[WFRP] The Waters of Life

[Thragka]

Simon

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Émilie nodded slowly. "It is true. Your powers will be as much a curse as a blessing. You will always be hated, and hunted. Those that do not understand you will fear you. Those who are weaker than you will shackle you, and claim to own your birthright. But at least escaping to the east is better than being taken by the fey." The priestess spat, a blob of phlegm arcing to the ground, where it splattered into a viscous lump.

"Your parents must have been clever ... or lucky, to hide you from the child-thieves."

~

Siegfried

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There were dark circles beneath Edgard's eyes visible even in the half-light of Mannslieb. He was clutching his staff with both hands, which made his bony knuckles protrude even more than normal from the paper-thin skin stretched across his hands. The vice-like grip seemed to be the only thing holding him upright.

Slowly, as if every movement were a struggle - and with several loud creaks from his spine - the village elder executed a low bow. Wobbling for a precarious moment at the perigee, he planted the butt of his stick in the earth and forced himself upright once more.

"Siegfried. Once again, we are truly blessed that you could help us this afternoon. Remy-sur-Orne will not forget. I will make sure of it."

Edgard took a deep breath, letting his eyelids fall as he did so. His expression was blank; purposefully, Siegfried suggested. Some of those cracking bones had been painfully and embarrassingly loud.

"My old bones do not lie still as happily as they once did, so I often find myself wandering after dark. And tonight, I drank too much thé, which keeps me alert. I lie down, but then nature calls ... old age is not to be recommended." He smiled. "But though I complain, I like Remy at night. Things seem so ... peaceful." Edgard turned away from the inn, gazing out at the sleeping village.