Rogue Shark

The Inquisitors Path

Rickard only grunts at Septus' explanation for keeping a journal. His partner is right to be a little defensive about it; Rickard has never seen the point in this endeavor. "I'm sure the scavenger who finds your wet or charred and certainly unreadable document of our untimely deaths won't just use it for kindling to keep himself warm at night." It's all he says on the matter, though more could be said.

When they get outside, Rickard whistles and calls for his dogs, and they come darting back while the men saddle their horses. The fresh blood on Ruhan's muzzle stands out in stark contrast against his white fur, and the way the other two lick at their chops, they must have all had success in their hunt. Hopefully at least a couple squirrels, something enough to keep them strong for the ride ahead. The dogs are left behind on the ride, unable or unwilling to match pace with their mounts. Rickard isn't concerned, knowing they can take care of themselves, knowing the trail won't be hard for the hounds to follow to the village.

Where their last stop was more of an outpost, a scattering of buildings with the tavern as a main focus point of the entire settlement, their next stop is more of a proper village. There is only one main road through the town, but it's cobbled. Smaller dirt paths snake off the main branch, which is lined with an actual livery, a tavern, a smithy's and a general store. There are a few other large buildings that cater to some business or another, but their signs are old and faded and illegible, and Rickard can't quite make out what their trades are. He can see the steeple of a chapel behind a veil of bare tree limbs about half a mile down one of the dirt paths. Hovels spot the landscape as well, but the majority of the homes are likely somewhere off the main street as well. This place, too, caters to travelers, and has a fair share more business than their previous stop. A few carts line the cobbled road's side, and a man and a woman argue brusquely next to a wagon sporting a broken wheel in the front. The Inquisitors actually have to wait outside the livery for the stable boy to finish stabling another pair of horses before they're helped. The kid looks flushed, red-faced from work, and it's anybody's guess where the livery's master is at, leaving the boy to handle matters all on his own.

Rickard dismounts and offers the reigns over, instructing the boy to find him if he caught sight of the three hounds. With fair warning to not approach them, he turns back to Septus, shifting the weight of his satchel to his other shoulder.

"Split or whole?" It wasn't a lot of ground to cover, but neither was this particularly dangerous territory. He'd leave it up to his partner if they should split up for their questioning, or stick together.

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Sorry I got caught up in some doubles at work. Been leaving me dog-tired, haven't even logged in.
I got a day off today though, so time to RP!

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Septus is left alone and to his own devices for a while longer. Luckily for both men, a sound outside in the streets below rouses one of the dogs, in turn waking Rickard. A man shouts irritably just below Rickard's window at a couple of children, who, in their haste to dart past him, giggling, cause him to send a pail of water crashing to the dirt road. He swears and hollers after them, but they pay him no mind. Ruhan is at the window, paws up on the ledge. While he makes no sound, Tivit is at his side, and he begins to bark and snarl and howl. The man below glances up, startled, offers the pair of golden-eyed hounds a few choice swear words as well, and continues on his way.

There's a muffled, half-ass attempt to quiet the dogs down from their master. Tivit listens, albeit begrudgingly, and both dogs return to the bedside, but it doesn't matter. Rickard is already awake, and he knows he won't be able to fall back asleep again. Besides, judging from the light creeping into the room, he's already slept longer than the agreed upon time.

The houndsmaster staggers from bed, his good eye still fogged with sleep. Even in his sleepwalker's state, he manages to dress with an eye half-closed and his dogs pacing about him frantically. Of course he doesn't have the burden that Septus does with donning armor: his leather jerkin and quilted doublet are simple enough to struggle on even in his groggy state. The only real problem he encounters is his boots, and they end up on the wrong feet at first. He notices, blissfully for pride's sake, before he leaves the room and corrects this problem. Awake enough by the end of his dressing, he has enough sense to check the room for any final belongings before he shoulders his satchel and departs the room.

The dogs bound down the steps ahead of him, preceding his arrival, earning a few contemptuous looks from what little early-morning patrons litter the common room. Rickard crosses the main hall to shoulder the door open and loose his hounds upon the street so they might run and relieve themselves. Once the last of the three bolt past him and out the door, he turns and moves to join Septus at his table.

Rickard rubs his eyes as he drops down into a chair across from Septus and grunts something of a greeting to his partner.

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Rickard nods and waves his friend off, both his inquiry on whether or not Rickard has let him win as well as his statement on turning in. "I believe I'll walk the hounds before heading up. Rest easy, Septus." He knows he should probably turn in too. They have a long and perilous ride ahead of them come morning, but he isn't tired enough yet, and he loathes the idea of lying in a bed for the next couple of hours, staring at a beshadowed ceiling and trying in vain to seek out sleep.
Perhaps a walk will help tire himself and his dogs out.

He finishes his water, which has gone lukewarm by this point, and rises. The trio of hounds get to their feet as he stands and look up at him expectantly, awaiting orders or movement. Rickard crosses the tavern's main hall and slinks out into the night with his dogs trailing him.

There isn't much to the village. It's a bordertown, catering to those travelers foolish enough to risk rewards in the corrupted lands beyond. They're close enough to the Blasted Lands to warrant a persistent somber air and hard, sometimes short lives for the residents. Most of the villagers live there only because it is where they were born, and they know naught else but the dangers that come with living, literally, on the edge. No one migrates here, and as his soft-soled leather boots crunch over the grit of the dirt road running through the center of the darkened town, Rickard wonders how such a place has survived, if not thrived, for so many years in such a precarious location. Mayhap there is some unsavory dealings with things that live beyond the border. If that is the case, Rickard even believes he can figure why no investigations or some great culling has ever occur here: this hamlet serves as a fine outpost and 'last stop' for whatever unfortunate Inquisitors must venture beyond. It doesn't seem like much, but if this little town were to be wiped out of existence, it would make missions such as the one he and Septus were on that much more difficult.
If it is true, it's hypocrisy at its finest.

These are the things he muses over as he wanders aimlessly throughout the still town. The moon drifts higher into the sky and is on its downward slope before he returns to the inn.

The common room is dark, the fire that had been burning so fiercely upon his departure nothing but smoldering embers in the firepit. It's just enough to light his way to the stairs, and he and his dogs climb the steps as silent as if they were four ghosts haunting the halls. He indulges is a nip of foul-tasting tonic before he lays down. It's courtesy of an alchemist of the order, a brew thick and dark like tar that aids with a deep, dreamless sleep. Even as he takes a swallow, he knows Septus will probably have to yell loud enough to wake the dead to stir him come morning... but he finds it difficult to care. He needs sleep before they go on.

Kerr hops up onto the bed and lays across his feet as he begins to drift off. Tivit and Ruhan lay on either side of the bed, their muzzles resting atop their large paws. Even as their eyes close, their ears remain perked, alert. They doze as their master slumbers, ever-aware of their surroundings, ready to leap to their feet and savage anyone who might dare to intrude.

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THERE ARE NO RULES!
...Wait, that'd make for an awful card game.

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"You and your creature comforts," Rickard muses, though he's sure that by the end of this, assuming he survives, he'll be longing for a soft bed as well. His bones are getting too old to endure damp underbrush and cold hardpan dirt for any real length of time without complaint.

Between feeding his dogs equally, he manages to enjoy some of the meal himself. He and the hounds put away every last scrap of food from his plate. They seem to know when the food is no longer coming, as they all settle back in their original positions, tongues poking out to lick their muzzles, savoring every last drop.

"I'd rather not see them try the same with us." He disagrees kindly enough, resting a hand on Ruhan's head. The dog is large enough sitting down that his head easily reaches the arm of Rickard's chair. "Think of it: would you not prefer to see some creativity? We've seen face-peeling already. Let's hope for a new and sensational way to die." His smirk is faint, but it's there. His good eye shifts to the cards as Septus withdraws the deck, then proceeds to roll. He's still smiling, though.

Rickard doesn't really enjoy cards. To ask anyone who knew him, you might be told Rickard doesn't enjoy much of anything. He does not drink, he does not gamble. Septus seems to be the only one able to entice him in even a simple hand of cards for fun. He is inclined to indulge his partner because he knows full well what Septus has to deal with. He understands that he himself is not an ideal partner, stoic and stubborn and obsessed with his dogs as he is. It only seems fair to give a little in return.

He slides his plate to the side and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows atop the table. "Very well. But if I win, and 'one game' turns into 'best two of three', I'm sicking Kerr on you. I'll not fall into another trap that turns to 'best five of nine' again."

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The houndsmaster remains silent throughout the exchange between Septus and the barkeep. He has nothing to add to the discussion, and isn't much for small talk anyway. He follows his partner to the chosen table with three dogs clinging to his shadow. As soon as he settles into a chair, the trio of hounds begin to situate themselves comfortably. Kerr lays herself down at Rickard's feet, beneath the table, her muzzle resting on the toes of his boots. Her eyes are open, alert for possible threats... or scraps of food that may fall her way. Her brothers flank the houndsmaster on either side, Tivit at his right and Ruhan at his left. They do not lay down like their sister, but remain sitting back on their haunches, stealing glances up at the table every so often.

"It was no accident," Rickard objects, looking across the table at Septus. "The man did it intentionally. Mayhaps the result of some drunken bet, I care not: it was a deliberate action to stomp on Gunther's tail." Gunther wasn't with them this time. Bringing him back here would have probably cause more trouble than they needed right now. "He's fortunate I struck him, anyhow, and did not allow my dog to extract his own breed of toothy justice." To Septus' suggestion that he scrap the idea of a late night walk with his dogs, Rickard could only faintly smile. Septus knew him too well. He always had trouble sleeping when they were away from home, and there was something soothing about walking his hounds in the dead of night. Knowing few people were awake, the way the moonlight and shadows could morph the world into something obscure and unknown... it was peaceful.
He certainly couldn't promise he wouldn't be creeping out before daybreak.

"Sometimes I don't think you worry enough, Septus. Other times I think you worry too much. And I am sorry to say, but you would be a terrible mother." He looks to the plates as they arrive, and all of his dogs do as well. It is the meat they smell, juicy and seared, and Rickad isn't eating for more than two minutes before he begins to slip the hounds scraps of fat from his plate. They take the treats gently from his fingers, each dog only taking the food when he says their name.

"You wish to leave come dawn?" He asks as he slips his hand beneath the table. Quietly he says the dog's name, Kerr, and she nibbles the meat from between his fingers daintily.

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"It may," He remarks to himself when Septus rides ahead of him. Curiosity gets men killed every day, usually when they ask the wrong sort of questions. It was all fine to ask Master when they were face to face, and either be given a genuine answer or denied the truth. It was another to speculate aloud when such knowledge was above their pay grade. Regardless, he is content to find the conversation at an end, and he spurs his horse into a quicker trot. He doesn't encourage the animal into a full-out gallop, as he doesn't wish to tire it or his dogs out. He trails behind Septus throughout the ride, though the wide, straight road allows his partner to remain within his sights most of the time.

Upon reaching the tavern, Rickard dismounts his horse and tethers it alongside his partner's. He wishes there was a livery nearby, a place to properly rest their mounts. All three of the dogs come bounding to the trough, standing on their hind legs with their front paws on the rim so they might drink from the water. The two other horses present before their arrival whinny and snort, one stomping a hoof in an agitated manner to relay her discomfort at the presence of these large beasts. Tivit looks aside at the mare and gives a short low growl before he resumes drinking alongside his brother and sister. Rickard only nods at Septus' remark as his dogs quench their thirst. When they finish, he follows the other man inside, all three dogs following in his wake.

As he enters the building, the hounds begin to tip their snouts up and scent the air. They turn their heads back and forth, scanning everything, everyone, tails stiff in the air. Though the smells and sights of the tavern try and tempt them from their master's side, they remain steadfast, only watchful.

Rickard waits patiently while Septus commands a couple rooms from the barkeep. It always amuses Rickard when his partner tries to sound kindly. It never comes out sounding natural, and sometimes Rickard things that when he tries to be mild, it comes out sounding even more cold.

There is a snicker from the back of the tavern following a very low-cast whisper. Rickard clenches one hand to a fist at his side and glances down to his dogs, who circle about his stationary form like sharks in the sea. He knows the sort of jests people make behind his back, regarding himself and his dogs. The more imaginative call him a skinwalker, an abomination that should be hunted, not the hunter. The more simple-minded insults regard bestiality. Neither have any truth, though he prefers the former rumors, as they inspire fear. The manner of which Septus asks for their rooms makes him inclined to believe whatever hushed snide remark was made, it was likely a statement along the lines of the latter. He lets it go, though. Let them make their crude jokes behind his back, he's heard them before.

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No worries, I'll see ya then.

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He feels a little poorly for keeping Septus waiting, but he wasn't aware that his partner had intended to ride this day. He had pointed out earlier that it would make more sense to ride come morning, arrive before nightfall the following day... but Septus isn't exactly known for his patience. So Rickard only nods, turns away again, and goes to fetch his dogs, his armor... if it could even be considered armor. He wears only a studded leather jerkin over a quilted doublet. He has tried heavier armors in the past, but they don't suit him despite the risks of the job. He prefers to be mobile, and he has an irrational fear of getting caught in a river or a lake, burdened with heavy armor, drowning.
To travel light seems best.

Kerr is disturbed from her slumber in the kennels, as are her two brothers, Ruhan and Tivit. They, too, are named each for one of the other two hounds myth claims guards the gates of purgatory. Where Kerr is mottled and ugly, black, one of her brothers is as white as the snow, eyes brilliant and gold. He is quiet, never barks, though his growl is something to behold. Tivit was the runt of the litter, but he has grown large, strong. His fur is the perfect shades of browns and reds to blend into a forest landscape, with eyes as gold as his brother's. All three hounds tail their master as he returns to Septus and mounts his horse. He brings leads and harnesses for each dog, but they are tethered to nothing for now. Mayhap there will be need in the bordertown, but for now he allows them free reign. He trusts them not to lose themselves on the journey, nor to snap at any passers-by on their way out of the city.

Rickard rides alongside his partner in silence, his dogs keeping admirable pace, and not a one of them gives a chuff or snaps at the other, as dogs sometimes are wont to do when traveling with a pack. Tivit and Ruhan are as well-trained as their sister. When Septus slows, Rickard tugs on the reigns of his courser, matching his partner's pace. The dogs begin to stray from his side once they are out of the city, and he allows this. He knows they will return if he calls for them.

"It matters little," Rickard responds simply. "It isn't our duty to find out." They were told to bring the man back alive, not to ponder over his use. Rickard would wonder about it all he wanted on his own, but he thought it unwise to speculate aloud. It wasn't their place.