[Laurelyn]
The night fallen full upon the travelers
while Laurelyn, Thomis, and Jacques had continued on the road to Helgastop.
The group had mostly lapsed into silence, except for the pup that had insisted
on an evening run - and managed to be terrified by an angry rabbit. Though
Laurelyn had to admit - it was _large_ rabbit and her grumbling stomach
reminded her that rabbit stew was always good.
She would have been willing to camp instead
of heading into the town, but the rocky nature of the land that the road
ran through offered few places of comfort.
[Jacques]
The shaggy pony followed the other two
horses in a slow, regular, tired, plodding along the road. Jacques thought
that it was probably as anxious to see the fabled Helgastop appear over
the next rise as he was.
A curious name for a town, he pondered
as he took another drink from the silver bottle. Sadly, that was the last.
There were few things worse than an empty bottle. Being stuck in the middle
of nowhere, in the dark, with Gods-alone knew what out and about _hunting_.....
He shuddered.
He'd only known one Helga, he considered,
returning to his previous thought to keep his mind off the darkness
and lack of lager. And _that_ Helga hadn't been the kind to stop,
or ask anyone else to for that matter.
An owl screeched from somewhere off to
his left. At least, he _hoped_ it was an owl. His hand strayed to one of
the floppy points on his hat and he stroked it nervously.
The screeching echoed a little among the
rocks, and then faded. Jacques sighed, and peered ahead into the increasing
darkness.
[Laurelyn]
A point of light shown through the trees,
but disappeared as the road took another curve, leaving the party in the
awesome darkness of the woods, and again the craggy shadows of the stones
surrounded them.
Laurelyn broke the silence, waking the
pup and causing it to whine, by saying, "Maybe we're almost there." She,
herself, had her doubts - the twists in the roads could take them miles
out the way, before leading them into civilization.
[Jacques]
Bells rang furiously as Jacques started at the sound. He relaxed a fraction as he took in what Laurelyn had said, though he considered it hopelessly optimistic.
More than likely that, come morning, some poor farmer (perhaps the one with the goat?) would find their battered and chewed carcasses at the bottom of some crevasse, or strung up in a tree, or a blood trail leading to their corpses in a cave, or ...
The bells jangled forlornly, and he reached for the silver bottle, forgetting it was empty.
"Maybe."
[Thomis]
The doubt in Laurelyn's voice, and the note of pessimism in the jester's, were almost palpable in the darkness. Ifreann's two moons had waned, and provided little illumination, and briefly Thomis wished for the small mage-light Toby Portnoy used to light his way through Montfort's badger warrens. The dark did not trouble him -- he was as relaxed as he ever was -- but it did dampen the party's mood. And caused the horses to move even more slowly over the uneven ground. "Lamps," he remarked to Laurelyn. "We should get some lamps in Helgastop. When we finally arrive there." A slight sigh of resignation from the storyteller's backpack might have been the pup's agreement.
[Laurelyn]
Laurelyn nodded, and said, "You're more than right - lanterns are what we need." She could feel the restive shifting of the pup in the backpack, and began to hum softly a gentle tune in hopes it would settle the youngster. The storyteller shook herself awake, exasperated with herself; she knew what would help ease their journey. She began to sing a light folksong about the coming of Spring and the "frolics" the dancing of the Spring pole would end in. A bit risque - true, but a merry tune.
After she had sung a couple of the stanzas she said, with a bit of gentle challenge in her voice, "Do either of you gentlemen feel game enough to help with the refrain?"
Maybe not the song she would normally have chosen - she was surprised that she felt a little shy about singing such in front of Thomis, but she was tired and not feeling overly creative.
[Thomis]
The Oath-Bound could not help but smile widely in response. "I think you have my face burning as it is, Hillrover. An innocent such as myself surely would die of embarrassment if I were to join in." The lightness of his tone let her know he enjoyed the song, and was not at all troubled by hearing it from her. "Though perhaps Jacques..."
[Laurelyn]
Laurelyn chuckled - shyly.
[Jacques]
Jacques shook his head, bells ringing faintly. Juggling he could do, and magic tricks, and tumbling, and jokes, and all manner of other jesterish things. But singing was not one of them. Not this sober, anyway.
"Trust me," he said with a half grin, "unless you want the forest creatures throwing nuts in disgust, you _don't_ want me singing."
He paused and glanced sideways as if for any roaming armed squirrels.
"Though I think you left out the verse with the donkeys," he added by way of encouragement to continue. _Anything_ (except his own singing) was better than the weird noises nature was making in the darkness.
[Laurelyn]
"Hmmm....," Laurelyn said, with a chuckle in her voice, "That must be from the bawdier version." Singing was helping to lift her mood and she started off a song about sailing into a safe harbor.
After two more dark miles of road way shouldered by sharp rock, the trio, plus pup, saw that Helgastop lay lit before them.
[Jacques]
"Looks like we're about to quadruple the equine population," muttered Jacques as he took in the smattering of lights. He wondered if such a place had any decent lager. Probably they would consider their local ale to be sufficient, watery and vile though it likely was.
The pup whined a little as if in agreement to his thoughts - if not his words.
"So long as they've got a good hot bath in the inn, though, I'll be happy," Jacques added after a pause. He didn't want to sound too pessimistic.
The pup whined a great deal at _that_.
"Not for you boy. Doubtless you'll end up in the barn with all the mice and bugs."
A cheerful yap met that comment, and Jacques shook his head.
"Should have known you'd want something to chase all night."
Then he realised what he was doing and harrumphed.
As if the animal could understand what he was saying! Must be going mad
out here in the sticks.
[Thomis]
The Oath-Bound's level of alertness did not change as they approached the town, for it held its own potential threats, even if it wasn't quite as dark and unnerving as the road they had been travelling on. Still, it looked peaceful enough, and surely had to be less troublesome than Montfort, and most likely would have a comfortable inn where they could pass the night. And possible where the jester could find a financially-rewarding audience.
[Laurelyn]
Even a sulking Beast had began to pick-up pace at the sight of the lights and Laurelyn had to pay heed to the unpredictable hunter. She spared a moment to say over her shoulder, "I haven't had cause to ride through Helgastop, but I understand that its at least large enough to offer a touch of imported drink."
[Daron]
The music struck a resonant chord in Daron's
heart. {So full of grief. Yet beautiful, nonetheless...} A
picture came unbidden to her mind. She grabbed her tablet and scrubbled
furiously with her stick of charcoal.
She finished the drawing with a flourish.
Only then did Daron remember to breathe...
...and caught it again at the sight of
the picture on the paper. A beautiful girl, who held more than a
passing resemblance to the young musician on the inn's "stage". Death
touched the face, but could not erase the spirit in her eyes.
The charcoal stick snapped in her grasp.
{No!"}
Daron's so-called "gift" had struck once
again, as swift as lightning on a summer's day. And as frightening
to her as the thunder which accompanied such storms.
Daron looked down at her clenched hand.
She dropped the charcoal fragments onto the scarred wood tabletop and wiped
her palm onto her dark brown pants leg. Unfortunately, this only
aggravated the problem: the charcoal dust bonded with the sweat on
her skin, and refused to budge.
She hoped no one noticed her actions.
Her simple meal laid uneasily on her stomach.
Daron waited for the other shoe to drop...
[Keir Ti'Kar]
Keir entered Helgastop cautiously but with his head held high. This was
the third town he'd visited since finding himself in this strange world.
He knew a little of Ifreann only because his friend Shan had lived here
once - and from Irellia who, he vaguely recalled, was from a town called
Mon... something. One thing he found familiar was that *tall* people here
were as rude and condescending to halflings as back on Loria. He knew the
look, heard their whispers of "Kender" and though he still didn't
know what the word meant - Irellia had used it when they first met - he
was sure it wasn't complimentary. He'd already cracked one man across the
shins with his forked staff for calling him that. "I'm a Hortus damn it
and proud of it!" he'd shouted but it hadn't stopped them from calling
him that, in fact it had made it worse.
The
only one of the Big people that had treated him with any respect at all
had been the chemist, Perriton, in the last town were he'd restocked the
many pouches and vials that filled the pockets of his leather vest. They'd
talked of herbs and alchemy for hours on end and Keir learned much about
plants that were unfamiliar to him here. The man's odd accent made it difficult
at times - even the insects here spoke with an unusual twang and hardly
understood him - but they'd managed to converse right through dinner at
the man's house and well into the night. Keir regretted leaving Perriton's
but since he'd found no clue as to here his people had vanished to he set
out again the next morning, after a substantial breakfast of course.
Yesterday's
breakfast was just a pleasant memory now and it was the gnawing rumble
in his belly that drew him to the Inn. He was sure to face more indignities
from the Big Folk if the stares he'd received on the street were any indication.
Well, if it took some thumping to get a meal he was willing to provide
them with it. Thankfully his silver was as good here as on Loria though
it produced as many queer looks as he did himself. He ran a furry hand
through his thick brown curls, tugged at his vest to straighten it and
entered The Sea Wench.
Compared
to the street it was dark in the inn and he paused a moment for his eyes
to adjust, listening to the soft tune from a lute. The song permeated the
air like it was coming from the very walls but he soon spotted it's source
- a yellow-haired boy maybe a quarter Keir's age, seemingly to young to
truly know the depths of pain and sorrow instilled in his music.
Ignoring his hunger he stood motionless, as tears formed in his deep brown
eyes.