Fantasia - The Star of Spira

“This ought to fetch a good price, eh?”

“You kiddin? That aint worth shit. It aint even real.”

A scraggly looking man with a short beard and quite a few teeth missing looked at the ring in his hand, and he examined the tiny blue stone in the center of the ring for a few moments before angrily chucking it aside.

“Told ya it was junk,” the first bandit said as a satisfied grin spread across his face. “Now come help me get these damn horses packed up.”

As Faxland sat atop the recently overturned merchant caravan, he watched with relative disinterest as his men began packing away the loot to be divided amongst themselves later on. For the most part their bounty had been fairly limited to food crates and other necessities, but their most recent acquisitions also happened to include some weaponry, courtesy of the armed guards that had been assigned to protect the shipment.

The only major highway available for travel was the old stone road that ran all the way up from the capital city of Alcon to the small village of Velhollow near the western shore, and with the vast majority of military resources focused elsewhere, Faxland and his gang found the merchants and the general populous to be easy targets. Their hideout was rumored to be hidden somewhere in the mountainous hills just north of the town of Enbridge, but none so far have been willing to seek it out.

Even with the ruffians controlling nearly all of the open roads, life in Velhollow has maintained some level of normalcy thanks in part to the trade routes established by sea. Mayor Stanfield has done his best to ensure that regular shipments arrived from the docks unhindered, but as an added incentive to any would-be adventurers he has offered a sizable reward for either the capture or kill of the Bandit Leader.

Faxland pulled a crumpled up piece of parchment paper out from his breast pocket, and he laughed at the wanted notice written on the front of it.

'Fools...'

By the time someone finally happened to come across the merchant caravan lying in ruins by the side of the road, Faxland and his men had long been gone, their horses packed full of stolen goods and armaments.

Velhollow
(Early afternoon)

Katrina Ailrow set a small case of fresh vegetables down on a wooden table that had been set up near the open windows overlooking the main street, and even though she had tracked in a sizable amount of dirt from the garden outside, the store owner, a rather tall and heavy-set man whom everyone in town knew as Brookes, didn’t care too much. He was certainly grateful for all the help that the young girl provided, and he was even more thankful for the fact that she didn’t ask for any wages in return for her services to the store.

“I’ll go get a broom,” Katrina said when she noticed the clumps of dirt that had followed her in.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a nice day outside. You should go enjoy yourself,” Brookes said as he placed a hand on her shoulder, and before she could utter a word of protest he had already moved her closer to the front entrance of the store.

“Now go,” Brookes added before he gave her one last little push, which, for a man of his size, could have easily knocked a house down. Katrina smiled graciously and then walked away, though she had no idea where she was going to go. Velhollow had grown slightly in recent years, but the town was still relatively small, and for a girl her age there was very little to do. Katrina thought about going back home for a while, but she always felt more at home in the town than she did back at the mansion.

Velhollow Forge and Metalworks, early afternoon

The solid wooden wall of the smithy's storefront had always been bare save for the dangling dual-faced sign with the telltale hammer and anvil upon it but that changed on a typically quiet afternoon. The yawning door gaped open as the short, brawny, apron-clad smith strode out into the sunshine bearing a small hammer in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other. Casting a cursory glance out onto the street, he chose a spot about six feet high beside the door, and began toying with the parchment as if it were a prize painting to be hung, making the most minute adjustments to its placement.

A few moments later, Danial stepped out from within the store with a freshly forged shortsword in hand, his nose wrinkling in a show of amusement when he tilted a glance to the side and saw that the smith, his employer, still hadn't even put a single nail through the parchment!

"You know, Jakub, it's naught but a 'wanted' poster," he chided the smith, "It's the same reward for that same ugly mug whether you put it there," he lifted the blade to indicate the left side of the door, then shifted it to point out the other side. "Or there."

"Aye, Danial lad, but it ain't just a piece of old bark," the smith replied gruffly, though not without a twinkle in his eye. "This here be the single best advertisement for business that ye or I could ever be askin' fer. Adventurers are always needin' a blade, and p'raps even some of the citizenry be wantin' to protect themselves better, aye?"

Finding himself completely unable to argue with the grizzled smith's logic, Danial nodded his agreement. With a deft cock of the wrist, he flipped the shortsword he was carrying into the air, the blade glinting with the afternoon sun before being captured between practised fingers, the hilt offered to the smith. "What do you think, Jakub?"

"Not bad, laddie, but yer crosspiece is a wee mite crooked. It's smaller than on yer big blades, so it requires an expert's touch!"

The smith lowered the parchment and hammer after taking that dig, handing them both to Danial in one big paw before accepting the shortsword. He took his time in looking it over more closely, finally giving a nod of approval.

"A good blade, otherwise. I'll put 'er on the shelf," he told the younger man before disappearing into the shop, whistling an off-key melody.

Danial nodded at the departing back of his employer before he proceeded to lift the parchment against the wall, positioning it just so. Clad in an airy white shirt that he'd just slipped on, having only just been hard at work in the hot forge, he smiled to himself as a gust of wind blew a pleasant cooling draft against his dusky skin; the breeze given no opposition by the partially-buttoned shirt. The light fabric of the shirt billowed out around his frame, although the breeze failed to shift his wavy mop of hair, still slightly damp with sweat and shiny under the afternoon sun.

Much less finicky about the poster's placement than the smith had been, Danial wiped a few beads of sweat off his brow and reached out to grab a nail from the sill where they'd been stashed and soon enough, the sound of his hammer thumping nails into the wooden wall joined Jakub the smith's jolly whistling to add an irregular beat to what had already been a terrible tune.

Outskirts of Velhollow, noon
Gypsy walked briskly along the mule drawn cart of her employer, master Gainsborough, as they came at last upon their final destination; Velhollow. The cart, while simple, was made for comfortable travel as Gainsborough had, in his life, amassed some modest wealth. Still the armed woman did not travel in it, as she had deemed it better to stay on foot and thus be in a better position to respond to threat from the forests.
Because her task was that of a guard; a job that had found many workless souls with employment, thanks to the recent rise in highway robbery. Gypsy welcomed the sudden ease with which she found herself new employers, but had quickly learnt that highway escort required constant vigilance, not least because of the bandits' annoying love for bow and arrows.

But the trip from the capital had been mostly eventless, save for a pair of footpads whose resolve had faltered before Gypsy had unsheathed her o-katana. All in all, it had been easy earned cash.

"My son and his family lives just down the street to the left there, miss Gypsy," Gainsborough pointed out, informatively. "If you don't mind my asking, I am sure they would be pleased to make room for you."

Gypsy nodded politely, but rebutted the offer: "That is most kind of you and your kin, master Gainsborough, but I do not wish to impose." Before her employer could protest, she added: "And the inn is were I'll find my next assignment, so it would be just as well I stayed there." He paused and then nodded his consent.

She left him at his relatives' house and continued onward toward the center of town. Escaping notice was impossible in her foreign wardrobe and her curved blade held tight to her waist by her obi. After about a year back in these heartlands she had learned to endure the constant stares her odd appearance attracted, though the comments could sometimes be testing on her discipline. Perhaps that was why she felt such reluctance toward Western drinking houses?


The inn, early afternoon
The tea that had been presnted to her lay on table before her, its taste certainly not placing itself high on her list of such beverages. But a small town like this could not be expected to be able to present a wide variety of leaves from which to search for quality. She made do.

The other patrons, half a handful really because the people were busy in the fields and with what else they made a living from, cast poorly hidden glances her way, which she pointedly ignored. She had asked the keeper about what business there was for guards in Velhollow, only to learn that the town had fallen back to maritime trading in these harsh times. With a sigh, she resigned herself to the possibility of staying here longer than she had anticipated, for she had little lust to get out on the bandit choked road again without the promise of pay to urge her.

http://i40.tinypic.com/15x5z4.jpg

Alcon to Velhollow road, earlier that day

“Now we’re all reasonable men, aren’t we? I’m sure we can come to some arrangement”, said Brother Tomas Cannoake, leaning on his staff as he addressed the two bandits who were blocking the road. A third bandit armed with a bow and arrow, lurking deep in the undergrowth, had not escaped the Reverend Brother’s attention.

“Hand over all your coin and valuables, and we won’t kill you. How’s that for an arrangement?” answered one of the bandits, a squat, ugly looking man who was evidently the leader of the three.

“Two thing, gentleman. Firstly, I am a man of the Gods and therefore have no material wealth. Secondly, I am, as I said, a man of the Gods, and therefore you might want to think twice before stealing from me. The Gods have their way of working their revenge.”

“No wealth?” the bandit spat back. “Where do all those tithes go, then? I’ve never known a priest who’s not rich.”

“Not me, more’s the pity” he smiled ruefully, “I am merely a poor travelling Friar heading for my new Parish. If you ever wish to repent, come to Velhollow and see me. In the meantime, I’ll pray for you all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I-“

“A poor man could not afford your tailor’s bill” answered the bandit, stepping into Tomas’ path. “Now I won’t ask again. Your money.”

“Well spotted” said Tomas, “See how the gods punish me for my vanity! But the days when I had that kind of coin are long gone. See how I am sent to minister to bumpkins and hicks, alone and without escort! If I had coin, I would not travel these roads with only the protection of my holy orders.”

“Then your gods have abandoned you indeed. Which means you are in disfavour, which means that your church and your gods won’t help you if we rob you.” The bandit underlined his point by slowly drawing a long, thin dagger.

Tomas shivered.
“There’s no disputing your logic or your steel. Here, if you would rob a Friar, take it!” Tomas drew a coin pouch from his pocket and threw it to the second bandit. He tipped his pack out onto the floor, spilling books, clothes, a bedroll, and other personal affects across the road. He used his staff to spread out his effects.
“There – take what you want!” he said, a little dramatically.

“Pack up your back, priest” said the bandit, quietly.
“Thank you” said Tomas, hurriedly re-packing it.
“… because we’re taking the lot”. The bandit grabbed the pack from his hand, and started to walk away, laughing. “Pray for us, your reverence!”

Tomas watched them go. All he owned in the world was the clothes he stood in, the boots on his feet, his walking staff. And the tidy sum in gems and gold hidden inside its hollowed compartment.

Velhollow, early afternoon

Tomas stomped into Velhollow. He looked around, surveying his home for the next eight months. Eight months! Eight whole months! At least in Alcon there were ways of making the time pass more quickly. But here! There was barely anything to it…. some houses, an inn, a few stores. He wondered how the bandits would affect the town’s livelihood. Badly enough to generate some ‘WANTED’ posters, at any rate.

Tomas looked around, first at the mansion, then at the Inn. He’d been told to report to whatever pompous ass ran this place… but he was tired, hungry, thirsty, and very, very annoyed. The sight of a pretty blonde thing leaving one the shops would normally be more than enough to put a smile on his face, but he settled for what he hoped was a subtle glance. He had to be more careful here, he reminded himself. He looked back at the mansion, back at the Inn, and then, decision made, stalked off towards the Inn for one last mug of frothing ale before he met the Mayor and started his new posting.

Karl Canebrake sat at a table in the inn in Velhollow, contemplating the last few sips of a mug of ale and slowly playing solitaire. Precisely, methodically, he turned over the hand-painted cards, playing a game he had invented and taught himself, slowly tracing the patterns in his mind.

The Queen of Wands, reversed, is hart's horn. It is allied to antimony, and opposes green vitriol.

The Two of Cups is earth rhubarb. It is allied to crystallized alkali, and opposes mandrake root.

The Star, reversed, is the sign of Photus. Under a waxing moon it draws fire; under a waning moon it imbues fire.

Hart's horn and earth rhubarb, to which is applied the sign of Photus under a waning moon, makes harkidril. Harkidril is an essential elixir which will cure chillblains and which will cause candles to burn underwater.

He cleared away the cards, shuffled, and began to slowly deal a new arrangement. Another lesson from his alchemy master roused itself from memory.

The Knave of Coins is -

Karl's concentration was suddenly disturbed by the barmaid, who sashayed over to his table. "Will you be wanting another mug of ale, sir?" she said in a soft voice, leaning over the table. Curly red hair dipped over one eye coquettishly.

He glanced up at her briefly, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Oh, no, thanks."

- is chalybs tartar. It is allied -

The barmaid let her hand rest just so on the table, and leaned over even farther. She quirked an eyebrow, pursing her lips into a slight smile. Her ripe bosom strained at her laced bodice, beginning to spill over just a little - an effect she did nothing to counteract.

"Are you... sure there's nothing I can do for you?" she asked again.

Karl looked up, as if finally noticing her. The robed traveller hesitated, thinking. Then - "Actually, some cheese would be nice, if there's any," he said.

There was a long pause. Then, the barmaid turned smartly on her heel, crossed her arms, and walked back to the bar, without another word.

- is allied with nereid's oil, and...

Marissa Fenara

From the looks of things, Velhollow wasn't the kind of town that Marissa could strike it rich in. Most of the villagers were wearing rather plain looking clothes, and hardly anyone stood out of the ordinary (at least at first glance). The only upside to a place like this was that no one would probably recognize her, and she wouldn't have to worry about soldiers busting in on her if she found a place to stay for the night.

Walking a bit further into town, Marissa immediately spotted an inn, and she knew right away that if she were to find any sort of sport in Velhollow, it would be in there.

Tucking a few loose strands of her dark hair behind her ears, Marissa began walking towards the Lion's Pride, and she walked by a handful of worthless goons that had taken up seats outside. Though they apparently had had enough coin to purchase their first round of drinks, Marissa knew that they were probably broke by now, and thus not worth her time.

In any case she prefered more... cleaner men.

With the day still young, Marissa was hardly surprised, though still somewhat disappointed, when she found the inn to be rather empty. The barmaids were busy taking care of the few orders placed by the handful of patrons sitting at their private tables, and Marissa moved over to a corner table where she was offered a good view of the establishment.

"Can I get you anything, hun?"

Marissa turned her attention to the rather buxom barmaid that had approached her table, and the young enchantress found it difficult to keep her eyes off the red-haired womans chest as it was practically presented to her.

"Some water would be nice," Marissa said after a moment, and she smirked when the barmaid moved away from her table with an obviously dissatisfied look on her face. Now that she was alone again, Marissa took her time looking over at a few of the other patrons, and a few stood out among the rest: a rather handsome man who seemed to be playing with a strange deck of cards, and an oddly dressed woman with darker skin than most and a few piercings in her ears and nose.

There were foreigners... and then were foreigners.

Marissa studied her appearance a bit further, but she couldn't quite place where she might have come from. Certainly she wasn't native to Velhollow... nor from any of the other outlying villages.

Turning her eyes towards the man playing cards, Marissa took a few moments to drink in his appearance, and she smiled to herself when she saw how detached he was from the rest of the going-ons in the inn. From a distance she noticed his ruggedly handsome features and the heavy clothes he was wearing, but above all she noticed how he was seated alone.

When her interest had finally peaked, Marissa stood up from her table and walked over to where he was seated.

"Would it be alright if I join you?" Marissa asked, her eyes shifting back and forth from the cards spread out on the table to his face.

Karl looked up from his cards at the sound of Marissa's friendly voice, and set down the deck. "Hello," he said brightly, smiling at the newcomer. "Sure, you can sit down if you like. I'm, um, Karl."

Tanned skin and plain clothes? She must be a local. Perhaps a washerwoman or something? She might be able to help.

The alchemist carefully swept the dealt cards into a neat pile, taking care not to scratch the delicate objects on the rough wood of the table. Although he had a slightly rough and unkempt appearance, his old-fashioned grey wizard's robe is of very fine make, and belted with a buckle of solid gold. The man's face was completely smooth, devoid of any stubble, and careful observation would note that his fingernails were clean and neatly trimmed. His movements were deft and graceful.

"I hope you don't mind my asking," he said quickly, "but are you from Velhollow or the surrounding area? Have you ever heard in these parts of a plant called knights-mantle or redcloak? I think it's supposed to have clusters of four leaves, green but fringed with a faint red."

Katrina had been walking down the main street when she heard the sound of a hammer striking down on a nail, and turning her blue eyes to the side she saw Danial Wendt posting what she assumed was a notice of some kind to the storefront. Katrina had only seen Danial on a handful of occasions, and even then she had never really had much opportunity to talk with him. She did, however, know his master very well, and Katrina always held a special fondness for the scruffy blacksmith... even if she didn't take too well to his whistling.

With nothing but the entire afternoon ahead of her, Katrina decided that now was as good as time as any to properly introduce herself, but just as she had finished crossing the street a small horse-drawn carriage pulled up alongside her, and the coachman beckoned her over.

"Yes?"

"Your father has requested your presence at the mansion, my Lady."

Katrina nodded her head, but she was clearly disappointed at having to cut her adventures in town short. After being helped up into the carriage, Katrina took one last look at the blacksmiths store before she was driven away towards the Mayor's private estate.

Her home.

Situated on a small hill overlooking the village, The Stanfield mansion was a work of extravagant beauty and superb craftsmanship - a fanciful composition of towers, windows and porches that made it seem more like a miniature castle than a luxurious, two-story house.

Katrina disembarked from her carriage once the horses had been drawn to a halt, and she smiled at the two guards stationed outside before walking inside the manor. At one point in time their presence at the mansion had been completely unnecessary (and even bothersome), but with the recent and increasingly violent attacks by the bandits, everyone, including Katrina, felt a little safer with them around.

"What is it, father?" Katrina asked as she walked around the large water fountain centered in the middle of the vestibule. Directly across from her were a set of large wooden doors that barred entrance to the main hallway inside the mansion, but they were very rarely ever locked, and could easily be pushed open from the outside. Seated off to the side was the man that had raised Katrina as if she were his own daughter, and Katrina herself held nothing but love and respect for the aging Mayor of Velhollow.

"We shall be having guests over tonight, Katrina. Could you please see to it that they feel most comfortable?" Thomas Stanfield asked as he stood up onto his feet, one hand clutching an ornate black cane that had been designed more for show than for proper usage. As of late, however, Thomas had come to rely more and more on the prop, and he was rarely seen walking around without it.

"Of course," Katrina replied without hesitation, and, as if her father had already anticipated her decision, a servant soon arrived to escort her inside and up to her room where she would change into something a little more elegant.

The bliss of oblivion vanished and light pressed through her eyelids. Bright light. Agony inducing light, she groaned and rolled out of the bed to her feet. Another day began at the crack of midday, another day that she had to endure. One of these nights she was going to finally succeed.

'Yera staggered over to the basin on her dresser, bent over, and splashed up the cold water into her face. The sharp slap of the water brought a gasp out of her and a curse. She ran a hand through her long salt and pepper hair and grabbed at the battered old brown wool robe and threw it over her head. Next came the sandals and the mug she'd brought up to her room, still half full. She drained it quickly making a face at the flat ale. Ale? That meant it was time again.

Mug still in hand, she went to the bag closest to the door and rummaged through it. She settled on a heavy gold cross with rubies at each of the points and a pair of heavy silver candle sticks. Then she saw a nice gold chain with an amythist depending from it. Kayla the barmaid had taken good care of her lately, so a show of appreciation was due. 'Yera put the rent, tab, and tip into a small bag and left her room locking the door with the key that hung from a chain about her neck.

Down the stairs and into the main Inn, she noted the place was a bit more full than was normal for this time of day. The Innkeep noticed her and waved her over, grinning at her sour expression. As she approached he poured her a mug of ale and a glass of rot gut whiskey. That made her pick up her pace. She'd remembered rent on time and was being rewarded.

"Well Mistress 'Yera, get your wake up drink, then I'll have your breakfast brought," he grinned bigger as she slid the bag across to him and he peeked in, "Bit more than is due isn't it?"

"Necklace is for Kayla. She's been good to an old lady, the rest is thanks for everything," She looked up behind the bar and saw the blade that was there, "More whiskey, m'lord?"

The inn
Her tea finished, Gypsy lifted previously introspective gazy to look upon the recent arrivals, guessing that perhaps it was time for a mid day break from work. One hand idly resting on the sheathed sword propped up against one thigh, she inspected them each in turn.

A man of the cloth was thefirst she noticed, perhaps only because she would not have expected to find one of their numbers partaking of the services of a drinking establishment. With that inmind, he sure didn't look perturbed in the slightest to be seen publicly in the common room of the town's inn.
But maybe he was just a traveler, as unlikely as that may seem in these troubled times? On the other hand, he had the distinctive look of someone just of the road.

The next patron to catch her notice was a young man, sitting alone at a table, apparently deeply engrossed in a deck of cards. She herself had someexperience with those as well; from the playing cards used eagerly on late nights with other sellswords to the tarots her own grandmother had used to scry the fates of paying gajikane. That might've been what Gypsy would've been doing right now, had Fate dealt it's own hand differently.
The man, though, was somewhat attractive, in a young, unspoiled fashion. He did seem sort of blue eyed to the ronin, but maybe that was her being jaded?

The youngster was then, however, joined by a woman of similar age. She had a somewhat curious air about her; while pretty, Gypsy would otherwise have pegged her for more of the local colour. But her manner, her way of moving, convinced Gypsy that she must also be an out-of-towner, maybe stranded here like herself. No instruments, so not a minstrel. What might her profession be, then?

The last to attract her attention was a woman of advanced age who entered the commons unceremoniously from the upper storey. By the looks of her hair and her dress she was probably a regular at the inn, though Gypsy certainly couldn't detect any signs of a beer gut or anything else that would label her as a street bum. And she obviously could afford to stay at the inn.

All in all, Gypsy found a bit of this and that, but nothing to warrant an attempt at greetings. She sighed and decided that something would have to happen soon or she'd just spend the rest of the sunlight taking a walk.

Well…. perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad after all, thought Tomas. That first long, slow swig of ale made the world seem so much better. Ahhhh. Good ale. Credit where credit was due, this inn might be in the arse end of nowhere, but the innkeeper knew his trade. And the minx of a barmaid was a sight for sore eyes – lovely curly red locks, a twinkle in her eye, a promise of mischief in her smile, and curves that seemed to demand closer inspection. He hoped he’d get the chance.

Other than her… a few locals. Some drunks, some working men taking a late lunch. He wondered if Posh Boy with the cards was the Mayor, or perhaps a relation. Certainly he looked like he wasn’t short of money. And he didn’t lack for taste either, judging by the sultry brunette sat at his table. What if the Mayor wasn’t a pompous old fool at all, but someone whose tastes and interest resembled his own? Now that would put everything in a completely different light. He smiled again as he took another swig.

Who else? Gypsy girl with a sword. Nice. He had a weakness for gypsy girls, but that sword was a little off-putting. Probably a sellsword waiting for the next client heading back to the capital. She was a good sign – if she was here, so was work and travellers. However bad things had got, it didn’t look like the town was isolated quite yet.

He glanced back at Posh Boy, wondering if he should go over. Cards. Damn it. His special cards were gone with the rest of the pack. Not that it would have mattered – he didn’t recognise the game being played and had no coin with which to play it. Plenty of time to learn. It’s not so bad. It’s not so bad. Only eight months. You can do it.

The redhead coughed gently, bringing Tomas’ thoughts back to the here and now. He remembered that he had yet to pay for the ale he was enjoying.
“Ah… I’m so sorry, my dear” he smiled “I was leagues away for a moment. I was wondering… might I speak to the innkeeper when he has finished with that… er … good lady?”
“Of course, brother” she purred. Her curtsey was less out of piety or respect, and more designed to give the Reverend Brother an even better view of her ample cleavage. As she stood up straight again, she caught him looking, but to her surprise he did not avert his gaze as she stood. His eyes flicked up to hers, and he smiled a wolfish smile.
“Thank you….. my child”
She answered with a wicked grin of her own as she moved off to fetch the innkeeper. The handsome stranger with the cards might be immune, she thought, but she wasn’t losing her touch.

“Ah…. Innkeeper!” he said, leaning forward and half-whispering, “My name is Brother Tomas Cannoake, and I am posted here to serve the Gods and aid the faithful. Now, the thing is, good fellow, I had an unfortunate encounter with some bandits on the road, and they took everything I had. Please understand that I am not one of those fellows who expects charity from his fellow – the gods help those who help themselves. Unworthy as I am, the gods have granted me favour, and I am able to call upon them to grant me food and sustenance. The first use for the bounty of the gods, is, of course, feeding the hungry and thirsty of the parish, but I suspect there are fewer beggars and fewer going hungry here. So what I would like to propose is to offer you what remains after the work of the gods has been done – fruit, vegetables, meat sometimes – in exchange for some consideration in return.”

The innkeeper eyed him, a little suspiciously.
“But why don’t you just eat the food yourself?” he asked, puzzled.
“Well, I could, of course. It’s good food, wholesome, pure. But… I must confess to you, and may the gods forgive me, but I do tire of its wholesomeness at times. Sometimes I crave those little imperfections and variations in food prepared by man. Toasted bread that’s a little burnt, stew where the vegetables are a little crunchy. This ale, for example, is very fine, and I would take a mug of this over the wine that I can call down. It’s good wine, it’s just a bit samey after a while.“
“Variety is the spice of life, brother.”
“Exactly so. Exactly so. Do we have an understanding?”

The innkeeper thought for a moment.
“Well, if you can’t trust a man of the gods, who can you trust?”
“We live in dark times, my friend” answered Tomas, “Dark times. But I will not tax your good will nor your pocket, I assure you. Though virtue is its own reward, virtue does not pay the bills… or the tabs. The Church looks after its friends, and you will gain by our arrangement.”
“We have an understanding, then, Brother. And welcome to Velhollow! Kayla!” he said, turning back to the barmaid. “This is Brother Tomas, the new Chaplain. Draw up a tab for him.”

Busily clouting nails through the corners of the wanted poster depicting a rough approximation of what the general populace assumed Faxland to look at, Danial couldn't really stop himself from thumping another nail through the middle of the poster, which corresponded with the rather inconspicous portrait's nose. On reflection, it did seem to suggest that a man had a rather large wart on said hooter, but to hell with it; there were other posters on similar walls without the extra nail.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork, giving his hammer a little twirl as he admired the artistic touch. It was at this moment that he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Further examination with a tilted glance revealed the offending party to be a rather lissome young blonde, and Danial seemed to approve... at least, until that blasted carriage clopped its interfering way. She had seemed to be heading in his direction, after all.

Shrugging his broad shoulders in an universal bemoaning along the lines of 'such is life,' he set the hammer down on the windowsill.

Katrina... old man Stanfield's adopted pride and joy. Strange we've never really had a chinwag. She probably doesn't have any use for swords or warhammers, I suppose. Not many upstanding young prunes like that should, after all. Logical. Probably squeamish at the sight of blood. Then again, you never know. Wonder if she jumps if she sees a mouse... possibly. No, definitely. Didn't even old 'ironhide' Agatha back home leap for the nearest roof if she saw one? Heheh. Women.

His mind off on a lazy meander, the dark-haired man ambled off down the street, having previously told old Jakub that he was off for a mug or three after he took care of the poster.

The inn wasn't too far down the road from the smithy and so it wasn't long before Danial pushed open the door and walked in. Easing out of his reverie, he allowed his gaze a moment to adjust to the light, and it made for a very good excuse for a few rapid blinks. He'd not seen more strangers in the tavern since... since the last time there had been something of note, probably. His memory didn't really class it as an important enough thing to retain afresh.

Still, there were plenty of new faces to eye, but Danial showed tact in his eyeing, casting each of the - to him - strangers the briefest of glances even as his long legs propelled him towards the bar. Conversation found his ears, a rather diplomatic and persuasive discourse indeed, but he again did the noble thing and shot young Kayla the barmaid his customary wink before draping himself languidly across the off-colour counter.

While the innkeeper conversed, Danial allowed himself a slightly more detailed examination of the others in the area, bar the group of snow-bearded old regulars who were already comatose in their corner. Old 'Yera he'd never spoken to, but he'd seen her in the place often enough, and in his eyes she'd already become a regular fixture, although he'd always wondered how she managed to afford an inn-stay for so long. Not something that bothered him, however, and he'd never actually wanted to pry. It was the card-player, his dark-haired companion and the rather strangely dressed lass that found themselves to be the focus of his inspection, although it was brief enough as the man of the cloth came to a satisfactory conclusion with the innkeeper.

Fixing the gent of the clergy with a brown eye, Danial set a hand upon the counter and wiggled a finger at the innkeeper to get his attention.

"Two mugs o' the froth on my account, chief," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slight grin. "Consider it a sign of my faith, Brother. And, of course, welcome to our little town!"

"Karl? Nice to meet you," Marissa said with an equally bright smile as she took a seat at his table. Though intrigued by his unusual deck of cards, Marissa instead focused her attention on the player, and, she hoped, his coin purse. From what she had been able to gather so far, his finely-tailored clothes and calm demeanor all pointed towards a man of nobility, but she could have been wrong.

"Yeah I've been around this town for a good while," Marissa lied, though her smile never wavored from her pretty face. "But to be honest I'm not much for studying plants n' such. I mean I love flowers and all... I just don't know that much about them."

Redcloak? Knights-mantle?

Marissa thought back to her time spent on the road and in various towns and villages, but she couldn't recall seeing any plants matching that particular description.

Not that Karl knew that...

With a slight twinkle in her eye, Marissa extended her hand out and gently laid it on top of Karls.

"But I might know of a few places we can check to see if they're there. Maybe tomorrow, when there's a little more light? It's getting kind of dark outside and I was kind of hoping to call it a night. Do you have a place to stay?"

Karl looked at Marissa blankly for a moment as she placed her hand upon his.

Erm...

He drew his hand away deftly, taking out a small, smoothly polished wooden box and slipping the deck of cards into it carefully.

"Um, sure, I'll probably go out and try to locate it and a couple other things tomorrow. I'd appreciate the help, certainly, if you know your way around. I'm staying at the inn here -- I should be down for breakfast if you'd like to meet then."

She seems friendly enough, thought Karl.

"So, uh, what's your name?" he asked, smiling and tucking the deck of cards carefully into a fold of his robe. Marissa could see, briefly, a line of pockets or pouches sewn into the lining.

Hard to get...

Marissa took in stride everything Karl said and did, though she took particular notice of the care he provided his delicate cards with. Not only that, but she also noticed the many pockets and pouches that had been sewn into his robe.

"Well... tomorrow it is, then," Marissa said with a smile as she stood up from the table. She walked over to the other side of the table where Karl was sitting, and she brought her lips very close to his ear. "My name's Marissa. I hope you have a very good night," she added before giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

Normally Marissa would have preferred speeding things along, but Karl didn't seem like the type that would warm up to her on the first night. Tomorrow they would go out and search for his plants, but Marissa honestly had no intention of sticking around him for that long.

Walking outside, Marissa spotted a few young men standing in front of what she assumed to be a shop of some kind. When one of them began casually tossing a gold coin in the air, Marissa smiled (both inside and out) and walked over to them. With just a few soft-spoken words, the young enchantress had worked her way into their good graces and into their purses.

Negotiations complete, Tomas turned away, noticing for the first time a young dark-skinned rangy fellow stood at the bar nearby. The scar and stubble gave him a slightly intimidating look, at least to Tomas’ eye. He wondered how much of that conversation this fellow had heard. What he had just agreed wasn’t wrong as such – there was no law or teaching against it, but, well, some would disapprove, and had disapproved in the past.

But being welcome in the taverns was important, he’d argued, when caught out on a previous occasion back in the capital. A shepherd should be among his flock where they graze, not waiting for them in where he judges the greenest pastures to be found. And in Velhollow he intended to be a full part of the community, and if that meant spending time in the tavern, well, that was a sacrifice he would just have to make for the faith.

The lad’s greeting was friendly enough, though, and his open countenance and warm tone dispelled the first impression that his scar had created. And an offer of a drink was always going to make a man rise in Brother Tomas’ estimation and affection.

“That’s very kind of you” he smiled. “Thank you indeed, for your kindness and your welcome. I had the misfortune to meet some fellows on the road who were much less accommodating, but I am glad to be here now. My name is Brother Tomas.” He offered his hand. “I must confess I know little about my new Parish, other than the shadow of infamy cast upon the good name of this town by the brigands on the road. I am due to meet the mayor, but I wanted to get a sense of the town first, and this seemed the best place to start. To your health, and happiness, sir” continued Tomas, raising his tankard, “and may the gods bless you and yours always.”

"So, what can you tell me of my new Parish?"

Karl started to say something as Marissa rose, but then froze in place as she kissed him on the cheek. He managed a smile, and mumbled a farewell.

Oh.

The young alchemist gritted his teeth and intently studied the bottom of his mug. Karl didn't look up as she walked away.

I have got to get this damn enchantment reversed, he thought to himself, now feeling agitated and restless despite the late hour. His evening of quiet contemplation was gone. Plans, formulae, avenues of inquiry, reagents to try, all came rattling back into his mind, and his thoughts chased at them like a swarm of gnats. Nine weeks and three days, he thought. Hastur's hangnails. I'm not sure how much longer I can stand this.

He marshaled his thoughts, forcing himself to think about trying redcloak in the powdered-pearl-and-depleted-sulphur formula.

... and not about Marissa. Or the barmaid.

Unconsciously, he ground his fingernail into the tabletop and gritted his teeth.

"Well met, Brother! I'm Danial... local smith-apprentice."

Danial certainly didn't go out of his way to intimidate, and in truth he was always more likely to offer a feller a drink than take him to task for what he might or might not have done. And besides, men of the cloth tended to come in useful. If there was indeed a greater power up there, having one of his/her/its servants putting in an extra word for a chap never hurt.

"I'm afraid that I can't tell you too much. The place has been quiet for a while, and I tend, as shameful as it is, to catch up on my crosspieces in the usual hour of worship. I only wish I were more of a pious man."

His own mug lifted in response to Tomas' toast, and the dark-haired man took a hearty sip. Still, he couldn't help but fix upon something mentioned earlier...

"You were set upon, you say, Brother? We've had some troubles recently, and these bandits grow ever bolder. Perhaps you should mention your little meeting with them to the Mayor when you meet him... any information, I think, would be appreciated."

He shrugged then, and settled the small of his back against the plank in a languid lean.

"In any case, life in Velhollow may take a few interesting turns. The folk here are good and stout, and I doubt they will tolerate these bandits for much longer without raising a fuss. We shall see!"

"Apprentice smith, eh?" answered Tomas, "Good profession to be in. A good smith will never go hungry, they say. A young smith has the strength, but as his strength wanes, his skill grows - until he can earn enough to pay someone else to do his hammering for him!"

It was interesting that the young man felt the need to admit to not attending temple ceremonies. He wondered why that was. Probably getting his excuses in early. Not that Tomas cared if people turned up or not, as long as he got his stipend from somewhere.

"The gods don't just a man by how much time he spends on bended knee" he replied, "If the gods took account only of what we said, did, promised, and intended in temple then paradise would be full and the plains of hell empty. The gods judge us on our actions, Danial, not on the quality or quantity of our prayers."

He cut his theological argument short. This was the kind of thing that had got him into trouble in the past, but this was something that he genuinely believed, rather than something he just said to annoy his superiors. But he was glad enough to change the subject.

"I will certainly be telling the mayor. And I shall be praying for their souls, and for the success of any enterprise to restore law and order to these lands. It is a dark day when even a simple man of faith with little worldly wealth cannot travel unmolested."

Katrina spent most of the afternoon getting ready for the evenings festivities, and she was surrounded by a handful of attendants at all times. They made sure that her hair was in proper order, and they washed away any signs of imperfections in her skin. Though Katrina preferred less formal dresses, her father had already picked out and set aside a very expensive and elegant olive/gold evening dress for her to wear.

Even Katrina had to admit that she liked how it looked against her.

Two sparkling straps held up the demure, fitted bodice, which was also embellished with sparkling golden accents. A lengthy skirt began diagonally from her waist, and it was set in a darker golden material that ran all the way to the floor, flowing gracefully by her feet. Once more, the bottom of the skirt was also embellished with golden accents. Turning around, Katrina saw that the dress gave a beautiful view of her back.

"Katrina... you look absolutely stunning," Katrina heard her father say after she had emerged from behind her dressing curtain. She turned around in her dress once, and the smile on her face matched the one that graced his.

"Thank you, father. I love it," she said before giving him a kiss on both cheeks.

"I was afraid you might hate it."

"Oh no. It's just that the other dresses you buy for me... well... they make look like a mushroom. I much prefer this look," she said, her hands running down the length of her dress.

"Well I am glad, then. Our guests should be arriving shortly. Would you mind waiting downstairs to see them inside?"

Katrina nodded her head and then gave her father a graceful curtsy before he left the room. Even though their guests had been invited to dinner at the estate, Katrina knew her father would want to treat them to some drinks and conversation in the parlor first, and sure enough the private lounges had all been restocked with some of the finest drinks available. The cushioned seats had all been rearranged, and off to the side a small fire had been kept going, adding a gentle warmth to an already cozy home.

Katrina had been given a list of names, and she had already committed them to memory. Among the most prominent arrivals would be Lord Arnald Grifford from Ebinor and, curiously enough, Tomas Cannoake, a man of the clergy. Katrina actually grumbled when she had seen Lord Grifford's name, as a few years prior he had given her certain... looks that revealed just how perverse he truly was.

Within a short while most of the guests had arrived, though, to Katrina's relief, Lord Arnald Grifford had yet to show up.

A couple of tankards of ale turned into a couple more. It appeared that the purchase of ale for a servant of the gods was considered sufficient penance for not attending temple services by others as well as Danial. This suited Tomas very well - a parish where he was respected and supported by parishioners who made no demands on his time or services other than to be left in peace was close to his idea of ecclesiastical perfection.

In any case, it allowed him to get a sense of the town and its people. Once he ascertained that the Posh Boy with the cards was not the mayor, he felt no particular urge to go and meet him. The company of young Danial and some of the other regulars was pleasant enough, especially Kayla. But he had to be cautious there, at least for now. And it would be pleasant enough to make her work to keep his attention.

He had lost track of time. Although he had lost his belongings, he should really have made time to clean himself up a little before his meeting with the mayor. However, he thought, as he hurried onwards to the mayoral mansion, a little humility goes a long way, and perhaps his road-weary appearance and his tale of woe would attract some sympathy and go in his favour.

The servants showed him into the downstairs parlour, and Tomas was treated to an enchanting vision of loveliness as the was ushered in. He was fairly sure that she was the same blonde he'd seen earlier, but what a difference between then and now. She was a pretty young thing, with a fine mane of blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a lovely dress that was as alluring as it was demure.

She also seemed pleased to see him, or at least relieved that he was not someone else.

"I must apologise for my lateness, my dear. My name is Brother Tomas Cannoake, and I am only recently arrived. I took a few moments to look around the town, and I must confess, completely lost track of the time. I should also apologise for my appearance.... I had a most disagreeable encounter upon the road."