Through All The Pain and the Sorrow (Part I)

The eastern artery of the independent freehold known as Crown's Refuge is known quite simply as the Eastern Pathway; a road of smooth cobbles, wide enough for two carriages to pass with space to spare, that runs a perfect east-west route between Tempest Corona to the west, and the eastern palisade wall.

''The cobbles of the pathway are not only smooth and level, but also seem to have been born from a variety of different types of stone, giving each one a distinct color as it rests next to all the others. Hues of brown, gold, bronze, slate, charcoal, and a myriad of other shades all conspire together to make such a route more affluent than it really needs to be.''

''The sides of the pathway are protected by low-rising curbs that mark where the road ends and the rest of the large township begins. Beyond those curbs, homes and stores flank the pathway in carefully placed patterns of building and street. Small backroads and trails break away from the main artery to lead to the two eastern quarters of Crown's Refuge that the Southern Pathway runs as a divide between. The towering fortification known as Tempest Spire looms overhead towards the west, giving you a constant bearing of where you are located within Crown's Refuge. To the south spans the quarter of the freehold known as Wildcat Haven, which plays host to the various services of the township, such as the central Tavern and various storage buildings. To the north rests an area known as Wolfsbane's Row, the main residential area for the Human Wildlanders living within the freehold.''

The sky is moonless, and Sandrim looks up at the stars with a frown as he steps out of his home this night. He pulls his cloak tightly above himself in response to the cold weather and the cold portents, and starts to walk out into the road. He's one of only a few tonight - most choose to stay indoors, on a night like this.

The moonless night and foul weather don't seem to much faze the other cloaked figure wandering through the streets, headed towards the residential quarter of the freehold. Cowl pulled up, he moves straight-backed, purposefully, but without much getting in the way of others.

Grumbling to himself, Sandrim starts bustling off to the north himself, not much looking around except to avoid collisions. "Mm. Need to check up on her."

"Excuse me." The voice is Thayndor's, but he could be just any other tall man in a cloak as he moves to pass Sandrim in the street.

Voice recognition - a wonderful trait. Sandrim looks up sharply at that, raising an eyebrow and picking up the pace to keep up with the cloaked figure. "Thayndor," he greets.

Thayndor Zahir looks sidelong at the other man as he's recognized, stepping lightly away. A fellow swordsman, Sandrim might notice that Thayndor's movements could easily pass for preparation to draw his sword -- until realization appears to visit the nobleman's face. "Sandrim," he says. He recovers from surprise to poise. "Good evening."

"Good evening," Sandrim returns as he keeps on toward the north, walking nearby Thayndor. "I'd ask why you're acting like you expect someone to attack you, but then I remember your name." He smiles a little wryly. "What brings you here?"

Taran makes his way along the path from the north, the bard stretching in the manner of someone trapped indoors too long.

"Funny." Thayndor does not smile. "To answer your question, I'd have to say it's a personal matter." He peers into the darkness. "Presuming I can find my way. Is the Archmage so stingy with streetlamps?"

Sandrim rolls his eyes. "Moonless nights are dark," he observes, obviously. "And most paths are better lit than this one."

"And Syladris have good night vision," Taran adds, approaching. "Hello, Sandrim. How is the neem? It seems to actually be *working*, so I imagine demand is - ah," he shifts tone abruptly as he catches sight of Thayndor. "Yes, that would be the problem with open gates... anyone walks through."

"It was that openness that allowed you to find a home here, Taran, when Fastheld persecuted you for what you were and what you had done," Thayndor replies levelly. "Will you two take it upon yourselves to see that my visit does not pass with the same peace you enjoy here, or will you give me leave to go about my business unimpeded?" He lifts his chin, and catches a thin sliver of lanternlight from a nearby home.

Sandrim raises an eyebrow at Taran. "Be good," he says. "He hasn't actually gone and gotten anyone killed yet," he says. "Surely, with the neem working so well, we can be nice and cheerful tonight, right?"

Taran looks wry. "I *am* behaving," he says to Sandrim. "And it's taking quite an effort, I assure you. But - do you need any help delivering it all, then? Or is not enough grown? If not, I thought we might hunt the living hills. Too many parents are speaking in the taverns of late."

Thayndor Zahir seems about to say something pithy, then Taran finishes his sentence. "Parents." Thayndor makes no effort to hide the sudden tense alertness in his voice.

After blinking at Taran, Sandrim frowns. "Has that been... I've been in the greenhouse, or... out lately, I haven't heard the news. It's picking up again?" He glances aside to Thayndor, thoughtfully.

Taran nods. "I've been stationed right above it all, so to speak," he says mildly. "And with Zia on the mend...well, having been trotting all over Fastheld and tending sick people, I rather thought anyone else would know more than I. But other than the lad we brought back with the vault, none have returned and more are disappearing, and there are some extremely upset parents about now."

"You may see more of me, then." Thayndor sounds about as displeased with the news as Taran could be expected to be. He turns, leather cloak crackling. "And soon. Until that time, Light keep." He continues on his way north, moving with the slow pace of one unfamiliar with the road on a dark night.

Sandrim shakes his head slowly. "Who have you come to look for?" he calls over to Thayndor. "A friend missing a child, or did you have one out here we don't know about?"

Taran studies Thayndor with only vaguely veiled amusement. One long-fingered hand brushes against Sandrim's shoulder; a light, friendly gesture. "She has her appetite. I owe you a great deal - again - my friend. I will go haul plants to the masterhealer, if any are left, and you will not have to worry about my behaving or not."

Thayndor Zahir stops, and half-turns. "I do not endure your pestering lightly," Thayndor replies. "I feel no need to tell you more because you and your ilk," he nods to Taran's departing form, "feel no need to return the courtesy. If you wish to heckle me further, do so at your peril. This is still the Crown's land now, and there are still limits to the abuse my title obliges me to take -- especially at a time like this."

Sandrim blinks at Thayndor. "I can bring you to the boy who got back," he offers. "If you really want to learn, maybe getting something out of him will help."

Thayndor Zahir's wariness leaks through his posture and across the darkness. "If your offer is genuine," he says. "It's late and I've long since grown tired of games played for the fun of playing them with nobility."

Sandrim snorts, then starts walking off to the north. "There's more at stake here than some japes on you," he says. "We do have some sense of responsibility, and if you do find something, there's the chance you won't be entirely close-mouthed about it this time. Come on."

"Responsibility is a loaded word when Wildlanders use it with me," Thayndor replies drily. "Let's please not discuss it further. Just make good on your offer and I will return the courtesy." His hands find one another at the small of his back. "You've spoken with the boy already? What's his name?"

"Horribly loaded," Sandrim says as he turns toward the west. "And his name's Gailin... he's not really much of one for talking, though. Not since he came back. Whatever it was, it scared him."

"Where did you find him?" The Zahir is neutral now, all business.

"I didn't," Sandrim confirms as he walks along. He goes silent a moment, humming to the sound of a distant song as they walk along, before continuing, "Taran, the Archmage, and some others did. He was up in the cracked mountain, with a silver vault."

"Similar to what Rowena found," says Thayndor. "Or was he the other part of what it was that Rowena found?"

"Rowena found nothing along those lines," Sandrim says. "She has it because... we brought it to her. It didn't seem safe, and Light's Reach was the place for it. But yes, the boy was found with it."

"And the folk story of the bag man? My collection of lore has not gone that far." Thayndor's brow knits as he follows Sandrim west.

The northern artery of the independent freehold known as Crown's Refuge is known quite simply as the Northern Pathway; a road of smooth cobbles, wide enough for two carriages to pass with space to spare, that runs a perfect north-south route between Tempest Corona to the south, and the northern palisade wall.

''The cobbles of the pathway are not only smooth and level, but also seem to have been born from a variety of different types of stone, giving each one a distinct color as it rests next to all the others. Hues of brown, gold, bronze, slate, charcoal, and a myriad of other shades all conspire together to make such a route more affluent than it really needs to be.''

''The sides of the pathway are protected by low-rising curbs that mark where the road ends and the rest of the large township begins. Beyond those curbs, homes and stores flank the pathway in carefully placed patterns of building and street. Small backroads and trails break away from the main artery to lead to the two northern quarters of Crown's Refuge that the Northern Pathway runs as a divide between.''

''The towering fortification known as Tempest Spire looms overhead towards the south, giving you a constant bearing of where you are located within Crown's Refuge. The residential quarter known as Wolfsbane's Row rests towards the east, existing as a neat collection of residential houses and streets in which the Human Wildlanders live. Adjacent to this towards the west spans the quarter of the freehold known as Snowfall Basin; a cold-water lagoon around which the Syladris Wildlanders of Crown's Refuge live.''

Sandrim shrugs as the pair walk down the road. "I don't know it well myself," he admits. "It's from one of the old clans that used to travel... spread throughout the children here, but I grew up in Fastheld, so..."

The teen is suddenly cut off by a loud, feminine scream coming from a two-story house not far down the way, a window smashed in.

Thayndor Zahir looks from Sandrim to the window. "Abductions, hm." His hand finds his scabbard, just below the hilt, and he walks swiftly towards the shattered glass. Sandrim might hear the *CLICK* of his sword being loosened by a thumb.

"That's Gailin's house!" Sandrim says urgently as he starts walking swiftly forward as well, hand going under his cloak to his own weapon. There is the sound of a struggle within the house, but no more screaming.

Thayndor Zahir moves from a walk to a run at the news, adjusting the angle of his approach so he can see inside the broken window as he gets within steps of the home.

There is something moving inside the house, as dark as the shadows cast by the flickering firelight. It moves around a fallen woman, laughing quietly to itself.

Sandrim walks slowly up to the smashed lower window to Gailin's house, looking in near Thayndor. "What is it?"

"Not bad enough to take the woman without a fight," Thayndor hastily replies, not stopping. "Catch it." Apparently based on that premise, the Zahir tightens his cloak around him with one hand, the other holding his sword in its scabbard, and attempts to jump through the already-broken first-floor window of the woman's home.

The sound of footsteps with a bit of a swagger to them, a syncopated rhythm on the cobbles, and a pleasant humming sound precede Tahvron Driscol as he makes his way north from the direction of the Tempest Spire. He seems to be in good spirits, black eyes alight with some inner pleasantries probably best not to inquire into.

He pauses at the intersection, frowning at the broken window, the Zahir headed through the window, the Wildlander nearby. "What the Shades... Here now, what's going on?" One hand shifts to loosen his rapier in its sheath.

"There's a bloody door!" Sandrim calls after Thayndor, loosening his own sabre as he moves to try going inside Gailin's house that way, growling to himself.

Muri follows the Driscol lord a few paces behind, though unaware of who he is. As she approaches the scene, she hesitates, watchful and listening. Eyes flit over the house and her brow knits in worry. "Wot all?" she murmurs. Hearing the familiar voice of Sandrim, though, she steps quickly forward to follow him. "Messer!" she calls. "Wot troubles come?"

On to Through All The Pain and the Sorrow (Part II)

''Back to Season 8 (2008)