Sedriks vaults a tree with ease, eyes scanning through the forest languidly. The afternoon sun is broken up into dappled flecks beneath the heavy canopy, and idyllic birdsong breaks through here and there. Looking back, the Bard calls to Maren, "What was tha' plant ye said we were lookin' for? What is it used for?"
Maren picks her way through the thick undergrowth of the woods, leaving no trace as she navigates the greenery. She bends over to inspect a small patch of trailing white flowers, rubbing the leaves between her fingers. "Dead Man's Moss, Mirabel's Seedling should be in season... if you can find any Corpseblossom, or see any Ghostpine trees, I would be very pleased." She tosses her ashy silver hair out of her face as she plucks a few of the flowers and tucks them in her apothecary's satchel.
The Bard reaches down and pokes at a small bundle of moss, noting eventually that it's not the one mentioned. "I'm not sure I'll be of much use to ye in this, it's somewhat out o' my wheelhouse ya know."
Maren smiles, moving forward to evaluate an unfamiliar bush. "Company is useful. As is reminding me not to get lost in the song of the woods for the whole day. Pressing business back in Wyford, after all."
"I suppose we' rare have any time for much. A brief break is a respite tis' true." Sedriks reaches down to displace a beetle, before plucking a mushroom and proffing it to Maren.
Maren glances sideways at Sedriks, dusting off the mushroom and tucking it away in one of the many leather pouches about her hips. "So... speaking of the woods' song, you also seem to have some new abilities. Don't think I've forgotten about how we got to the Forks." She wanders forward, plucking at some hanging vines absent-mindedly.
Sedriks looks away, thinking, "I just asked the trees, spoke wit' em. Asked for help an' there they delivered. I'd not known exactly what would happen for tha' askin'"
Maren laughs gently, "if asking the trees was all it took, I could be halfway to Sou'Brook any time I wished."
"Well, sometimes I suppose' it's in tha how of askin'"
Maren jumps up on a mossy fallen tree, gazing further into the woods. "Did you ask the trees to grant you magical abilities in battle, as well?"
"Nay, that were lessons with Quiz and Azais, they'll both say I have some knack for somethin', but in truth I am but playin' with tricks. Although, I suppose as ye say, that were the first trick where a tree swallowed us whole."
"Well, I hope the tricks continue to serve you, and you will tell us anything that could be of help in defeating Fulci." Maren hops down sprightly, and cocks her head, as if listening to something. "Deer, a half mile northeast."
Sedriks nods and begins moving off that way. "I'm more than' a little worried about how we'll deal with Fulci still, last time, we had no way of actually' harmin' him. Do ye have any thoughts about tha' ?"
Maren leads the way through the underbrush, holding aside a branch for Sedriks to pass. "Well, it seems that there is sympathetic magic with all of his paintings. He's obsessed with trauma. He appears in dreams taking us to the worst moments of our lives. I think the key to defeating him is lies in the worst moments of his... the slaughter at the farmhouse. Which we may be able to access through one of his paintings somehow." She plucks a sprig from a passing bush. "As for the more mundane how, well... Delilah the alchemist is helping me brew something that may work against his oilpaint horrors. We won't know until we try it out, though."
As they pass through the forest, Sedriks, still listening, begins to change subtly. In the way he stands, posture adjusts almost slightly, the casual curious smile falls away, and something in the already agile Bard's movements become more deft and ghostlike. In a minute, an almost different person picks alongside Maren, though still garbed in all the same trappings.
With piercing green-shifted eyes, Ceridwen murmurs in an almost sotto voice, "Curious. He has appeared to me once, and he showed me nothing of horrors, only a blase threat." she reaches up and undoes the ponytail her hair is ensnared in.
Maren smiles widely to see her old friend's bearing shift as they flit between the trees. "Truly? Some of the others have spoken of nights of horror. For me, he brought me back to finding the Silver Spurs after the orx came... and Sigrun..." Maren looks away, eyes welling but holding her composure so that the tears did not fall. "He seems to wallow in pain."
Ceridwen nods, a hand almost reaches out for Maren's shoulder, but she hesitates and lets it fall. "I think, I have buried that night too far for even he to find….” A long silence, then: “When did Fulci last step into your dream?"
Maren looks at Ceridwen curiously, "truly? Well, should you ever wish to unburden yourself, know that I am here. It was about two months back, soon after we met Vilhme the dwarf. I woke up almost believing the orx-molt had followed me out of my sleep."
"He tries to torment us, gives us more reason to hunt him down. To what end I'm not sure I understand. And no, to your other...I give no more thought to that night, it was a long time ago and a different lifetime. What's gone is best left buried."
"I'm not sure, either, except that there's more than a tinge of madness to his dealings." Maren steps forward and drops to a crouch, stock-still. A few yards off, a young buck lifts his head in the brush. Maren silently notches an arrow and lets fly. It buries cleanly in the deer's neck and he drops. She darts over and finishes it quickly with a knife to the throat. "Field dress it here, or rush it back?" Maren asks Ceridwen, eyebrow cocked.
"Might as well dress it here," Ceridwen produces rope to lash around the buck's legs and hauls it up off the forest floor.
"A spot of luck in an otherwise dismal stretch," Maren grins, helping the other woman to hoist the deer aloft. "Things haven't really been going our way lately."
Ceridwen lets out a dry chuckle, "Oh I don't know, if you ignore the whole city imploding, I'd say we've done many good things. You might have to ignore that....specific one though. But the Dwarves and restoring the Delve? Taking care of Wyford? The growth at the Forks? Nothing to scoff at there."
"Well, you may have a point. But with Sou'Brook's disintegration, the refugees at the Forks, the Tirondians unseating the Duchess and the Inquisitors breathing down our necks, all that without even mentioning Fulci's plan coming to fruition and his gooey goons travelling hither and thither... well, it's a lot to face down."
"We said the same about the Shiocro and that was barely six months ago." She gives an offhandedly casual shrug, "Whatever happens, happens."
"Aye," Maren says, "I've no qualms facing down grim circumstances. We were a bit less... beset from all sides then, though." She runs a clean line down the deer's midsection with her knife and begins to pull out organs, placing those to save on a sheet of waxed canvas and leaving the others in a neat pile beneath a tree. "At least we've still a Guild Hall in Wyford." Maren looks up briefly, careful not to dirty herself with the deer's blood. "Does Tirond still hold your loyalty, after everything we've seen?"
Ceridwen is studying the pattern of blood intently, before she looks up, "I still think in some cases, they have a better chance of maintaining order here. I find their practices occasionally distasteful, but I could say the same of many who play the games of Power in Lothlarin. That said, Sevso is dangerous and bored, an ill combination." Her fingers wrap around the pommel of the Court Sword, Dirge. "Quarentus gave me this very blade, charged me with defending the people and protecting the populace in his stead...I'd not bismarch that ideal."
Maren looks at the naked blade thoughtfully. "Those are ideals that bypass any one allegiance, the protection of the innocent. But what of the innocents that Tirond has wronged? The folks of Wyford banished to Sanitariums after their capture, or those slaughtered by Tirondian troops, like Vilhme's son? You know I'd never work against you if ever avoidable... but I think the practices of the Tirondian military are dangerously vicious... especially their distaste of magic and utilisation of the Inquisitors."
"What you say is true, and I've no love of inquisitors. But we've also seen time and time again that the people need someone to defend them. We can't be everywhere at once. The city almost fell to heretical plaguedoctors, and without Tirondian peacekeepers, the Red Wailers and Yellow Fangs have been running roughshod over the countryside. Even the Duchess' own captain of the guard tried to murder us. And what of Viran and Essande? Lothlarin cannot stand up to them on its own, it will need some army or defenses, and both of them are already making inroads here..." Ceridwen sighs, sliding the half drawn sword back in its' ornate sheath. "There are no easy answers, I concur...I'm just pointing out, not all the Tirondians are evil, just as not all Lothlari are good, we need to cut the problems out ourselves sometimes."
Maren finishes the neat bundle of wax canvas and ties it with twine before tucking it carefully in her rucksack. "You make a good point, I'll not deny, we've no one set to help the people in a broader fashion. I can't say I've all the answers as to that... I suggest for now, we deal with the problems directly in our way. But more than likely we will need to either get Quarentus to see things a little differently, or operate somewhat outside of Tirondian approval to protect our magickal members."
"Or....we may have to depose the inquisitors." And there is something glittering and dark in Ceridwen's gaze off the horizon.
A grin creeps across Maren's face. "No arguments here. Do you think we can separate the organization of the Inquisitors from the Tirondian governors? If so... we may be able to improve their rule."
"One way or another, right? I'm sure there are many answers to be found."
Maren reaches out to snag the cleaned deer back down from the line, indicating Cerridwen to help her. "So," she grunts under the weight of the deer as they lower it to the ground together. "Er. What first? We've done a bit of research. I'll be gone this week off to the Vault, then when I'm back. Where do we start? We need to unite the Riders with Vork and Silea. It seems like a bit of discussion and strategy is in order."
Ceridwen nods, "It does seem that way. Hopefully you find what you're looking for at the Vault. I intend to strike north to the Fort and gather some more information there, perhaps meet with the actual soldiers and captains, get the lay of the Tirondian garrison. Also I want to look further into the inquisitors, quietly." She leans down to wrap her arm around the cord and then murmurs a strange discordant song, before hefting the entire buck with ease onto one shoulder. “I think we may also need to be concerned with Vork, a vampire wandering the countryside that no one can find might be....an issue."
Maren nods. "I agree, I think he means no harm but it's not like he can control what happens." She pats a pouch at her waist. "I've been researching to see if we can cure him. A true cure would take much the same effort as needed for Silea's illness... but I can help him with managing the symptoms, I think." She pauses for a moment. "I think the carrot rather than the whip is a better tack at the moment. Should Vork think the Riders have turned against him, he'd likely flee and we'd never see him again. Perhaps... see if you can find any information about Magdalena, at the fort? She might be a helpful influence for him."
"Right, yes I'll take that route. And try to keep others contained on that front."
"Let's head back, the sun is beginning to get low." There is a curious moment as she looks one way and then the next, and then raises an eyebrow looking at Maren with a half smirk, "Also I've lost my sense of direction."
Maren returns the smile, "lucky for you... the trees say that way," she points to the left, "to avoid a bandit party and make it back before dinner."
With their bounty of meat and alchemical supplies, the two begin their trek overland back to the Scraps.
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