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The hedge wizard sighed when Valerie did not answer him. This is such a waste of time, he thought. Of course, he could not let the apprentice behind and go to Altdorf on his own; he would need Valerie to introduce him to the Colleges if he hoped to get in.
He returned to the inn with the others, only to find their employer apparently tipsy. What an embarrassment. He made sure to keep his distances, not wanting to be seen with him.
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"Degaré, you treacherous bastard! You'll never trade in L'Anguille again!"
This should be good, he could not help thinking as he tried to get a good view. No matter a man's wealth and upbringing, they were all the same deep down... Slaves to their emotions.
__________________
Ponytar of myself by MeanMrsMustard.
Gentle hoofbeats crossed the Orne before their source did - across the bridge, a thin horse rounded the houses by the junction, its flanks as mud-spattered as its rider. The man's figure was almost entirely obscured by a thick, woollen travelling cloak; as his mounted trotted non-chalantly along the street towards the inn, he leered at Marperic from beneath a wide-brimmed hat; his yellow teeth almost matched his sallow skin. Stopping a few yards from d'Abenne, the newcomer's cool demeanour contrasted with that of his horse; the beast was almost glaring at them with wide, bulging eyes. Abel glanced at the ribs visible through its hide - the beast had seen better days, he hoped, but something turning over in his stomach made him feel it was unlikely it would ever be healthy again.
Inside, the men in leather armour lay their hands of cards upon the table - face down - and took several steps towards the door.
"Marperic," said the man on horseback, in a voice like the rumbling of gravel. "Still drinking the merchandise, then?"
"It's d'Abenne to you, you thief," Marperic replied, raising an unsteady index finger to point at the rider. His stern expression provoked only a low laugh - a guffaw, thought Simon, like the villain out of some children's story. When the man's chest was finished shaking, he shook his head.
"That's rich, coming from you. I am only cooperating with the legitimate authority in this charming village." One bushy eyebrow rose. "An example you would do well to imitate."
"What are you implying, Degaré?" d'Abenne asked, his cheeks bright red from a combination of fury and alcohol. "I'll not tolerate slander. The Brethren will know of this."
Degaré sighed.
"Marperic, I have no desire to besmirch your image here in the street, but you're doing a good enough job without my help. You might like to pretend that the Guilds run L'Anguille, but you are mistaken. The law derives, as always, from the nobility, and I am cooperating with His Lordship."
"Do you even believe a word you're saying, you serpent-tongued swindler?" spat Marperic. One of the armoured men pushed past Abel out the door, stepping around behind the irate merchant as he directed his ire at his erstwhile partner. "I've got rights, and friends in the city. Touch one square inch of my goods," continued Marperic, "and by the gods, I'll - "
"You'll what? Assault me?" interrupted Degaré, sneering. His voice was suddenly hard; Marperic recoiled as if hit. "Stop my lawful inspection of my own cargo? Resist my attept at carrying out Lord Forsard's wishes? You just don't get it, do you? You can blather on about your imaginary rights until the cows come home but you don't have any. They don't exist," Degaré finished, almost bitterly.
As Marperic reeled, Simon noticed Degaré give a slight nod to the burly fellow standing behind d'Abenne. The strongarm took a step towards him, thrusting his hand deeper into his cloak. The side door of the common room swung - the second man from the table had stepped out to the stables, where the carriage washed been left. The smell of alcohol washed over the hedge wizard and he felt a breath on the back of his neck; the third and final card-player had just stepped up behind him, a little too close for comfort ...
Heinrich, try as he might, couldn't keep up well with the conversation, but he could tell that things were getting rather tense. With a few small movements, he made ready to get to fighting if the situation called for it, so he watched as the argument heated up in front of the inn.
As the armored man moved behind his employer, Heinrich slowly started to move around towards the inn, as inconspicuously as possible, but he knew someone dressed like an imperial and a mercenary in this place would be far from unnoticed. That and everyone saw him ride in with d'Abenne, but it didn't matter Heinrich was a body guard now, after all.
Valerie was also lost partway in the conversation, but she caught enough of it's meaning to understand what was happening.
''Simon, get ready because this might end badly.' she warned him, with a quick whisper into his ear. Not quite sure what else to do she merely readied her mind to use the winds of magic, should she need it.
''This is so childish... If i understand this correctly, then isn't the wares Mister Marperic's? Or did You, sir, Pay for them?'' She asked the Newcommer, loud enough for them to hear but hushed enough to not seem threatning or out of place
__________________ Awesome avatars:
Spoiler
Awesome dark heresy inquisitor avatar by The Randomizer
Gender bended avatar by The Randomizer
.... in her party dress, also by The Randomizer
Epic imperial Guardsman by The Architect
The horse's bulbous eyes tracked the apprentice wizard as Degaré turned his mount, the better to glare down at Valerie from beneath his hat. The man had had his nose badly broken at some point; in fact his entire lower jaw seemed to be slightly off-centre, although it was hard to tell precisely from the shadows of both his headpiece's brim and several days' stubble on his cheeks.
He spat.
"Still surrounding yourself with foreigners, I see. Here's a riddle: which is more venal, a Tilean or an Imperial?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "I'll not ask the nature of your relationship with this ... woman, but she raises a good point." He directed his comments to a path of air above Valerie's head, as if answering her question while tryin not to acknowledge her existence. "No doubt you've had the foresight to put a guild's mark on some of your stock, and as we are still within the Duchy of L'Anguille I'll be respecting that. But as for everything else - well, money's a funny thing. It flows to and fro, melding and splitting, and who can say what proportion remaining of our initial investment was mine, and what his? I believe Lord Forsard takes the view that splitting it in half is fairest."
The man behind Marperic eyed Heinrich with disease as the pit fighter came closer. His hand slowly retracted from the folds of his cloak, thankfully empty - but his balled fist seemed threatening enough on its own.
From the stable there came a creak - somebody was opening a wooden door, rather like the one at the rear of the carriage ...
Valerie was beginning to get a little annoyed by the way almost every bretonnian man talked to her. ''Watch your mouth sir! I am no whimsy little Bretonnian fancy-lady. I am Imperial, and I am proud of that. If I'm not mistaken, I am a guest in your country and wouldn't that mean showing a little courtiousness? Or did that end because I'm a woman?'' She sourly replied, not likeing that Joke of his at all. She actually looked a little scary, if not downright slightly frightening.
__________________ Awesome avatars:
Spoiler
Awesome dark heresy inquisitor avatar by The Randomizer
Gender bended avatar by The Randomizer
.... in her party dress, also by The Randomizer
Epic imperial Guardsman by The Architect
At that point Simon stepped by Valerie's side, his hand holding his quarter staff almost negligently. He knew he was not especially impressive or scary, but he did it mostly for Valerie's benefit, to give her courage in front of Degaré. The nerve of that man, talking down to his spell-casting betters... Were he a full-fledged wizard yet, Simon would punish that insolence severely as an example to others.
OOC: Simon is not a classist, but a... magickist.
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Ponytar of myself by MeanMrsMustard.
Degaré laughed loudly - an uproarious, full-chested sequence of haw haw haws that would not be out of place at closing time in a tavern, as if both amused and impressed; his grey eyes, though, remained steely, and dangerous.
"So these are your entourage. An Imperial that does not know her place and a gangly street-rat? " Marperic could not seem to find the words to respond; several splutters fell free of his lips, but then he fell silent once more. Degaré smirked, before turning his gaze back on Valerie.
"Believe me, woman, one day I will truly show you some Bretonnian courtesy. For now I advise you and your malnourished friend to stay out of my way. Get rid of them," he said flatly to his henchmen. "And Marperic, let's not draw this out. We are taking an inventory," he sneered, nodding in the direction of the stable door.
OOC:
Spoiler
Certain skill tests might be useful at this point; I leave it to your discretion if any of you want to roll against something or not.
Momentarily surprised by Valeries sharp tounge, Abel is brought to his senses by the impending danger caused by Degaré's command.
Full of confidence he then steps forward through the crowd and drawing on every drop of pride, entitlement and sense of self-worth his upbringing as a noble has instilled in him he speaks in a clear voice.
What is going on here?
Spoiler
I don't really have the system on my back enough to be certain what would be needed here, but I presume a fellowship-based test of some kind would be good.(34)(1d100)[57]
__________________
Remember: Hope springs eternal. The dark days will pass and the sun will shine again.
The best way to learn something is to ask, so ask without shame.
In this case something like Charm, Command or Intimidate would be good to try. Abel doesn't have any of these from his career, but I think they're all Basic Skills - might be wrong though as I'm away from my rulebook - and thus you can test them against half the relevant characteristic. Fellowship was the right call, though - as a noble addressing a commoner, you would definitely get some sort of bonus to such attempts (although I won't divulge the exact mechanical benefits).
The thug behind Marperic had been about to clap his hand on the merchant's shoulder when Abel spoke out; Simon heard the man behind him shift his weight from one foot to the other. Degaré held up one hand, stilling his men. He took in Abel's garb before bowing his head respectfully.
"I have just been instructing my partner here as to Lord Forsard's wishes regarding our joint assets," he said coolly.
Marperic cleared his throat; it seemed he had found his voice once more. "My assets, Sir Abel. You saw me get them here. You saw me!"
"But you did not see where the gold to pay for them came from," Degaré interjected. "I am simply taking care of my share."
I did not. Abel reluctantly grants the merchant.
I did however witness a duly appointed representative of Lord Forsard deliver his wishes to monsieur d'abenne earlier this day.
Given the commotion your conversation seems to be causing here Abel looks around on the small crowd that have gathered to watch the scene and in light of the clarity off Lord Forsard rendering it's continuation unnecessary, I would judge it best if you an your associates where to depart from the scene. Preferably before any further incident is caused.
__________________
Remember: Hope springs eternal. The dark days will pass and the sun will shine again.
The best way to learn something is to ask, so ask without shame.
For a moment, nobody moved - then Degaré broke the tension by exhaling, the air passing through his nose making a quick, judgemental hiss.
"As you say. M'lord." There was a pause before the final two syllables, as if any respect he had for Abel was a perfunctory afterthought. Without another glance, he wheeled his mount and trotted into the stable - "Close it up!" he roared, and the doors to Marperic's wagon could be heard to quickly snap shut. Degaré's cohort slunk back into the inn, without a word of apology, nor even a jibe to save face.
Marperic sighed, a small tremor running through his body. He wiped the sweat from his brow with one palm, taking refuge from the situation behind his hand for a moment, before giving half a laugh and turning to Abel with gratiude in his eyes. He wasn't the only one - the surrounding villagers were smiling and muttering jovially to each other.
"Sir Abel, I - well, I'm in your debt, quite honestly. It seems you're equally accomplished at seeing off goblins and bandits." His voice was wavering, but the crowd were enjoying the punditry; their were a couple of appreciative cheers before their sources were elbowed into silence. Looking around, Abel noticed Siegfried was hovering at the end of a row of houses - behind him was the tall figure of the village elder. Unlike the rest of the villagers, the man met Abel's gaze. He held it for just a moment - a chancy attempt at asserting his status, de Celeste thought - before nodding respectfully. Then he had turned on his heel, wandering back down the market lane.
"I think I could do with a walk around this charming village," continued d'Abenne, regaining everyone's attention. Waving a hand to his employees - and possibly to his admirers in the crowd? - he began to stroll towards the bridge. He wasn't the only one; some of the crowd headed into the tavern, but most of them began to wander down the street, congregating anew at the riverbank just beyond the shrine to Shallya. Siegfried looked around over his shoulder - it seemed the last of the market stalls were closing down for the afternoon.
Heinrich frowned, his employer might as well be getting robbed, it seemed, and there was little he could do about it. Hired muscle was all well and useful against clear threats, but people were another issue entirely. He sighed resignedly and crossed his arms as he made to follow his employer, where ever it was that he seemed to be leading them.
He glanced at the pair of mages, though he had no reason to assume as much of them, then rolled his eyes back to looking ahead, thinking that they were going to cause more trouble than they were worth. 'There's something odd about those two,' he thought to himself. The boy was over protective and the girl out of line, strange traits in this foreign land.
As Siegfried noticed the market stalls closing he considered the last thing the old man had said to him "I Someone might need your help. Come to the last house on the market lane when the stalls close up. Don’t be seen.". It certainly seemed suspicious he concluded. Especially since he had been told to make sure he was not being followed. Something was certainly fishy about this he thought. Though if somebody was genuinely in need of his services he could hardly turn them down. Nothing for it he decided. I'll just have to go and hope everything works out for the best he decided. With his mind made up Siegfried took a quick glance to make sure nobody was paying him any particular attention and set off towards the last house on the market lane.
Last edited by BlueMagnusStorm : 09-17-2012 at 10:42 PM.
Simon was glad of Abel's intervention, but he was certainly not going to show the noble his appreciation. He hated to see it as a rescue, unless it was the knight rescuing Degaré from being burned to ashes on the spot.
Quote:
"I think I could do with a walk around this charming village," continued d'Abenne, regaining everyone's attention.
Simon shrugged. "Why not?"
Spoiler
Perception 40: (d100)[84]
Common Knowledge 40: (d100)[88]
__________________
Ponytar of myself by MeanMrsMustard.
Think nothing of it monsieur. I was merely doing what was needed. is Abels only response to the grateful merchant. through honestly he was more pleased by his reaction than his humble words and expression might lead an observer to believe.
Spoiler
Perception (1d100)[92], what is perception against again by the way?
Common knowledge (51)(1d100)[28]
__________________
Remember: Hope springs eternal. The dark days will pass and the sun will shine again.
The best way to learn something is to ask, so ask without shame.
Siegfried slipped down the lane as the crowd dispersed. He took a few glances back as he wove between the villagers, but nobody seemed all that interested in where he was going. In fact, barely a single person glanced in his direction as he wandered along the stalls, despite how much the his blood-splattered attire must have stood out - was it possible the locals were ignoring him on purpose? It’s just nerves, he thought. It seemed the old man’s wariness had managed to infect him.
The last house on the lane was at the southwest corner of the market; in truth, though, the “lane” was little more than a line of earth, soil stamped flat over the decades by the continual passage of feet. Beyond the house, the dirt track continued, rising gently with the land as it meandered towards the forest. That path was nowhere near as pronounced as the corresponding stretch by the market stalls. It was barely little more than an animal track when it entered the shadow of the trees; people rarely walked further down the village than this house, it seemed to Siegfried.
He slipped around the corner to the south-facing door. Although the afternoon was still bright, there was already an oil lamp hanging outside, the glass chamber either expertly stained or horrendously dirty - Siegfried couldn’t tell.
The apothecary knocked lightly, and the door opened a crack. Through the gap, a grey eye peered out. Then the man behind the door spoke.
“It’s him.”
“Then let him in,” said another voice. The words were soft and slow; methodical almost. The door swung open wide enough to admit a person. The doorman was the same fellow who had spoken to Siegfried at the market. Grabbing the apothecary by the wrist, he dragged him inside, slamming the door shut behind him.
The room was both dull and smoky, and it took a moment for Siegfried’s eyes to clear and take in the room. The air was hot and musky; dried herbs hung in parcels from the walls, and there was a fire in the hearth, with a dark kettle hanging above the flames and from the spout of which an oddly scented steam was slowly emanating. Besides the man from the market, there were two others in the small room - one man with a thin beard was leaning against the far wall, and sitting in a thin wooden chair by the fire and staring into the flames was the gangly figure of the village elder.
“I hope our theatrics didn’t disturb you, monsieur,” he said in that measured voice, without making eye contact. “The reasons for it may become clear, in time.” He stood, limbs seeming to unfold as he straightened up. “I hope we won’t actually need your skills, but that’s a slim hope. If you’d stay a while, we’ll find out.” He turned to face Siegfried; his face was so pale and wrinkled that for a moment Siegfried imagined him as a gnarled old birch tree. “I’m Edgard. They call me the village elder, a lofty title for an unenviable position.” He indicated the kettle. “Have you ever drunk thé? It’s said to invigorate the mind and body, and as I am getting on in years, I admit I’ve developed something of a liking for it. Will you have a cup, while we wait for your patient?”
~
Others
Spoiler
Marperic wandered towards the bridge, already looking a lot steadier; it seemed the encounter with Degaré had sobered him up quite effectively. For lack of anything better to do, his employees followed him - all except Siegfried, they eventually noticed by the time they were standing beside the shrine once more, although none of them could say when exactly the apothecary had slipped away.
D’Abenne stopped at the bridge, leaning against the stone and striking up a conversation with a man that was also a merchant, if his brightly dyed and embroidered cloak was any hint. A significant proportion of the village was gathering between the bridge and the closed doors to the shrine; certainly the stone building wouldn’t be able to fit the thirty or so people loitering outside it. They were in groups of three and four, chatting and laughing as they waited, evidently expecting something to happen. A very small amount were approaching from across the bridge, wearing steel that marked them as some of Remy-sur-Orne’s Men at Arms. Laurent was wandering between the small groups, shaking hands and sharing jokes - he almost seemed to be the guest of honour. He made eye contact with d’Abenne’s other employees, grinning and waving briefly before stepping onwards.
It didn’t take long for that something to begin; conversation seeped away the instant the doors to the shrine swung gently inwards. Émilie smiled gently, arms outstretched to the crowd - the sleeves of her yellow robes slipped down her arms, revealing the scars dotting her hands and wrists, but she showed no shame. She whispered a few words to a few individuals before dropping her arms to her sides once more. Then she spoke.
“Friends! It is good, as ever, to see so many of you here on market day. I haven’t driven you off in horror yet.” There were a few polite chuckles at her self-deprecation before she continued.
“Most of you already know the week’s biggest news - Aloys and Gisselle’s beautiful daughter Agnès was born healthily and happily three days ago.” There was a polite smattering of applause. “I see Aloys is with us this afternoon; doubtless Gisselle is at home with the babe.” Émilie indicated a man standing by the riverbank, who beamed as those nearby clapped him on the shoulder. The priestess waited for the applause to die down before continuing.
“We gather here this afternoon to beseech the Weeping Maiden to have pity on us this coming week and the weeks to come. May she watch over our wives and daughters, husbands and sons; may she guide and protect us through these difficult times.”
“Guide and protect us,” the crowd repeated suddenly - followed by Marperic, who was still drunk enough to want to take part. Abel frowned - he was no expert on peasant religious services, but this sounded altogether too much like the service a Grail Knight would give in a devotion to the Lady of the Lake.
Émilie closed the doors to the shrine behind her and strode through the crowd towards the riverbank. She pulled up the skirt of her robes; barefoot, she stepped into the water. The crowd shuffled after her, turning away from the shrine and stepping down to the edge of the bank, eagerly waiting to hear what she said next, as d'Abenne raised an eyebrow at his employees from where he was leaning against the bridge.
Abel look on the ceremony with apprehension answering Marperics raised eyebrow with one of his own.
Is this how these sermons are normally conducted? he asks to his more lowborn companions, his voice kept carefully under control.
__________________
Remember: Hope springs eternal. The dark days will pass and the sun will shine again.
The best way to learn something is to ask, so ask without shame.
Siegfried took a quick look around the smoky room before speaking "Then I shall wait and see what time reveals then. Though I do wish whatever small the chance that my skills won't be required" . At the offeting of thé Siegfried takes a llong look at the kettle examining it closely before responding "I cannot say that I have ever had the pleasure but if it's as good as you say. I will indeed try some while we wait." .
Last edited by BlueMagnusStorm : 09-24-2012 at 02:10 AM.
Edgard nodded. “Well, we’re in your debt either way,” he said flatly. Grabbing a wooden cup from a shelf, he crouched down by the kettle. While he poured the beverage, the man leaning against the wall - the youngest-looking of the three, perhaps not yet forty - kept a silent watch on Siegfried; the older man at the door was staring down at his sandals.
Edgard rose, pressing the warm cup into Siegfried’s hand. At first glance, the drink looked like brackish water with the shredded remains of some sort of leaf gently sinking to the bottom. The rising steam had a slight aroma, but the apothecary could not identify it. After a few breaths, Siegfried took his first sip. It was hot, and somewhat bitter, but not unpleasant; when he swallowed, the heat spread down his neck. After another few mouthfuls, he noticed the bottom of his mouth felt as if it were drying out slightly. Siegfried’s trade and training threw up the technical name for the sensation: astringency of the gums and tongue.
Edgard was watching him with interest, judging his first impression. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll discover the sense of invigoration it bestows within a few minutes, I shouldn’t doubt,” he said, reaching down to pour another cup. “I’d not have the energy running around after people without it. Please, sit,” he finished, indicating the second chair in the room, pushed under a blank table.
The following minutes passed in silence, Edgard turning back to gaze into the flames as he sipped his thé. The two other men didn’t seem eager to bother Siegfried either, but nor did they offer any further explanation of who they were or what they were waiting for. As Siegfried waited, the drink began to take the described effect; the apothecary found his attention jumping from object to object, and got an urge in his leg that what his foot really needed to do right now was begin tapping out a rhythm on the cottage floor …
Rap rap. Rap rap. A pair of quick knocks, followed momentarily by another. It had been five minutes or so. The white-haired man slid the door open a few inches, then almost fell over as it was thrown wide open. The man that burst into the room was drenched in blood, probably of the second figure leaning over his shoulder. The doorman helped heave the limp shape onto the bare table - as the man was rolled over, Siegfried saw a nasty gash running across his chest from shoulder to belly button, rags of cloth flapping away from the wound.
“Maiden have mercy,” breathed the white-haired man, voice wavering. He turned to look back out the open door.
“Where’s Jean?”
The panting man ran his hands back through his hair and began to pull off his bloodstained cloak. “Fell behind. They wouldn’t help him -”
“Not now,” said the younger man, nodding at Siegfried. The newcomer followed his gaze and fell silent.
“Unfortunately, we do need your help after all, monsieur,” said Edgard, standing up. The newcomer glanced at him, then back at Siegfried. “His neck,” he spluttered to the apothecary, “they got his neck, it might be poisoned, it was too fast -”
“Claude said not now, Luc,” interrupted Edgard sternly - something like anger flashed across his face. “This man is a healer, and nothing more. Greenskins, in the forest,” he said levelly to Siegfried. “They are known to use poisonous arrows. Do you think you can help this man?”
Siegfried took another look down over his patient as the messy chest gently rose and fell with his breath. There was a small puncture wound on the man’s neck, but there was no sign of an arrowhead - and it would have to be a very small arrow indeed to make a wound so tiny ...
~
Others
Spoiler
There was no answer to Abel’s question before the priestess spoke again.
“Today we welcome home our son and brother Laurent, who has been away for too long,” continued Émilie. In the crowd, Laurent kicked off his sandals, stepping down to join her in the Orne. Émilie reached down with one hand and scooped up some water, pouring it quickly over the young man’s forehead. From behind the onlookers, there was a muffled gasp, as if someone had been choking back their pain; Abel turned to see a thin figure running away from the scene, one brown curl spilling free of the girl’s hood.
“Mother, may your waters protect us,” intoned Émilie. “Return them to our service; let us eat and drink from them as we once did, let them be the lifeblood of our community.” Other villagers were stepping down into the river to join Laurent and Émilie. One by one, the priestess was pouring the water over their heads and murmuring a few words as they returned to shore; for the Men at Arms in uniform, she came closer to the bank so that they would not have to get their boots wet. Then she looked over the heads of her congregation at the outsiders.
“Will any of Remy’s visitors receive the mother’s blessing of the waters of life?” she asked, slowly beckoning them with one open palm.
Is this how these sermons are normally conducted? he asks to his more lowborn companions, his voice kept carefully under control.
Simon shrugged indifferently. "Must be their rustic ways," he whispered with some disdain. "Traditions vary from one mudhole to another. Why do you ask?"
He did not answer to the offer for a blessing. He was not a godly person, and he did not much like drawing attention to him when he stood nothing to gain from it.
__________________
Ponytar of myself by MeanMrsMustard.
Seeing as the priestess asks before he get the chance to answer Simon, Abel chose to answer her first so as to not hold up the ceremony My soul and service belong to no god or goddess but the Lady, thus I must refuse their blessings too.
Then once attention have turned away from the group he answers Simons question, quietly, so as to not be overheard.
It is... a bit to similar to a heresy for comfort, but I m not learned enough in the religions of the peasants to know if it is merely a common point among them, or indeed a sign of something worse.
__________________
Remember: Hope springs eternal. The dark days will pass and the sun will shine again.
The best way to learn something is to ask, so ask without shame.
He glanced at the others and the gathered crowd and shrugged, it wasn't so different than the ones he was used to, he saw little harm. Heinrich approached the priestess.
"I'll accept your blessing," he spoke, standing on the shore, like the guards had, not too keen on mucking up his boots even more.
At the entrance of the wounded man Siegfried springs to action "Quick, quick out of the way. Let me at the man. If it's poison every second is valuable. So we don't have much to waste.". Siegfried moves over to the wounded man as fast as he possible can and begins to examine his wound mentally trying to figure out what actually injured him and how to treat him. After his examination Siegfried asks the men present " Have you any bandages? Or failing that any clean strips of clothing that may work as bandages? I will also require Boiling water. I'll need them as fast as possible."". After finishing speaking to the men Siegfried turns back to the wounded man and begins treating him.
Last edited by BlueMagnusStorm : 09-27-2012 at 02:45 PM.
Émilie beamed at Heinrich as he stepped to the riverside, bending down to scoop another handful of water. He closed his eyes as she poured it across his forehead; as she spoke, it streamed around his nose and cheeks, one tendril sending a shiver down his spine when it found its way to the back of his neck.
"May the tears of the Weeping Maiden wash your pain away, mein herr," she whispered in Reikspiel. When he opened his eyes, Heinrich found her gaze locked on his. Nestled in that awful scarring, her eyes were oases of calm, and compassion, and the pit fighter felt at peace - then the moment passed as she turned to Marperic, who had followed his employee down to the bank. As Heinrich returned to take his place with the others, the merchant received his own blessing.
With that, the ceremony seemed to be over; the villagers began to disperse, many heading directly to the inn. A few remained, loitering by the shrine - a moment's inspection showed that each of the had some sort of cut or bruise or were cradling a limb. Spiritual healing came first, but it seemed Émilie's physical skills were also in demand.
Stepping out of the river, the priestess beckoned to Simon as she opened the doors to the shrine.
"Well, young man, do you want to earn those bandages?"
~
Siegfried
Spoiler
The apothecary's sense of purpose seemed to infect the others - in a moment they were doing as he instructed. Edgard poured the end of the thé out of the kettle and refilled it by dipping it in a large clay pot, hanging it in place over the fire. The other villagers were helping tear up the cloak the man called Luc had taken off, discarding pieces that were soiled with blood or mud and turning the rest into long rags. After a moment, the one called Claude sighed, took off his own cloak, and began ripping it as well.
Siegfried took a closer look at the injured man's neck. It was definitely not an arrow wound, whatever the village elder said; in fact, it put him in mind of a snake bite, if the snake had a fang several inches long. He examined his patient's shoulder - yes, there, just a short distance from the main wound was a second mark, as if something with two long teeth had bitten down on the man at an odd angle.
Venom, he thought. He could try to suck it out, but if it had been more than a few minutes since the bite - part of him protested, he couldn't seriously be treating a gigantic snakebite, could he? - then the only thing to do was wait and hope it passed through his body without killing him. As Edgard plonked the hot kettle down beside him, Siegfried set to work cleaning the man's chest wound.
There was a knock on the door; engrossed in his work, Siegfried didn't look up, but he listened, matching voices to the names he already had.
"See who that is." That was Edgard. The door opened a crack.
"Let me in! I have to speak to Edgard!" A young woman's voice - after a moment, he recognised it as the girl Marianne from when Marperic's coach had first arrived at the village.
"He's - not seeing anyone right now." That was the elder man who seemed to have the role of answering the door.
"Let me - I must see him, let me in now!" Marianne again.
A few voices at once; Edgard was loudest. "Just let her in. She'll draw too much attention shouting out there."
The door opened. Footsteps. The door shut. Silence. Siegfried felt eyes on the back of his neck.
Edgard, snappishly: "What is it?"
Marianne, hesitantly: "She's doing it again. Half the village is down there -"
Edgard, angrily: "Girl, can't you see I have more important things to worry about? You want me to march down there and tell them all not to pray?"
Marianne: "I want you to keep the peace! It's your job! You're our elder!"
Edgard: "Have some sense, woman. If I walk out there and confront her, I lose all credibility. There's more at stake than your personal vendetta over your young man."
Marianne, nearly exploding: "How dare you accuse me of being so selfish, so small-minded -"
Edgard, interrupting: "I'm dealing with the bigger picture -"
Siegfried interrupted them all with a sigh. There was silence as he straightened up to examine his work. The wound was cleaned and bound, and the man would live, it seemed.
After straightening up for a moment Siegfried speak " I've done my very best to clean and treat his wounds. He'll live I think. Though a close eye will have to be kept on him to make sure. If anything should go wrong another with medical experience or myself should be consulted immediately". " Is there anything else you require while im here?"
Last edited by BlueMagnusStorm : 10-09-2012 at 02:08 PM.
"Thank the Mother," breathed Edgard; Marianne's eyes darted over to him, a frown surfacing from the maelstrom of emotions playing over her face, but she said nothing.
Luc grabbed Siegfried's hand with both of his own, squeezing it tightly. "Thank you, monsieur. I thought that ... that I wasn't fast enough." He exhaled, seeming to deflate. "But there's still Jean," he muttered.
"Aye." Edgard was poking the side of his cheek with his tongue, gazing into space. "Can't leave him out there. Monsieur healer, we are already in your debt, but I must ask for more, and not just of you. I want your opinion, now - your companions, the other caravan guards. Would they be the sort to do a good deed without payment? And can they hold their tongues? Another man's life may be at stake, but there are ... " He glanced at Marianne, who for the moment was avoiding his gaze. "Reasons for keeping quiet about his circumstances."
~
Others
Spoiler
Simon followed Émilie into the cool shade beneath the shrine's stone roof. There was barely enough room for the two of them in the confined space, and he stepped sideways, placing his back to the wall as the priestess put her hands on her hips. She unceremoniously shoved the altar slightly backwards, and began haphazardly removing the offerings from the small table before it. When it had been stripped of every sacred item, she dragged the table halfway out of the door to the shrine. The very bluntness of her seeming disrespect for her own goddess's artifacts left Simon completely nonplussed as to how much respect he ought to show the shrine.
"Now, my friends," she announced to the remnant of the crowd. "Broken bones and illnesses to me - anything less serious to my young friend here." At that, the crowd split down the middle - thankfully, the majority gravitated towards the priestess. She took the table, shooing Simon over to the side of the shrine.
His first patient was a rather fat, middle-aged man that stank pretty much what Simon expected a fat old peasant to smell like. Without a word of introduction, he bent down and undid his sandal. Leaning against the side of the shrine, he raised his right leg as high as it would go, pointing rancid toes up at the young hedge wizard's face. The stench nearly knocked the young man out.
"M'toes hurt," the villager grunted. Daring to take a closer look, Simon noticed that the last two were swollen and covered in blue and yellow blotches, and something that seemed awfully moist was congealing around the joints.
"Hmmm," murmured the hedge wizard, trying not to grimace at the sight of the foot. He had seen a lot of diseases in L'Anguille; sailors were prone to them. But when it came to curing them, his knowledge was limited. Sometimes it was better to give people generic advice and pray that time took care of it.
"Rub the toes with vinegar, if you have any. Dip your foot in warm water at least half an hour a day, but try to keep it more or less dry the rest of the time," he said, trying to sound like he knew what he was doing. "I don't think we need to resort to amputation just yet."
__________________
Ponytar of myself by MeanMrsMustard.
The man's eyes widened at the mention of amputation. He shoved his foot back into his sandal and waddled quickly away. Several members of Simon's queue took the opportunity to switch to Émilie's; he would have been disheartened at their apparent lack of faith in his skills, but it did mean less smelly peasants with their foul ailments for him to worry about.
The next man was taking off his robe as he stepped forward. He tugged his tunic over his head after it, leaving his torso bare save for strips of white cloth wrapped tightly around his neck in a makeshift bandage. He turned, presenting his back. There was a long, thin split in his skin, running from between his shoulder-blades to the small of his back. It was caked with blood, but the scar was brittle and flaking off in patches. The wound seemed around a day old - it was dirty, with plenty of bruising surrounding it, but it didn't seem infected.
"It were an accident with a sickle," the man muttered, twisting his neck so that he could just about make eye contact with Simon. Behind him, a boy was staring down at his feet, one hand tucked beneath an armpit as he waited sullenly.
OOC:
Spoiler
For everyone but Sentinel: sorry this is a bit useless for everyone else. I've had a hectic few days; turns out that I don't have that job I was meant to be starting last week after all. As always feel free to have your characters do whatever they want, but I'll try to engage everyone a bit more over the next couple of days.
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Re: [WFRP] The Waters of Life
Re: [WFRP] The Waters of Life
