Journey in the Realm of the Goddess, board-wide topic :: open

[E'doa A'nii]

Rosealyn took the hard walking well. She had chosen to walk and she was prepared for the consequences. She was used to great amounts of exercise and the fatigue such routine brought. All the same, she always arrived gratefully at the inn each night and went swiftly to bed without a murmur. She was headed home. What was there to complain about?

--She got along well enough with the horse; always having a lump of sugar or a carrot or some such treat available. Naturally, the horse liked her and followed her without complaint. Her opinion of the animal was somewhat less warm, if not unkind: She did not mind it's attentions (and preffered it to people), but she felt it as a large, over-grown pet -despite Melin's assurances- and resented having to make it work so hard and come so far for nothing.

But if it made Melin happy, and kept unity in the group, then why not?

For the most part Rosealyn was silent, not speaking unless spoken to. She was cold, but not unkind and did her best to keep the others moving, and cared for. So while not always encouraging, she was supportive. The hard mountain woman had also taken a like to Lacchi, and gave him favors much as she did her horse. Rose felt him a good dog. He would be of use later. At the very least he wasn't human, and as such, agreeable.

To the knights and the paladin, she showed little interest. She was polite if spoken to, and took orders well enough. Rose was not interested in menfolk, and simply went along to get along. It was apparent that Melin had his own way of doing things, and was not open to suggestion. No point in picking a fight. Even if it did irk her.

As for Hester... Rose did not like Hester. Two steel-nosed women do not get along well, and Rose was no exception to that rule. She felt Hester to be a hard-headed cynic with a dislike of everyone, and a general attitude of trouble. The mountain woman meant to soften the swamp woman. Still, she was not unkind. Merely cold towards the old biddy.--

So it was that on the fifth day she found them nearing home, and by mid afternoon they were passing through the town. So it was that Sir Nat dismounted and gave her his orders. He wanted to get through the mountain in a day and half. Well, it could be done. But, if he wanted backroads and the like they would have to leave the horses.

But that was not her business.

Her business was to take them to a point where they could get another guide.

It was with an impassable face that she listened as he read the description of Winter's Whistle Clearing and the graveyard that lay there. How had he known that? There was not so much as a breath of that which was untrue. And not so much as a breath of it had she uttered to anyone. Oh, the villagers here knew it. She was sure some of them did. But she had never told them.

She lived high in the mountains where there was naught left but her house and the remains of the buildings left behind. (Winter's Whistle had been a good place to camp because it was so close to town.) Somehow she suddenly felt very vulnerable. It was disconcerting to know of someone who knew so much about her, and whom she had never met.

She met Nat's gaze thoughtfully. Then, absently she moved to pour the dog a drink. He looked hot and sweaty. The whining only made him that much more wretched. After she re-shouldered her leather water-skin and patted the dog on the head, she returned to Nat.

"I hope you know what he looks like." It would be a very bad thing if the person who met them wasn't as he was supposed to be.

And she grabbed Greybeard's reigns and headed off to the west. She seemed to be heading in the very opposite direction of where they were going. And in truth, she was. Only for awhile. They didn't know where she was headed, so they couldn't complain. Naturally, he wouldn't want to be seen leaving town; and Rose didn't want to be either. There would be enough gossip to last the place for a year is she was seen in the company of all these people. (Much less, leading them.) Once outside the village she kept up a brisk, but slower pace then they had been taking. To get there untracked, they would have to mind the bushes and the horses.

To Darius, she gave the instructions to hang in the back of camp and wipe away their footprints. He was to pick up a fallen branch and sweep them away. Where the earth was too moist, he could brush over some of the detritus that carpeted the ground.

Everyone was to lead their horses in single file. All must walk on the same side of his horse so that all the foot prints landed inside each other. That made them easier to sweep. Also, because there would be only one set of footprints, anyone tracking would only think one person and his horse had been there.

In addition, all the company was to be careful about the flora. They were to refrain from breaking any branches they did not absolutely have to. No point in leaving a trail.

Lacchi, was scooped up and seated atop Hester's horse. She could not have him running about making footprints and digging up things. The messenger dog became the old crone's responsibility.

If everyone did what they were told, they could make it to Winter's Whistle by nightfall. And that was all she said. From then on the going was silent. At least on her part. The trek through the woods was as uneventful as she could make it. No one was allowed to stop and break ranks for any reason. Food was eaten on the go. They would not make camp until they arrived.

The clearing itself was a goodly size, and just as the letter had described. Though not, readily apparent (for she had not marked them) the graves of her parents were here too. An astute oberver would note that wildflowers did not grow under the oak tree; and it was close to there that Rose tied her horse and spent her contemplative solitude after camp had been set up.

There was no fire at camp, so as to avoid the smoke. The coals were kept to a minimum. Nothing unusual about that. The grass would prevent footprints, so there would be no telling of how many people had visited. The company was as free as they liked to be.

------------------

Lauwrence quieted himself at Gav's good hearted rebuke, and nodded in understanding as the knight requested to be called by his first name. He smiled at Gav's approval of his survival skills, and was about to say something when the knight's sentance was cut off.

He jumped, because Gav jumped. Laurry however did not draw his weapons. That voice belonged to none other than Damien Claude! That jolly old man wouldn't hurt a mouse. And so it was that his greeting was a bit warmer then Gavilan's.

"Claude! You old dog!"

Despite his injuries the monk leapt deftly away from the spear and dropped his staff. It was a half-second before he responded. He was recovering from the pain of his movement.

"My! My! Aren't you the jumpy one!--Hello little wippersnapper!" Obviously undaunted by the ferocity of the knight's greeting. "Well, don't just stand there, help me sit down."

Laurry immediately placed his arms about the monk's waist and lowered him gently to the ground, addressing himself to Gav. "Claude's a monk from Haine's Chapel. He does odds and ends around the castle. Works some with the troops.--you've seen a lot, old man." And here Laurry bent down to inspect a wound near the clergy man's knee.

"I'm not old yet!" Damien protested. "...Just a scratch." He muttered shoving away the boy's feeble attempt at dressing the wound. And then at Gavilan, "I got thrown overboard from the Glass Lady. Old girl couldn't withstand the battering. Went down I'm afraid."



(Hope I did ok. Lemme know if I need to add anything)

[Colonel Mustard]

Darius couldn’t help but smile slightly at Rosealyn’s reply, and at her suggestion carefully dismounted. His time in Haven hadn’t really been the most physically strenuous one anyway; some walking would probably get his ‘carcass,’ as Rosalyn had put it, back into good shape again.

While the journey was a long one, but Darius was pleased to discover along the way that it wasn’t a particularly arduous one. The area beyond Haven that led up towards the Aranos border was a civilised one, and so the small group travelled unmolested by any highwaymen that may have otherwise tried to stop them.

In fact, he found that the journey was, compared to many of those Darius had made across the wilder stretches of the world, quite a comfortable, almost enjoyable one. Then again, Darius reflected, there were many things more comfortable than trekking through swampy wilderness or the Prokavian tundra in full armour while being forced to keep an eye constantly open for bandits, goblins or ravenous jahttees. He was tired, yes, but frankly it was nothing compared to the deep, bone-aching exhaustion that encumbered him during hard travel through truly hostile terrain.

He didn’t make much in the way of conversation; Darius wasn’t, and never would be, a people person, and instead kept his own counsel, talking only when spoken to. Most of the other group seemed perfectly happy to do the same in any case.

They were making good progress, come to think of it. Their horses were good ones for the task in hand, stolid and dependable animals that were the sort needed for travel. Generally, Darius found himself following Rosealyn’s suggestion and walking; he spent most of the journey on foot, only mounting up whenever Melin spurred his own horse into a brisk trot.

They reached a town in the foothills of the mountains that marked the border between Aranos and Imlandris after only five days of travelling, and Melin called a group to halt. From within a pocket he took out a set of instructions, and Darius listened with only half an ear, instead keeping an idle watch on the town, sizing it up slightly so he could better orientate himself within it once they entered.

Surprisingly, however, this wasn’t the case. Instead Rosealyn led them into the forest at the edge of the road, ordering Darius to cover their tracks. There was, strangely enough, a slight edge to her voice, as if something Melin had read to her had upset or unnerved her somehow. Still, he could ponder that later.

He picked up a pine branch that had fallen from the edge of the road and took up the rear of the group, scratching the dirt flat over their prints, while taking care to avoid any branches that he might otherwise damage. He was surprised by Rosealyn trying to avoid the town up ahead, but made no comment of that either; something was clearly amiss with their guide, but that would have to wait. Instead, he focussed on the task he had been given of covering their tracks, smoothing dirt and mud into place behind him.

The journey through the forest was a long one, taking almost an hour despite its comparative shortness, but at last they arrived at their destination, a large grassy clearing. Somewhat relieved that his banal and dull task was finished, thanks to the thick carpet of green that would stop them from making any visible footprints. The group dispersed to various parts of the grove, and Darius did the same, tying his horse to a branch of a fallen tree and then sitting down on the trunk, stretching his arms and leaning his neck from left to right in an attempt to work out some of the aches in his joints.

Now all that remained to do was wait.

[Old Hester]

“Up ye get.” Hester took a fistful of Lacchi’s hair and dragged him across the back of her horse. He hung there, his front legs to the left, his back legs to the right, like a furry rag doll, helplessly panting.

Hester’s horse was to the back of the groups, in front of only the iron-clad paladin‘s who’d been ordered to cover their tracks. Hester could have offered. It was a useful skill she used back in the Troll Country, to prevent any wanderers from finding her little cave under the Mesa.

“Tis an unfair curse you’ve landed yourself with doggie,” murmured Hester, scratching behind his ears. “I reckon your much in the same boat as meself - forced along against your will. And even if you ain’t… Well that don’t bother me.” She bent closer to the dog this time, and smiled. It wasn’t a real smile. Or perhaps it was and Hester simply wasn’t used to smiling. Whichever it was, it looked cold and wicked.

“I know things doggie. I’ve seen ’em.” She sat up straight. “I’m a bottle.” She spoke much louder this time. Loud enough for Roselyn to look round and hold a finger to her lips. Hester replied with a finger of her own.

“Like I was saying doggie, I’m a bottle." She was whispering again. "I’ve got a thin neck and a cork to match. I have your secret doggie - like putting paper in a bottle. I have your secret doggie and someone will have to smash me to get it out. They’ll have to smash me unless I let it out. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a spiller. I’m an honest women when I want to be. And this is me at my most honest.” She smiled, this time a little more warmly. “I’ll keep your secret doggie. We can be comrades. And in turn when the time comes I’ll call on you for a favour in return. No need to reply immediately. Take your time answering. But you know where to find me…”

They reached the clearing and Hester helped the dog down off her horse and followed him. She landed with a soft thump.

“Ain’t this pleasant?” She said to the group as a whole. She stuffed her hands into her shawls and produced a rather nasty looking block of cheese. She tore a chunk off with her teeth and chewed.

She looked round at the assembled group. We’re an odd bunch, she thought. There were the three knights - two of them king’s men and the third some kind of righteous paladin. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. He had no quarry with her so far, so Hester had none with him. Only time could tell though. Hester wasn’t a woman known for having flocks of friends. She would have to keep an eye on him. It was an act that had already paid off with Lacchi the dog. Perhaps Darius would throw up something interesting for Hester to wrangle. The machinations in her head ticked over like hungry bees, plotting.

Nat and Melin Hester reckoned she had sussed pretty well. They were kings men through and through, loyal, brave and true. Had Hester been someone else she would have commended them for it. But Hester was Hester. She was mean. She was spiky. Traits like those in a world like this were traits which got you killed, bound and battered.

Then there was Roselyn. The powerful woman who repeatedly refused the horse. Hester’s mouth twisted downwards when she though of the woman and wrinkles cracked her face like dried mud. If there was going to be friction between Hester and anyone in the group she knew it would with be Roselyn. They were simply too alike to get along. Hester smothered that thought and then beat it with a club just to be sure. She was nothing like Roselyn. Nothing. The voice in her head had gone a little high-pitched when it had said that. Hester growled.

Finally Lacchi. The dog who was more than dog. Hester wondered when she’d get her answer and took another bite of her cheese.

[Nemaisare]

When Rosealyn decided that he looked thirsty, Lacchi could have blessed the woman, because she was perfectly correct in that assumption. Of course, drinking from her hands could have been considered a little demeaning, but then, so was begging and whining and being lazy. Of course, he would have preferred her choosing her timing more carefully so as not to bring everyone’s attention swinging his way, but they were really just focusing on her and waiting for an answer, or didn’t really care, in the case of some of them. So Lacchi supposed it was well enough that he got to wet his throat and there was little point in complaining of other things beyond his control.

And then, they were off again. Through the village and down the road until their guide stopped them all with a rough word and rougher instructions. Secrets, was it? Sneaking about like thieves in the middle of the day. Not that any of them would have made good thieves, but it was the thought that counted. After all, one would always find it difficult to skulk in daylight. He probably wouldn’t have minded all this sudden intensity to the secrecy had it not been for the fact that it was making him extremely uncomfortable. His stomach felt as though it was trying to force its way through his spine and his spine felt as though it would snap in two at any moment. His head was suddenly lower than he’d ever wanted it to be when compared to his paws and the cursed hound had an epiphany, right then and there. He never, never wanted to ride a horse again…

There was a first and last time for everything; in this case, this would be both. Now he understood why Rosealyn so rarely rode her horse and why Hester always had that scowl on her face. Hadn’t anything to do with habitual grouchiness, he was sure, had more to do with horse riding. He wriggled, trying to get comfortable, but only succeeded in nearly falling off before the old witching woman grabbed hold of his scruff and heaved him back up. Settling him properly and even more uncomfortable than he’d been before. Life sure was looking wondrous today.

But at least Hester was being nice enough to chatter at him and pass the time by giving him a good, solid scratching. Felt good, that did. He sighed and leaned into it as much as he could, tail dusting the air on that side of the horse and thumping the stirrup with each backwards swing. He liked that she felt like commiserating with him, and he instantly decided, right then and there, that if ever she wanted to do some more commiserating together, he’d be up for it. Because commiserating was fun. Especially if it won him a free scratch behind the ears. Maybe she’d even give him food if he was lucky enough to catch her with her hands full of edibles. Well, one could always hope, couldn’t they? Even if it hadn’t happened yet.

But then her chattering turned into rambling and got weirder than he’d been thinking it ought to get. Bottle? What, by the seven shadows of Groos, was she going on about? He rolled his eyes up to try and make out her face, but there wasn’t much that was easy to see. His secret? Shocked and paralyzed as he was by both the words and his position on Hester’s horse, Lacchi was sorely tempted to come back with An’ which secret would tha’ be? But that would have been terribly counter productive and probably would only have affirmed whatever she was guessing. Unless she didn’t think he was actually cursed. Maybe she just thought she knew something, maybe it was all in her head… He’d been careful, hadn’t he? Watchful and circumspect and friendly as any other dog. He’d never forgotten his role, much, had he? Not enough. He hoped.

His tail had stopped wagging, and his ears were back. A most undog-like reaction to what was merely a simple bit of pleasant sound coming from a human paying attention to him. Too late to change it now, but she didn’t much sound like she was fishing, so it probably didn’t matter. She knew something, and whatever it was, it was enough for her to believe he could understand her, and now he’d made whatever doubts she might have had surely vanish. Still, she didn’t say she was going to tell. It wasn’t even much of a threat either… Just a favour. Favours were simple things… Simple enough at any rate. But if he didn’t know what it would be, how did he know if it would be a good thing to promise. He’d learned, he had. The word of a god, even a tricksy one like he was, carried its own weight. It bound the god who spoke that promise to hold to it, no matter what. It was a biding they couldn’t break. Maybe she didn’t know it, or maybe she did, but Hester had set him a troublesome puzzle, and he was sure she’d only wait so long until she decided his silence was a refusal of her terms.

Which might amount to nothing at all, she hadn’t said she’d out him if he did accept her proposal. Then again… Why take the risk of learning what she knew at the same time as all the rest of the group? Not that he was against them knowing, strictly speaking, it was more the essence of what he’d become. Gods didn’t flaunt themselves and they sure didn’t wander about granting favours left, right and centre. He knew these folk were having a hard time of it, or would be finding those hard time soon, and when they did, he would be of what use to them he could be. But he wasn’t going to suddenly transform, snap his fingers and make their quest end well. He was a god, not a miracle worker. He didn’t do the impossible. If Hester was knowing he was a god and told everyone else, they might not believe her, but they’d still have the thoughts on their minds, and then he’d be caught. Staying around wouldn’t be much fun after that, but leaving wasn’t an option he wanted to think about more than he already had. He knew he wasn’t the brave sort like Melin and Nat, or Darius. He wasn’t foolhardy or stubborn the way their guide was and he didn’t have the grouchy, spiky hardness that Hester did. If things got rough, he’d turn tail. But if he could keep them from turning too terrible… He wanted to have that chance.

Still caught up in his thinkings when they reached the old clearing, Lacchi simply tumbled from the horse as Hester lumped his hind end up and over to the other side. He landed with a yelp that was more surprise than hurt, since he rolled rather unceremoniously into a heap, but then picked himself up, stared about dazedly for a moment, then shook himself off and fled.

But he didn’t go far.

He just needed a good stretch and the chance to think properly without needing to act like he wasn’t what he was. So he told himself. But it was mostly to get away from that little lady. He disappeared into the trees, tail tucked disconsolately and dire speed making it quite clear that he hadn’t any thoughts of sticking around near the group any longer. He wasn’t abandoning them, he wasn’t! He just, he just needed to think. So he did.

He slowed apace once he’d gotten far enough to calm his mind and then he turned and began to pace. One way then the other. Back and forth as though he wanted to wear away a path through the roots of the trees around him. Back and forth like the way his mind was going. Giving in or giving up. He’d heard her the night he’d met her, saying she might kill a man with the right incentive. She’d been a grouch and a bother at times, a right old fart. But she was old and seamed by the time still holding her together. And that smile shed given him, when she’d said she was being as honest as she ever was, it had been a nice smile. The god whined and turned about, he didn’t know what to do. But there was that one bit of knowledge that kept running at him from the back of his mind. No matter how many times he eluded it. He turned about again.

They would likely need his help, even so capable as they seemed. And he didn’t want to see them fail just for being a coward. He didn’t want to leave them either. Besides, Old Hester wasn’t a wicked woman, just a hard-bitten old crone. And there wasn’t nothing wrong with that.

Finally, he made up his mind. And once he’d done that, he set his sights back on that clearing, following the trail he’d made running away and walking it back. It took him some time, but not much. Although it was already well past dusk when he returned, slinking from the tree shadows and creeping sheepishly toward the shadow that was Melin. He’d run off…. A trained hound was never to run off. As he made his way towards the old knight, however, Lacchi let himself get sidetracked. Hester was sitting near to where he’d come out of the trees, and there was a very small bit of cheese left in her hands.

His crinkled ears perked when he saw it and his nose quivered as he quested that way, then he finally swung about and trotted over to her side. Maybe she’d count sharing food as being comradely… Keeping his dark eyes unwavering on the leftover cheese, he licked his nose once, then lifted a paw and whined, holding out the black furred appendage for her to take as though he was being a desperate dog trying the one trick he knew to win himself a favour. He would accept her terms, and whatever her request later, he would do all within his power to see it through, because there was no turning back after this point. And no other choice once his word was given.