There, so long as Mela's cooperative that ought to tie them all together. Boy, we're off to a bit of a rocky start, eh! Oh well, just means we have to pull the strings a bit harder. Normally I let things happen as they will but we do need our four together at the very least.
No rush on a reply, either, I know you're busy.
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No sooner than the murmured apology had left the witch's lips was Telaris sitting up, casting a small light-spell to illuminate the secluded grove. "Ah, so you found a friend," he said, managing a slight smile. It was pure falsity - from the look of the woman, she was a witch, and he had no love in his heart for the half-wild, untrained, amateur breed that called themselves magic-users and yet refused any sort of formal schooling or actual effort to hone their magics. True, there had been a few wixes he'd met who had potential, but they never used it, instead squandering their abilities in some completely useless manner. But he'd been awake when the archer stole out of their impromptu camp, and lain awake, listening for him, half-certain he would not return. So it was with some fortune that he did come back, albeit with some rag-tag spellcaster at his heels.
Getting up, he approached the pair, stretching slightly. "Devon, I do hope you can forgive my earlier harshness. I suppose the urgency of the situation in which we find ourselves has made a demon out of me, whether I intended it or not. We are stronger as a unified force, so please, be assured that I take no issue with you finding us another ally." Careful now with his words - us, we, unity, binding them together through language and diminishing his own former superiority - the mage put on a genuine front, looking over the newcomer with curiosity. Acting was not his best skill, but he could enhance it, subtly, with a bit of magic charm, to make himself a more believable sort. If nothing else, he could always think with earnestness on how they could be useful, and ply that into a facsimile of camaraderie.
Once formal introductions had been made, however, he seemed concerned about the other witch that Mela mentioned having met with before, and quizzed her about what she thought of the stranger. Finally, he looked thoughtful, musing on the information, and inquired, "I don't suppose you recall where you met her? Even if a bit recalcitrant, we could always use another ally. Particularly someone well-travelled. Four is a solid number, well-rounded, and enough for us to each get rest even if a guard must be posted." Looking to the petite witch, he gave a mild, sympathetic smile. "I'd appreciate it if you could find her again and recruit her to us, if she seemed trustworthy enough. There's no knowing what sort of ill-intentioned types there may be out here, looking to prey on honest people trying to help the Princess, so we should bolster our numbers where we can." Though the idea of two witches, one withdrawn and bitter, the other perky and talkative, made for a very unpleasant thought, it was still better to have more help than less, more shields to stand behind than fewer. So long as he made sure to reign in his tendencies for being overbearing and perhaps a bit bossy, it would be fine. Probably.
Not terribly far off from the trio, back by the road, the sellsword was patiently lighting their fire a second time - Mela's windy disappearance had of course blown out the flames and required them to rebuild it. Perhaps the witch had had a point, though it was a moot point now, since she'd fled. Well, it could be kept in mind for next time. The words had stung a bit, but not much; years of travel alone tended to give one a thick skin, and they were no exception to that inevitability. Living on bounties and contract work was a lonely life, so one had to adapt, or be crushed by it. Sociability was simply not useful if you had to make and break connections as frequently as a sellsword did. The only thread connecting it all was coin, and coin, though useful, was a poor companion.
All of this was worth dwelling on, and perhaps, if someone else made the same venture as the witch, they would give the newcomer a fairer chance than her, if only in some half-hearted attempt to make up for their previous misstep. Perhaps no one would - only time would tell. Beneath their hands the fire sprung to life again, a small, bright beacon in the heavy darkness. Once again they were alone, as they often were. Familiarity made it tolerable, and they went back to their map, trying to guess where a runaway royal recently turned werewolf might go in search of shelter.
Getting up, he approached the pair, stretching slightly. "Devon, I do hope you can forgive my earlier harshness. I suppose the urgency of the situation in which we find ourselves has made a demon out of me, whether I intended it or not. We are stronger as a unified force, so please, be assured that I take no issue with you finding us another ally." Careful now with his words - us, we, unity, binding them together through language and diminishing his own former superiority - the mage put on a genuine front, looking over the newcomer with curiosity. Acting was not his best skill, but he could enhance it, subtly, with a bit of magic charm, to make himself a more believable sort. If nothing else, he could always think with earnestness on how they could be useful, and ply that into a facsimile of camaraderie.
Once formal introductions had been made, however, he seemed concerned about the other witch that Mela mentioned having met with before, and quizzed her about what she thought of the stranger. Finally, he looked thoughtful, musing on the information, and inquired, "I don't suppose you recall where you met her? Even if a bit recalcitrant, we could always use another ally. Particularly someone well-travelled. Four is a solid number, well-rounded, and enough for us to each get rest even if a guard must be posted." Looking to the petite witch, he gave a mild, sympathetic smile. "I'd appreciate it if you could find her again and recruit her to us, if she seemed trustworthy enough. There's no knowing what sort of ill-intentioned types there may be out here, looking to prey on honest people trying to help the Princess, so we should bolster our numbers where we can." Though the idea of two witches, one withdrawn and bitter, the other perky and talkative, made for a very unpleasant thought, it was still better to have more help than less, more shields to stand behind than fewer. So long as he made sure to reign in his tendencies for being overbearing and perhaps a bit bossy, it would be fine. Probably.
Not terribly far off from the trio, back by the road, the sellsword was patiently lighting their fire a second time - Mela's windy disappearance had of course blown out the flames and required them to rebuild it. Perhaps the witch had had a point, though it was a moot point now, since she'd fled. Well, it could be kept in mind for next time. The words had stung a bit, but not much; years of travel alone tended to give one a thick skin, and they were no exception to that inevitability. Living on bounties and contract work was a lonely life, so one had to adapt, or be crushed by it. Sociability was simply not useful if you had to make and break connections as frequently as a sellsword did. The only thread connecting it all was coin, and coin, though useful, was a poor companion.
All of this was worth dwelling on, and perhaps, if someone else made the same venture as the witch, they would give the newcomer a fairer chance than her, if only in some half-hearted attempt to make up for their previous misstep. Perhaps no one would - only time would tell. Beneath their hands the fire sprung to life again, a small, bright beacon in the heavy darkness. Once again they were alone, as they often were. Familiarity made it tolerable, and they went back to their map, trying to guess where a runaway royal recently turned werewolf might go in search of shelter.
*shoves the four together* Good grief, they're being a real pain in the neck, huh? I'll post tonight when I get back from work, by the way.
Nah you didn't? I normally give about a week between check-ins, particularly if I know my partner is active in a lot of other roleplays or has significant life burdens (like being a full time college student, or having kids to take care of).
So just consider it a gentle prod to post. Now, if you go weeks without responding and I see you're not posting elsewhere, then I'll worry.
So just consider it a gentle prod to post. Now, if you go weeks without responding and I see you're not posting elsewhere, then I'll worry.
Ah, right. No rush, take your time. I just like touching base occasionally.
Everything going alright? Or just busy with holiday-related stuff?
"Just follow me, marm!" he cried cheerily, and scurried off. Every few feet or so he'd stop, check that she was following, and then hurry ahead, as if terribly impatient for her to get there. It was probably just the normal impatience of a child, but perhaps it had been some time since his master had seen any business, and the boy was over-eager to have a paying customer make her way there. In fact, more than once he was lost to sight, down the next turn or behind a small group of people, but he always reappeared. Until he didn't.
This last vanishing was around the final turn into a smaller area where a few craftsmen had built their workshops - along with the blacksmith, there was a leatherworker, a fabric-shop, and a small jewelry-maker, though the last seemed abandoned for the moment. A handful of locals were milling about, some talking business, some just passing the time. As before, they looked over her with the same anxiousness as sparrows look on a hawk, and scattered before her, though most made some pretense of leaving intentionally. By and large, the place was deserted, which made it all the more strange that the boy was nowhere to be seen. As for the blacksmith, he was at work on an outdoor forge, beating a length of iron into what would no doubt eventually become a sword. Even so, the blade-to-be looked almost tiny in his large hands, covered with thick, well-worn gloves. By the look of him, he had been at this trade perhaps his whole life, perhaps he had even, in some long-past season, been a boy at the heels of another smith, hawking his own master's goods and picking up tricks of the trade where he was able.
When she first approached, however, he gave no indication of having noticed her. Instead, he continued working the iron for a moment more until coming to a suitable pause, and at last turned to face her. While she explained her needs he listened intently, almost thoughtfully, and looked down to Peony's hooves a few times. When she mentioned his apprentice, a brief, dark look crossed his craggy face, quickly smoothed away, but there, however momentarily, nonetheless. At last he reached over and patted the mare reassuringly, and nodded. "I've got a three shoes ready, but the fourth's not done," he said at last, his accent dulled but clearly distinct from the locals. "Take her on over to the farrier cross town, may as well have her feet made good before you put new shoes on them." Looking further south, he continued, "Just follow the main road that way, can't miss the place."
Before she could leave, however, he stopped her again. "And marm? Best watch yourself carefully. I never had any lad working for me."
This last vanishing was around the final turn into a smaller area where a few craftsmen had built their workshops - along with the blacksmith, there was a leatherworker, a fabric-shop, and a small jewelry-maker, though the last seemed abandoned for the moment. A handful of locals were milling about, some talking business, some just passing the time. As before, they looked over her with the same anxiousness as sparrows look on a hawk, and scattered before her, though most made some pretense of leaving intentionally. By and large, the place was deserted, which made it all the more strange that the boy was nowhere to be seen. As for the blacksmith, he was at work on an outdoor forge, beating a length of iron into what would no doubt eventually become a sword. Even so, the blade-to-be looked almost tiny in his large hands, covered with thick, well-worn gloves. By the look of him, he had been at this trade perhaps his whole life, perhaps he had even, in some long-past season, been a boy at the heels of another smith, hawking his own master's goods and picking up tricks of the trade where he was able.
When she first approached, however, he gave no indication of having noticed her. Instead, he continued working the iron for a moment more until coming to a suitable pause, and at last turned to face her. While she explained her needs he listened intently, almost thoughtfully, and looked down to Peony's hooves a few times. When she mentioned his apprentice, a brief, dark look crossed his craggy face, quickly smoothed away, but there, however momentarily, nonetheless. At last he reached over and patted the mare reassuringly, and nodded. "I've got a three shoes ready, but the fourth's not done," he said at last, his accent dulled but clearly distinct from the locals. "Take her on over to the farrier cross town, may as well have her feet made good before you put new shoes on them." Looking further south, he continued, "Just follow the main road that way, can't miss the place."
Before she could leave, however, he stopped her again. "And marm? Best watch yourself carefully. I never had any lad working for me."
Bit on the short side but it gets the job done. It's on Kijani if she wants to follow this lead or not.
As it turned out, fame looked, at first glance, rather ordinary. In the early afternoon light, the town of Beckinsdale looked almost idyllic; there were no signs of damage or calamity, and if anything, the township seemed rather prosperous. Surrounding it were a number of farms, sprawled on the valley's lush and gentle slopes, with rows of orchard-trees visible in the distance. Along the well-worn road into the town proper, other riders and cart-drivers passed by, seemingly in a hurry. Within the borders, the cobble streets were neat and well-cared for, and most of the buildings were made of sturdy blackwood, with a fairly uniform architectural style suggesting either many of them were new or designed by the same person or group. Overall it seemed like a well-organized place, teeming with people as they went about their business. Though no one greeted her, most gave her a passing glance or two. However, the facade of tranquility fell away as she made her way through the market district.
Several stalls, or what was left of them, could be seen, having suffered severe damage. Workers were salvaging what they could of the wood and cloth of one in particular, but it was largely smashed to pieces, as if by something great and heavy being thrown down upon the planks. As well, people were clearly apprehensive of her, sometimes watching her suspiciously or moving out of her way when she approached. A young woman selling apples from a basket started to call to her, then hesitated, turned away and called out to someone else. The whole marketplace had a hushed and uneasy atmosphere unfitting for a place of business. People should have been bartering, advertising their wares, trying to catch the attention of potential buyers, but instead the conversations were hushed, conducted almost as if in secret. Now and again people would pause and look around, as if expecting something.
It was also there that she was finally approached - a boy barely ten or so flagged her down, scampering over and stopping her in spite of the fact that doing so blocked the foot traffic. Though a bit on the skinny side, he wore good clothing and didn't look too scruffy, so more likely than not he was no street urchin. Smiling cheerily up at her, he inquired "New shoes for ya pony, marm? My master's the best blacksmith in this town, and he's got the finest horseshoes ya coin can buy! And he'll put an edge on ya sword enough to scare even the ol' shifting beast!" Pointing off down a side-street, he continued, "Or fix up ya armor, whatever ya need, he's the man for it!"
Several stalls, or what was left of them, could be seen, having suffered severe damage. Workers were salvaging what they could of the wood and cloth of one in particular, but it was largely smashed to pieces, as if by something great and heavy being thrown down upon the planks. As well, people were clearly apprehensive of her, sometimes watching her suspiciously or moving out of her way when she approached. A young woman selling apples from a basket started to call to her, then hesitated, turned away and called out to someone else. The whole marketplace had a hushed and uneasy atmosphere unfitting for a place of business. People should have been bartering, advertising their wares, trying to catch the attention of potential buyers, but instead the conversations were hushed, conducted almost as if in secret. Now and again people would pause and look around, as if expecting something.
It was also there that she was finally approached - a boy barely ten or so flagged her down, scampering over and stopping her in spite of the fact that doing so blocked the foot traffic. Though a bit on the skinny side, he wore good clothing and didn't look too scruffy, so more likely than not he was no street urchin. Smiling cheerily up at her, he inquired "New shoes for ya pony, marm? My master's the best blacksmith in this town, and he's got the finest horseshoes ya coin can buy! And he'll put an edge on ya sword enough to scare even the ol' shifting beast!" Pointing off down a side-street, he continued, "Or fix up ya armor, whatever ya need, he's the man for it!"
You're fine, no worries. Look forward to a post tonight :)
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