The Tears of Ishir - IC

[Hawk's Bane]

When Dirac had left them alone, Hawk's Bane turned to speak to his NAK brother, who was lying down, pondering on the information they have just gathered, thanks to Dirac. "Move quickly we must and as adept as I am at tracking, the trails would have been cold by now and perhaps lost since a few days past. It would be tough and make it all the more important for us to move quicker still." He paused for a moment, looking at the door. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, best we move early at dawn." Hawk's Bane looked at his sleeping spot, somewhat satisfied and laid down to sleep. "And as for the old man, don't worry. He'll live." Then he turned around, facing away for Soul Spawn. "For now."

[Slavemaster]

The innkeeper offers Taden to sit down by a table and asks if he wants a drink. He also says that the stables are warm and dry, and the warriors who came with the merchant is also staying there, so it is quite safe.

On the other side of the room, the dwarves give Dirac a dour and not very friendly look as he comes to their table. The older of them eyes him suspiciously with his only eye.

"In the middle of a game here, stranger", he mutters. "Reckon it would be boring for ya to just sit and watch."

At this, the rich man with the lute rise from his chair and strolls over to the game table, smiling jovially as he puffs on his huge pipe.

"Come now, Gurwyn, don't be that way! The good man is just trying to be companionable, a rare trait in these parts, I am sorry to say, haha! And I have to respectfully disagree with you there, friend, a game of Samor can be very exciting to watch if played correctly. You opened the game with the Knight's gambit, am I correct? Ah yes, and then young Garwin here tried to counter it by setting up a Brionic wall? Well well well, a bold move, but it takes it's man. Or dwarf, as the case may be!"

He laughs loudly as the dwarves mutters and stare intently at the board. He then turns to Dirac and bows slightly.

"Please do not take offense by Gurwyns demeanor, friend. He is quite amiable, really. Did you know he is a master stonemason? He told me all sorts of interesting things about the baron's castle, and... oh, but I do apologize! I did not introduce myself. I am Artanian of Soren, a humble manufacturer of instruments. And a user of them too, of course. So, my good man, what brings you to this fair village, eh?"

[Dirac Sil]

Dirac curses internally, he had really wished to unwind, and suddenly he was the focus of the attention of the stranger rich man. Samor made Dirac's head ache, although it was good to try and play once in a while to focus one's ind tactically. The rich man had already lost the erstwihle buccaneer with talks of the various known maneuvers.

"Shelter," said Dirac, trying to stay biased to the game as much as possible and keeping his tone quiet to not engender further animosity. "The shrine is too far tonight for my current paymaster, and I knew of this place." Dirac takes a drink. "And the 'Kicker'", he confirms, "Greasy knows spirits."

Dirac stands for a moment uncomfortably, feeling the expectation from the talkative man beside him. Dirac turns. "If I may say," says Dirac even softer, knowing the dwarfs might be listening and take offence, "the baron was always a strange one, and from what I have heard tonight his wife's illness has turned him stranger. "

Dirac gestures in the general direction Corwyn had gone. "My paymaster might welcome better company," he says, deliberately slighting Taden and biasing his body away from the man, "and unless you have business here the shrine might be more welcoming."

Dirac takes a great effort to look back upwards, as if considering something. "You seem a pleasant man, and that never ends well in these parts travelling. Especially not when you travel with the expensive items you travel with." Dirac nods to the lute sitting behind them. "I have an out in my contract at Nahsor if you were heading that way," says Dirac speculatively. "I've walked with a few armies in these parts. I have some practical skills beyond that from a time on ship. Greeban can vouch for me - I keep to a contract." Dirac shrugs, and goes back to looking at the board. He also finishes the last of his spirits regretfully, but realises he can scarcely afford to drink anything more in the situation.

[Slavemaster]

Artanian puffs again on his pipe, blowing a smoke ring, watching you for slightly longer than you are entirely comfortable with.

"Well now, travelling always has it's hazards, especially in these dark times, but I have always found that I must put faith in my rapier, the cunning of my trusted servant and, of course, Ishir. And thank you kindly for your offer, but I will travel back north as soon as the roads are a bit more dry. I came here to look for a particular tree that makes the most excellent lutes, but good father Obran at the church tells me they have not grown here for some time. And as you say, the baron seems to have forgotten the rules of hospitality these days. Such a shame, I really did want to see his Nikessan harpsichord." He glance down at the game board. "Aw, come now Garwin, that was not a wise move there."

And sure enough, the older dwarf have captured the black king of his opponent; however you get a distinct feeling that he may have deliberately made wrong move in order to finish the game, for the dwarves hastily shake hands and gather up their possessions. Artanian nods to them, and yawns widely.

"Well, I think that the bed our host provided me with upon my arrival seems considerably more inviting at this late hour than it did when I was first shown to it. A good night to you all, gentlemen."

He daintily knocks out the pipe ash in an empty beer mug, bows and walks up the stairs, his servant in tow. Greeban starts wiping the tables and blow out the candles on the unoccupied tables, pointedly asking if anyone wants something else before he close down for the night.

[Dirac Sil]

"Getting here sooner. A better paymaster," says Dirac, shrugging across to Greeban. "And perhaps a pouch waiting for me in the morning" he finishes quietly with a wink as Corwyn appears, Dirac moving up the stairs to his room. He briefly wonders if he should tell Corwyn of the small encounter, but discards the notion.

In his room as he prepares to sleep (a dagger and sap stowed udder his pillow in easy reach), Dirac reconsiders, and starts to think through the wall at Corwyn. He feels like a fool for doing it and shakes his head at the madness of this mission. He angrily throws his head down on the pillow, one hand tucked under.

[Michael of Eshnar]

"Come, Dirac," croaks Corwyn. "My other room awaits you, though if the pilgrim wishes to compensate me appropriately, I suppose he might share with you."

[Slavemaster]

You all sleep well enough in your beds or on the hay respectively; as for Corwyn, it seems like Greeban really have gone to some lengths to make the bed more comfortable, with new straw in the mattress and blankets that does not contain lice.

Early in the morning, when it's hardly light outside, the blood hunters in the stable are awaken by some commotion in the smaller wing of the stable, where Taden has been sleeping. You hear the worried voices of Miv and Greeban, the latter saying "Awright, I get father Obran, don't move him. And Ratch, fetch some more blankets!"

Upon investigating, you see Taden lying in the hay, very pale, Miv mopping sweat from his forhead. He mumbles incoherently. Miv looks up on you, looking worried.

"My master fell ill tonight, sirs! Dunno what it is!"

After a while Greeban comes back with an old man in wispy white hair, a heavy coat over his nightshirt. He hastily examines Taden, asks some questions but only gets incoherent answers. The priest shakes his head and rise up.

"I can't be sure, but he does not seem to have fever or any visible wounds. My guess is Mindfire. He could have catched it anywhere."

Greeban steps back.

"Well, get him out of the stables then, I won't have him at my place! Cook up something for him, his wagon and horses should be worth whatever it'll cost ya!"

The priest looks stern, but nods.

"Very well, Greeban. I will do that. Mindfire can be deadly if not stopped in time. I shall do my best. Come with me... Miv, was it? Get the wagon ready and I shall see what I can do."

As Greeban notices Hawk's Bane and Soul Spawn, he nods and smiles reassuringly, if a little bit desperately.

"Good morning. Bit of bad luck for our pilgrim, it seems, nothing serious at all, father Obran will take care of him. Get inside, I'll have breakfast ready soon."

Soon after, the rest of the inn is woken up by Greeban clanging on a heavy iron triangle, yelling "Good morning, a new day has come!"

On a long table in the main room, a simple but large breakfast consisting of eggs, black bread and weak beer has been set up. A new day has begun in Oakton. Outside, the rain has stopped, but it is still overcast.

[Dirac Sil]

Dirac is surprised not to have been attacked during the evening, and is almost in a happy mood. Sadly the occurance dampens his mood immediately and drastically. Dirac would not count Taden as a friend as such, but Taden was the only 'normal' one amongst the group. Dirac was now at the mercy of the drives of the Darklanders, drives that owed to fervour and fear instead of common sense and money.

That was not good.

The fact that Mindfire was a severe illness to suddenly inflict the apparently able-bodied sage was suggestive of an attack. Did this mean the start of hostilities against them all, or had the sage drawn fire by his insistence on going alone to the priest? If so, was the priest a certain danger, and should the group allow him to take Taden and interogate him?

Dirac could not seem overly bothered beyond normal circumstances of worry over disease. Perhaps Corwyn would create a scene of 'another assassination attempt' and get to insist on examining Taden too. Dirac was powerless. And now felt very alone.

Dirac sits at the table, in sullen silence, not meetign the eyes of his party nor the other guests this morning.

[Michael of Eshnar]

Corwyn comes downstairs and quickly learns of the interesting turn of events. Sitting down beside Dirac, he pauses for a moment, apparently deep in contemplation.

"Dirac," comes Corwyn's telepathic "healthy voice" inside Dirac's head, "Taden is now a security risk. We can't take him with us as Mindfire is probably contagious and whilst I would normally expect a priest of Ishir to heal a man on his sickbed, Taden might say anything whilst delirious. We need to either cure or silence Taden and perhaps see to the priest as well."

[Dirac Sil]

Bloodthirsty. is all that Dirac says, walking away from the man on the pretense of getting him some water.

[Michael of Eshnar]

"You are a fool, Dirac. If he talks and reveals us, our plan is undone and you can answer to our ultimate masters. I do not intend to make the same mistake."

[Dirac Sil]

I did my part, you failed to keep an eye on a hireling. I am known here, you are the imposters.

Dirac drops a cup of water as gently as possible but gives the mage a deadly look. I will try to cover here while you make my work harder guiding you all. Do not tarry.

Internally Dirac is shaking, he has no wish to take part in any cold blooded murder, this was exactly the stupidity that he knew he could expect from the Darklands. With Taden down, he sees this follishness has started almost immediately and is now alone riding it and its affects on the mission.

However, he is also sick to know that Taden's words could see a villainous foe after his head, or nobler villagers reacting quickly and violently before he can talk himself out of it. And even if he could turn it to his advantage and finger the Darklanders alone, if breaks a contract, what is he?

Ddirac will not condone the foolishness of the Darklanders, but he does not have the resolve to stop it either. The bar calls very loudly.

[Michael of Eshnar]

Corwyn gets and starts heading for the door, still maintaining the conversation mentally.

"Unless that you are suggesting that I am also clairvoyant and able to keep watch whilst asleep, it was not my failure. The hunters were asleep in the same barn as Taden - it is their failure and we should blame them. not I. Remember too, the hunters claimed superiority in this mission, so it is doubly at their feet that this has happened."

There is a pause as Corwyn struggles with the inn door, attempting to leave to find the NAKs, and then he concludes, chillingly, "it is said that perhaps psychic assault can be a cause of Mindfire. Telepathy has a limited range and either or both of the hunters could be psychic. We should both watch our backs."

[Soul Spawn]

I enter the bar and am a little suprised to see Taden being tendered by the priest. Mindfire, he says, an ailment that can hit even the strongest mind. I look over at Dirac, who seems visibly shaken, but why would the scribes sudden change affect him so...? Looking towards Corwyn l see my answer. I stride towards him and grab him by the sleeve, dragging him into the stairwell. "l know what you are thinking, necromancer. Your hand shall stay or you will find yourself losing it. This is not what we are here for. We have a mission to complete!" l glare hard into the eyes of Corwyn to make sure l am understood. "l will be relaying the same message to my brother. Taden is out, which means one less hinderance. Am l making myself clear?"

[Michael of Eshnar]

"Could you say that any louder?" Corwyn hissed at Soul Spawn. "I don't think Greeban heard you completely blow our cover. As for knowing what I'm thinking, that is highly unlikely, unless the blood hunters have learnt to read minds recently." He looks around cautiously.

"Are you going to take responsibility for anything Taden might say when he is delirious? How do you know that he won't sell us out the moment he is conscious? More importantly, how do we know you didn't cause this disease? He was well yesterday and then, after a night in the stables with two hunters, he's now contracted a psychic disease. Am I making myself clear?"