figure was Death.

Martyn leaned over his mare to unload the contents of his stomach. The horse stirred, understandably unappreciating. By all that is holy, what did I just… Shock kept all the other voices silent, all save one. It was the pale blonde man who had interrupted him earlier. The words seemed to hold anxious anticipation more then anything else. “My lord, I do believe you have been cursed.”

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Daryl

"Cursed? What do you mean?" Daryl asked in a strained voice, his head swiveling from Martyn to the man who had spoken. The talk of magic unsettled him; he had incountered the art only once in his life, when he was but a boy. The woman had looked kindly, smiling at the inquisitive child as she picked a whithered leaf from the road, laid it on her palm and nursed it back to life. But when had returned home that night, the green leaf clutched in his small hand and his mouth running a story of the 'magic lady,' he'd seen her true nature when she was cornered; eyes as wild as a beaten horse, her mouth twisted as ugly words spilled from her lips and lightning reigned from the sky.

Years later, he would remember the event with an adults perspective rather than a child's, and see her fury more as desperation, but the raw power had scared him then and worried him now. Any spellcaster could achieve more with a wave of a hand than he could in a lifetime, could level a mountain or flood a plain, and he would be simply washed away with the tide.

"Yes, cursed," the man answered curtly. "No doubt a magic-user has seen to punish your Lord."

"What is this? Me, punished?" Martyn interjected, his face darkening with rage. "Point me out this mage; they shall meet my blade!"

"My lord, see sense!" Daryl snapped, kicking his steed forward and across Martyn's path. "Courage and steel is no match for a witch! She could strike you down at fifty paces, long before you draw your sword!"

"So what would you suggest, sellsword? What wisedom do you wish to give me?" the Lordling's tone was biting, and dripping with sarcasm. Daryl bristled, but had no answer. He didn't know how to fight magic, but the gentleman who'd approached and told Martyn of his curse...maybe he did.

"Might I suggest you ask the good sir here for aid?" Daryl said slowly, trying to sound like he wasn't giving an order. "He appears to be quite knowledgable on magical lore." Pulling his horse up alongside Shea's, he smiled at the girl and gently took the reigns from her hands. "If the fighting is going to get worse, then you shouldn't be here, Shea." The girl worried her lip between her teeth for a moment before nodding. "I'm going to take Shea somewhere safe, okay? I'll be back shortly."

Still gripping the girl's horse, Daryl spurred his own into moving, heading down an alleyway between two thatched houses around to the back of the inn they'd been staying at. Helping the girl dismount from her horse, he tied the chestnut to a post securely before guiding Shea inside. "I want you to stay in here until we come for you, okay?" He told her, seating her in the common room away from the windows. "No matter what happens, stay inside, okay?" The girl nodded. Giving her a reasuring smile, Daryl turned to leave, only to have his sleeve grabbed. Shea pushed a scrap of paper into his hand before letting him leave. Once he was outside, he unfolded it, a warm smile blossoming across his face.

Good luck.