The Winds of Ysgard - Part One

[Tom]

"I am." Troia stepped forward. "I brought some medical supplies. I could patch her up fairly well."

The rush was starting to wear off from her trencher-swing, but her heart was still racing. She took a deep breath to calm it and flexed her hands, trying to ward off the shaking she could feel starting.

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard stepped forward, relieved that the fighting was over so quickly. "I can help as well, if you need me." He had a fair bit of practice patching up his own wounds, as long as he could reach them.

 

[Tom]

Troia pulled her supplies from her satchel and set to work.

"Can someone get me a bowl of cold water and a cloth?" she asked, kneeling at the barmaid's feet. Gingerly, she examined the injured ankle, pressing her fingers into the already swollen flesh to see if it was merely a sprain, not a break. The pressure elicited a gasp of pain from the barmaid--not the screaming a broken bone would merit.

While waiting for the water, she pulled up another chair and rested the girl's foot on it, then wrapped her ankle tightly in cloth bandages to keep the swelling down.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison stepped aside so Troia could help the barmaid. "She's all yours, Princess." She suggested to Rikhard, "Why not patch up the bleeder?" She pointed out the man who had likely taken on Bendalitz.

Satisfied that the wounded were in good hands, the Huntress strode across the bar to collect her shocker. As she passed the innkeeper, she said to him, "I took down three meself, yet ye only mention the famous people." She gestured toward the men on their backs. "I'm likely the only wyvern-slayer ye met. I keep balls o' lightning in me purse. Oh, but I ain't the queen's man, and ain't 'man' the operative word?"

She moved on to fetch her trap and, after picking it up, turned to the thug whose drink had a fly in it. Though the lightning had stopped almost a minute ago, he still had his back pressed against the wall and a white-knuckle grip on his mug.

"Well, you saw me rush your whole table meself, right? I mean, ye know I'm quite capable o'—" Addison realized the man's mug was empty. She put her hands on her hips. "Oh, now didn't I tell ye not to drink the fly?"

"I was thirsty," the man said.

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard nodded, seating the man down in a chair before getting to work. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled the man's clothes away from the wounds, then dipped a rag into a nearby mug of ale. "This might sting a bit..."

Carefully he dabbed the blood away from the wounds, relying on the ale to act as a cleanser. He'd done this on himself with vinegar he knew not how often, and it had always stung even worse than receiving the wounds in the first place. Some of the wounds were deeper than others, though. "Can someone keep an eye on him while I fetch a needle and thread?" He had some in his pack, which unfortunately was with his horse.

 

[Tom]

"I'll get the water," Einan told Troia.

He headed for the kitchen, passing the innkeeper as he did. The man stared at Einan, his jaw working, but didn't say anything.

"Now who's that?" the cook called as he entered the kitchen. A slim, middle-aged Folk woman, she stood over the fire, stirring a pot of steaming stew. When she caught sight of him her eyes widened and she held up her ladle, as if it were a weapon she was fending him off with. "Get out of my kitchen, elf!"

"It's alright," Einan said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Someone's hurt--I just need some cold water and a cloth to tend their wounds with."

"I'll not give anything to your kind," she spat, still brandishing the ladle.

Einan's temper flared like wind fanning coals back into flame. He clamped down on it ruthlessly, speaking through gritted teeth. "Someone is hurt. I need the water. Please."

"If you'll get your filthy elf hide out o' my kitchen," she replied, "I'll get you your damned water."

He crossed his arms, fighting down the urge to strangle her. "It's a deal."

A few tense, wordless moments passed as the cook filled a wooden bowl with cold water from the spring-fed well outside. She folded a grease-stained cloth over the brim, but at a raised eyebrow from Einan, grudgingly replaced it with a clean one.

"There you are," she snapped, handing the bowl to him. He noticed that she was careful not to let her hands touch his. "Now get out."

"Gladly," he muttered, as he retreated to their group in the taproom.

 

[DMThaane]

Loke drank the last remains of his ale, the pour taste almost making him glad he'd wasted most of it. And it hadn't even been that good a brawl either. A few fools who needed a lesson taught and at the price that their names would echo around Bernholt. So much for travelling in secrecy.

He picked up a stool and sat by the bar, ordering a mead that arrived surprisingly quickly, given the chaos. He supposed there was one advantage to drinking in a place where everybody knows your name.

He swung around on his chair, watching his companions fuss over the maid and some oaf who'd got his wrist cut. If they were this concerned over some drunken fools, how will they cope with battle? Sympathy is a dangerous thing when even a slight hesitation is punished by death.

Loke turned to the innkeeper. "I'll expect a bath waiting for me when I reach my room. How else am I to remain soft, living such a hard life?"

 

[Gryphos]

While the others all doted over a barmaid, Bendalitz had picked up his crossbow and walked into the centre of the room, stepping over a groaning body and twirling his bolt around in his fingers. He tried to whistle, but he never could master it, and quickly abandoned his attempt, before perching himself on the edge of a table.

"Who was responsible for this?" he asked aloud to the room. "Who was the morally corrupt one? Was it the barkeep who refuses entry to elves, regardless of if they're Yvalhyn or not? Or perhaps whichever thick-headed wank-wyrm's idea it was to physically attack the companions of this elf?" He gestured at Einan as he exited the kitchen, before resting his crossbow on his shoulder. "On the authority of Queen Hala Svora, I demand to know whose fault this was."

 

[DMThaane]

Loke chuckled. "If it's justice you seek, Bendalitz, you'll be searching a long time. It was an elf lord who gave these people reason to despise those pointy of ear. With the abuses they suffered still in living memory, is it really so strange that they would lash out at any that resembled their hated oppressors?"

He sipped from his mead. "Don't misunderstand. If any here try to harm the boy I'm perfectly willing to gut them all myself, but let's not pretend there's a higher ideal to be served. These people fought, they lost, and they'll return home to lick their wounds, perhaps a little humbled. Let us take our victoy and let resentments lie."

 

[Gryphos]

Bendalitz stood up, eyes fixed on Loke. "There is always a higher ideal to be served, Mr. Bloodaxe. In this case, the ideal to be strived for in my society may be that even the hopeless thugs can tell the difference between Yvalhyn and Iridheen." He bent down to address one of the groaning thugs still on the floor. "Or do they all look the same to you?"

He straightened up again. "You may be content to let moral corruption live, Loke, but I am not. And if I catch another similar or equally condemnable instance happening at this place, I, with the full authority of the Queen, will enact..." Bendalitz was always cautious of the word 'justice', for it never quite fit in with his intentions, "... a cleansing."

With that he returned to his corner table, sat down, and sipped at his drink.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison voiced her agreement--mostly with Loke, but that Bendalitz let everyone off with a warning was fine her.

"I harbor no hard feelings. Been meaning to let me new and famous allies see me shockers in action, though I suppose everyone missed it dealing with the action on the opposite side o' the room."

She raised her voice (slightly louder than usual) and talked slowly (by Caernish standards), "Addison Lane's me name. I'm a Huntress. Maybe ye guessed it means more than prancing about the forest feathering rabbits. In the world o' beasts, you're predator or you're prey. I me line o' work, I make predators into prey. What happened's done with far as I can tell, and that being the case, I mena to get one thing straight so I can eat in peace. I'd risk me own ass to defend everyone in this room if Yvalhyn barged in taking arms to us. Even you, Punchy."

She extended her hand to the man who punched her and was still on his back recovering from the shock trap.

 

[Nimue]

The grumbling in the room subsided as the troublemakers left the tavern, some slung around the shoulders of their fellows. It was hard to make out whether all of them had left, but enough, he thought, to defuse the danger of another brawl. The innkeeper, still flushed and sweating, looked up in alarm at Bendalitz's address.

"We mean no harm to the Queen's men, no one here does. That lot, they didn't know who they was talking to. No need for soldiers, my lords. If this elf is one of the Queen's chosen, that's good enough for me, ought to be good enough for anyone," the innkeeper said, loudly enough to be heard by the whole room. "You'll have service. Good service." His hands worked nervously, polishing a tankard with a rag.

Farrun had been counting heads and looking for signs of injury, and looked over to watch the innkeeper pronounce those words as though he was swallowing a bitter tonic. Might it do him good. "There will be no soldiers," Farrun said. Retribution in the days of elven rule had been swift and harsh. "But it makes me uneasy to think that if we were not Queen's men, but simple travelers, we might have been beaten and left to dry in the courtyard," he said lightly.

The innkeeper swallowed. "I don't encourage that kind of thing. It's hard to keep those boys in check, but... This past month, one of my lord's caravans was captured by elf raiders." He spat on the floor. "Meant docked pay for the guards and the men-at-arms, it was that bad."

"The men who fight for you should be the last to feel the pinch of frugality," Farrun murmured, and lowered himself back into his chair with a grunt. "Can we get a proper dinner?" he asked coolly. The innkeeper cleared his throat, nodded, and barged back towards the kitchen.

The other barmaid was cleaning up the mess left by the first maid's spill; Farrun looked over and held out a hand, his fingers sketching a few runes in the air. The soupy puddle swirled up and poured straight into the girl's bucket. A waste of magic, maybe, but he didn't want to eat with that nearby, and it didn't hurt to save the maid some work. Far from grateful, though, she stared at him wide-eyed, grabbed her mop and bucket, and hurried away, holding the pail out at arm's length though it carried poison. Farrun gave a small smile, then turned back towards the table.

"Well, I won't say it was tidy, but it worked," he said, with a rumble of laughter. He sat back in the chair to ease his aching ribs--he'd have to do something about that tonight. "Anybody hurt?" he inquired, just to be sure, then thought to ask, "Addison, what's the safe range on that shocking ball of yours, exactly?"

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison replied, "If you're within ten feet of it, ye might get a shock. If you're within five, ye will."

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

In a moment of awkward silence, Addison sat down and dug into her meal. With a mouthful, she asked, "Smmrrwgnnrrslrrprrrrmng?" After swallowing, she asked again, mouth half full of food, "So're we gonna sleep here, or…"

She adjusted her posture to appear more ladylike than beast like, then quickly gulped down the meat and potato stored in her cheeks. She dabbed her lips with her napkin, then enunciated the rest of her question.

"…not?"

 

[DMThaane]

Loke drained his mead. "Well, I admit the atmosphere is a touch… hostile. But I'll be taking advantage of that bath, at least." He climbed off his stool and headed for the door. "I'm sure I'll track you all down, wherever you end up."

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison thought Loke had the right idea, and asked about the baths herself. Shortly after, she went back to her seat at the table next to Troia.

"Do ye believe they've no attendants at the baths? What kind o' place—?" Addison lightly slapped her forehead and clammed up for a moment. "Oh, don't mind me. I think me gigs in the Huntress fashion world raised me expectations o' civilization world a bit much. In the wild, I jump in a lake for me baths. At inns, I've grown used to having someone to talk to."

In a quiet moment, Addison picked up her wine glass. She slipped her free hand into her purse, and rested her fingers on her expired shock trap. She felt a slight tingle in her fingertips as small amounts of lightning energy flowed from hand to shocker. The Huntress slowly sipped her wine.

 

[Nimue]

Farrun sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t think we have aught else to fear tonight. The innkeeper will lose his house if anything happens to us, and he knows it now.” The look on the ruddy man’s face as he looked over was red with frustration and something approaching shame. Maybe the lesson would sink in after all, if not in the heat of the moment than perhaps in the cold light of the next morning.

“I’ll set a ward on our rooms, to make certain that no one interrupts our sleep. But I wouldn’t discourage anyone from setting a bedroll outside the town walls, if that was what they wanted to do. That chestnut tree would make a good place to bed down,” he remarked.

But for now… Gods alive, he could use some dinner. He grabbed a trencher, meat, and soup from the table, and spent the next several moments in wordless appreciation for the savor of dinner after a long day.

--

The day went longer still; after dinner he headed out to check on the horses, and found them drowsy in their stalls and well-groomed--and their bags untouched, as he knew from the peace of the guarding charm. He fetched the map of the realm in its leather tube and brought it back to the inn for Rikhard to pore over. The young man could read and decipher the map legend, so Farrun left him to it and headed upstairs.

He had set a ward circle many times when camping in the wilds, when there were no men to spare for guard duty or even if there were, and it was little more work to shape the lines for rooms instead of a swath of ground. Still, by the time he trudged to his own room he did feel weary, not only from the day’s riding and the evening’s fight, but also from the pinpoint concentration of wizardry.

Farrun threw the door latch, glanced around at the dim, serviceable furnishings--a low rope-slung bed and an oaky trunk. There had been better rooms, but he’d picked the one closest to the stair, in case anyone should come up with ill intentions. He threw a chunk of wood on the smoldering embers in the fireplace, shucked off his boots and chainmail, and fell into bed. The sharp throbbing in his side as he did that reminded him of his bruised rib; he sighed and spent another few tired moments mending the damage there, or encouraging it to mend. He didn’t bother with his split lip, which was already closed up. If he looked too swollen tomorrow morning, he’d fix it then.

As he slept, he instinctively opened his mind to Thoros’ distant presence. The dragon was still flying in the dusk. Farrun could feel his keenness, awakened by the cool night wind--his pupils wide and fierce, the fire in his belly well-stoked. Without thinking Farrun drank in the feel of it, the wind beneath the membrane of his wings, the stars scintillating overhead, the land rolling below. Thoros, he sensed, was taking in Farrun’s memories of the day. Farrun caught low growling anger, and then a breath of amusement at, he took it, the comeuppance that had followed.

Farrun was almost asleep, drifting on the night winds, when he heard Thoros’s rumbling voice.

I should not call him Elf, then.

No. There’s enough out there that will.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison closed her eyes as soon as her face hit her pillow. When she opened them again, she was facing the same window, only it was light out.

She intended to take a long walk and enjoy the fresh air, but as soon as she stepped out of bed, she stumbled. It took effort just to prevent herself from collapsing.

I could eat Mount Freckle in one sitting, I'm so famished.

She headed down to the common room with both coins and shockers in her purse. She asked a barmaid about the other barmaid who hurt her ankle. "Just wondering if she was able to walk it off, poor girl." Addison took in the scents from the kitchen while conversing with the barmaid. Her next question would be about breakfast.

 

[Tom]

Einan woke up with sore joints and a bruised hand. At first, he just stared at the bruise, wondering how he'd gotten it, before the events of the day before came back to him. He groaned as he climbed out of bed--he didn't want to go downstairs and face the patrons of the inn again. Or the innkeeper.

Still, he headed down the stairs. Conversation in the taproom seemed to halt for a moment as he entered, but resumed after a heartbeat. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he looked around for one of the party members. There was Addison, talking with one of the barmaids. No one else appeared to be up.

Walking up to Addison, he asked, "Can I join you?"

He hadn't spoken with the Caernish girl much, though Troia had taken a shine to her. Perhaps he could get to know her better now.

 

[Gryphos]

Bendalitz slept like he usually did, lightly, or barely. And when he awoke, he spared no time at all in hesitation before donning his waistcoat, travelling coat, and dagger-holding belt, and making off down the stairs to the barroom.

Addison and Einan appeared to be present, talking to one of the barmaids. Better leave them to it. Instead Bendalitz took a seat in the same place he'd sat last evening, and watched.