A Mission of Medicine

Rowena(#23743P4CAneX)

This woman's face is long and slender, but such femininity is hardened by a firm jaw. She possesses almond-shaped, gray-green eyes that gleam in raw lust for knowledge, tamed only by a fan of dark lashes. Smooth angles form the slope of her nose between the gentle curves of her cheekbones. Nude lips bud sensually forth, just a hint darker than the peachy skin tone. With the inherently proud posture of her lineage, she holds her slender frame to its full height - a few inches above the average woman, around 5'7".

Hair the color of rich chocolate has been braided gently back, spun with silver and gold ribbon. The length reaches mid-spine.

Rowena is wearing what may be the realm's most unique set of armor- a gift crafted of white-dyed snaplizard scales, softer olive-brown suede, smoother tanned horse leathers, and argentite.

A snug, sleeveless olive-brown suede blouse fits her torso, while silver threading grants it a contrasting and ornate filigree patterning. The blouse itself cuts off just beneath the breasts, and would have left a bare midriff had a set of gleaming, argentite chainmail not finished the stretch downwards to her leggings. Said leather leggings run from hip to knee, covering the thighs with the same soft suede that the blouse is made from. White leather tassets rest upon the sides of the thighs over the leggings, their edges trimmed with olive-brown leather and accented with soft furs at the apex in a 'v' pattern that connects to an argentitle-trimmed leather belt that loops around the waist.

Knee-length embroidered boots flow over the shins and feet of the wearer, made of polished leather the same hue as the blouse and leggings, with a thick black-leather sole, inverse "v" flaps, black cross-stitch lacing up the throat length, and buckles made of the dazzling argentite. Floral embroidery upon the leather grants the boots a touch of delicate style. A leather long coat drapes over Rowena's form like a sleeved cloak, made of white snaplizard hide - the mosaic pattern of the scales still deeply apparent. It is trimmed with tan leather around the edges, midsection, and from breast to shoulder, forming a "=o=" pattern on the back while covering the upper quarter entirely.

Finally, oval leaf-shaped spaulders cover the shoulders, cast in tan leather with white patterning to the middle, which is in turn flanked by argentite trim that bestows a final, stylistic touch. The armor's name-bearing feature is present on the bracers that rest atop extended white leather gloves. The bracers are forged of argentite and resemble two large dragon heads asleep with their snouts towards the hands of the wearer.

If the outfit does not already do so, the mark of authority is pinned solidly in place 'round her head - a legendary piece known as 'Forte'. Rowena has adorned the silver and gold circlet of Light's Reach - the flame-like wreath centered above her brow by a drop of seraphite encase in a ring of waterstone. The Ring of the Flame encircles her left ring finger and an old signet ring is born on her right.

Lucius Nepos(#27237P4cCAneXO)

Before you stands a stocky freelander man. His body seems to be that of a professional soldier & appears to be fit, probably following tough daily training, good nutrition & of good stock. He stands 5 foot 7 inches tall. His skin is slightly tanned. Below his cropped brown hair lies two dark green-blue eyes & a prominent Roman nose. His facial bones are somewhat angular. All these feature seem to be further accented by the grey stubble that eternally rests on his face.

This man wears a short sleeved, off white tunic. The hem of the tunic reaches to above his knees, & below that are a pair of light grey trousers ending on his shins. Over the trousers are a pair of banded steel tassets & solid greaves. The tunic's waist is fastened by a thin brown military style belt. On his left hip is a scabbard which contains a very deadly looking 26" short sword with parellel edges. Over his upper legs hangs a studded leather skirt, obscuring some of the armour.

He wears a banded steel cuirass, made of several different pieces of strong curved & laminated plates attached with hinges & buckles. The top & bottom both consist of these plates, segmented from eachother, with two large shoulder pieces covering his collarbone & shoulders. The cuirass, called Lorica's Soul still bears the Ivory Tree of the Blades engraved in both pauldrons. It looks both sturdy & flexible. His steel helmet is protective with an open face. In the back extends a neckguard which projects outward slighly, while cheek guards rest on his temples & cheeks. An iron crosspiece strengthens the helm on top. His arms are further covered with banded steel. He carries a long & wide shield, tightly bound in a leather cover which masks its full shape. Carried behind his shield is a five foot long obsidian barbed spear, good for throwing or stabbing.

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================= Taran =======================================

A lanky giant of a man at six foot five, Taran possesses only enough meat on his bones for a more average-sized individual Almost gaunt, he thus gives the impression of a farmer's scarecrow that has gotten off its pole and decided life's better down here. Piercing, bright blue eyes dominate his angular, weathered, diamond-shaped face, the thin lips often curved in some variant of a smile.

He's clad in near flawless black ringmail that protects him fairly well from neck to thigh, and below that, sturdy woolen trousers of a dark hunter-green. On his feet are black ringmail boots more suited to a ranger than a soldier, and about his waist a belt-pouch and a knife-sheath curved to suit a Wildlander's kukri blade. Across his back are a bow and quiver, mostly hidden by a huge fur-lined leather cloak. In his hand he carries a bright argentite staff, etched from cap to cap with abstract designs.

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Courtyard - 

Ziavri[ Outdoors ]19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)Ziavri

Less a Keep than a Palace, the large ".-H-." shaped building known as

Dawnstar Keep is an impressive and indomitable sight to behold indeed. The

main "H" of the keep proper is what looms above you now, carved of an unique

and equally unusual smooth arsenic-gray stone. As the building has been raised

by the Light rather than Imperial hands, the walls are interesting as they

harbor no seams or flaws, yet feature beautiful embossed decorations and

ornate carvings that mark the building as something special indeed.

Windows are spaced at equidistant locations around the walls, hinting

at the rooms within, while the entrance to the vestibule is shielded from the

elements by an archway that extends from the building, protecting the pair of

guards from the Imperial Tribunal beneath from inclement weather and burning

sunshine alike. It should be noted that these guards also seem to check for

proof of citizenship before permitting anyone through the heavy biinwood doors

and into the keep itself.

A spacious yard and herb garden sprout from a carpet of soft, feathery

greens. Herbs seen growing here include lavender, sage, mint, and tingleleaf.

Marble benches of varying colors offer an occasional resting place for garden

admirers. Cobbled paths lead around the garden and into the ingress which

leads into the keep itself. That same path also leads back to the main road,

which in turn leads to the monument buildings of Temple of the White Dragon

that extends to the north, and the Southern Aria to the south, as well as back

down the slope to Whitehaven in the east.

Time of Day: Late Afternoon.

It is the Sixth hour by the Shadow on Lanternglow. The air is stagnant, not

stirring with the slightest breeze. A few wispy cirrus clouds streak the

otherwise clear sky.

=
=============================================[ House Valoria ]===

Tahvron stands on the main road, apparently headed towards Whitehaven to the east, but somewhat distracted by the sight of the keep. His black eyes roam over it with some amount of admiration, and a faint, almost amused smile rests on his lips.

Commotion's afoot in the yard of Dawnstar. A small assembly of House Guard has gathered, sporting the griffon insignia upon their chests. Horses fidget and nicker softly to one another while their riders scramble to secure last minute items to the saddle bags. An entourage of this quality is not something that's been seen in quite some time.

Emerging from the keep's vestibule with a hefty pack to laden her steps, Rowena Valoria jingles and clinks her way with a touch more grace than her bulkier companions to her readied mount.

Tahvron lifts a dark eyebrow as the company assembles on the lawn, watching with scarce-concealed curiosity and pausing in his journey towards Whitehaven. The other eyebrow rises to join the first as the Duchess appears, but he doesn't hail her. Not yet.

Tahvron is on the road outside the keep, and Rowena's apparently preparing to head off elsewhere.

From the southern end of the courtyard, Sandrim walks in, the hood of his cloak back, but the rest tightly pulled about him to guard against the cold. The young wildlander is red-cheeked, and sniffing back a winter cold.

A pair of argentite dragon snouts point to the sky as their wearer reaches up to bestow a friendly rub and scratching to the tossing head of Umbrus. "Save your energy, my love," Rowena murmurs, looking over the ebony mane to the gentle glow that's begun to settle on the horizon. "You will have your fill of adventure soon enough."

"Your Grace!" rumbles a baritone from her left and the middle-aged guardsman tosses a stray lock of graying hair from his eyes. "Your men are at the ready. Allow me to assist you thus." And so, he lumbers forward to relieve the weight of the Backpack of the Watch from her shoulders. Rowena's head bows forward into Umbrus' withers with silent gratitude and she arches her arms back to ease the pack's passage.

Tahvron watches the activity on the lawn with interest before the sound of footsteps tear his gaze away, and he glances to Sandrim. "Ah! You managed to catch a cold since this morning, Master?" He smiles wryly. "That is talent, there. I do believe the Duchess Valoria intends to go out someplace, this eve."

Sandrim gives Tahvron a withering aside glance. "Do not get between Syladris and cold water," he says.

The sweet smell of hay is still catchable as it rises with the heat radiating from Umbrus' coat. Resting her cheek against it for a moment longer than necessary, Rowena breathes her own little puff of fog. "Thank you," She murmurs quietly and straightens out to the tune of crackling leather and clacking buckles. The guardsman smiles a pair of gray-blue eyes in her direction and wrenches the saddle's straps with a final tug to ensure security. His paw of a hand pats the pack in finality and he steps back, waiting further instruction.

Rowena tucks a few more bundled items into the bag that dangles alongside the saddle, then nods her approval. Her feet hesitate long enough to adjust their stance while her hands find firm holds atop the horse and reins. Her mouth sets in a firm line of determination and she hops lightly a couple times to gauge this foreign weight that hugs her frame. A somewhat uncertain glance behind is all that's needed to spur the guard forward again with a somewhat paternal gleam in his eye. And so it is that Duchess Valoria hefts herself up and into the saddle with an extra pair of hands held /very/ mindfully at her back and then heel.

Tahvron laughs softly, smirking at Sandrim before his eyes go back to the Duchess. "No, no I can see how that is a problem," he says to the mage. "Though I've only met a couple."

Sandrim nods, sniffing, and paying the Duchess little mind himself. "So, what are you doing still here? Thought you were going back to Silkfield."

"Thank you again," Rowena sniffs lightly as she twists around in the saddle to observe her new vantage point. Her lips purse to blow another steady, measured stream of breath and she leans forward. Then wiggles a bit. Then embarks on a series of small, discreet adjustments to her garments, weight shifting this way and that with a pointedly annoyed look directed to her thighs and the tautness of the fabric thereof. While she struggles with pulling the ornate longcoat forward, the guard fails to conceal a smile and takes his time returning to his own horse.

"Tis my pleasure, my Liege."

Tahvron, too, smiles faintly as he watches the Duchess squirm, though when he speaks, it is still to Sandrim. "I intended to. I missed the carriage I meant to catch, and decided to go and get some lunch instead. Haven't tried to catch another yet."

Sandrim nods slowly. "Ahh," he says. "You're procrastinating."

Tahvron laughs, and would probably cuff Sandrim in a friendly sort of way if he were a Freelander or the mage a noble. Instead, his arms stay crossed. "I am taking advantage of conveniently placed delays."

Sandrim grins. "And convenient wording," he says. "It's not urgent business, I guess."

"Convenient wording?" Tahvron echoes, smiling a little. "Ah, but yes, the business is horribly urgent. Urgently compelling me to be elsewhere."

Sandrim quirks a smile. "Then get going," he says, leaning forward. "Would be good for you."

Tahvron grins. "One would think you are trying to get rid of me, Master, and *that* is unseemly. Nevertheless, you are right in that it is quite possibly wiser to be where I wish not to. Or foolish enough to be called so. Light keep you, then."

Sandrim smiles. "Light keep you, Lord Tahvron," he returns. "Be safe."

Tahvron sets off towards the east once more, directing a jaunty, back-handed wave at Sandrim as he goes.

Annoyances resolved for the time being, Rowena checks again her surroundings. "We wait for the herald, then ride for the gate!" She calls to her company and fishes something from a coat pocket. On cue, a young man comes trotting from the keep entrance, one hand holding the hood closed around his chin. "Your Grace!" He shouts and hurries forward.

"Your matter of timing is admirable," She commends softly, leaning aside to hand a piece of folded parchment to the boy. "Should the need arise of which we spoke, this entails your direction."

Sandrim starts walking forward himself now, toward Whitehaven, which does bring him closer to the Duchess. He stops when he comes close enough, and gives a bow. "Your Grace," he greets, politely, out of custom.

"Aye," Nods the teen, bobbing his head low and tucking the parchment into his tunic. "Ride with safety, m'Lady." Head still partly bowed, he backs up several paces and waits, watching the other riders as they urge their mounts into motion.

Turning in the saddle, Rowena looks down to acknowledge the blustery-looking Sandrim with a genial smile of recognition. "My best of wishes in keeping warm." Her gaze lingers on a bit longer, studying the flush in his cheeks. Her expression sobers. "Safe travels may you take," She offers, then lifts her head to meet the eyes of the older guard. A silent nod is passed between them and two of the escorts lunge forward to set their horses ahead of her own. The third takes up the rear and the fourth comes to linger a small distance at her left side. The procession is slow to move forward from there, keeping the pace at a gentle walk as they tread between paths and gardens - botanist's orders.

Whitehaven - 

Ziavri[ Outdoors ]19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)Ziavri

Known locally as the "Grand Exchange", Whitehaven is considered to be the

central-most district of the city of Light's Reach, being little more of

unique interest than a collision of overspill from the Noble District of

Starmantle to the north, and the Freelander District of Redwater to the south.

Thus it is not uncommon to see red-brick and flax-stone estates across

from half-timber and white-stucco townhouses, with minor Nobles forced to

endure living as neighbors to successful merchants. The social divide is still

quite obvious, but suffering the injustice of having to live in a mansion

across the road from a family of Freelanders is often considered worth it to

by most just to say that they live in Light's Reach.

It is the middle of the district from which the term "Grand Exchange"

comes, however, for it is here that a large ring-road can be found surrounding

the rebuilt Mikin Hall, connecting to the main through-fares that runs from

the districts to the north, east, and south. It is around this ring-road that

the Whitehaven Stables can be found, as well as the Interdistrict Carriage Hub

and the headquarters for the Fastheld Courier Service's cavalry and

distribution network.

The road heads up a gentle slope as it heads west towards Dawnstar

Keep, ascending to the elevated western rise upon which the Keep, the Temple

of the White Dragon, and the Southern Aria reside.

Time of Day: Night.

It is the Tenth hour by the Shadow on Lanternglow. The air is stagnant, not

stirring with the slightest breeze. The skies are perfectly clear.

The following of the six moons are visible in the sky: Torch II (gray/waning).

=
=============================================[ House Valoria ]===

"Night at this point, I think. First watch soon." Lucius taps his helm. "Gotta be careful." He smirks, turning briefly to the stablemaster. "Bring 'em out to the carriage and have him hitched, please. Someone'll be joining me." His head shifts back to Taran. "Don't often see you in Light's Reach. Didn't think ya liked not being in touch with your... well, Touch."

It's hard to tell, in the shadows of the cloak, just what Taran might think of that. But his tone is somewhat surprised. "...I like the city. It's a bit sterile in terms of architecture, but quite peaceful. No...it just has too many nobles for my taste, is all. The more fool me for seeking one out now, but...even nobles can be experts."

"Nobles rule the Kingdom." Lucius states bluntly. "Who you looking for?"

From the west, a procession of five horses come trotting deftly through the dark. The lone moon above sheds a fair degree of light, unhindered by the clouds, but lanterns are still lit to swing and bob from their mounts to guide their path. Gleaming breastplates boast the insignia of the griffon - the Valoria House Guard.

Taran turns, as the group of House Guard comes clattering into view, and there's a just barely audible sigh. "That one, I think. I need the advice of a healer...Rowena is rumored to have earned the Masterhealer's title on skill rather than blood. I do not know how much time I have."

"She brought me back from the dead when no one else could. I can attest to that. Silverwyrm." Lucius explains, nodding at Taran. "Y'know, skill trades don't get earned by blood. Dunno what Fastheld you grew up in." He kind of gives Taran the hairy eyeball, but then looks towards the procession and approaches.

"Slow and steady!" Comes a muffled, half-hearted cry from somewhere amidst the hooved party and the horses are slowed to a gradual plod as they near the carriage hub. A couple of the mounts disagree via snorts and quiet whinnies, stomping their hooves in eagerness to move on.

"There is our fifth man," a more feminine voice announces to the rest of the group and with a jostling of the reins, a black paso fino with white starburst on the muzzle is directed out of the line. Umbrus marches towards the front to close the distance between the approaching man and party while his rider looks ever on, her head held erect beneath Forte's shine. An Argentite dragon maw bows in Lucius' direction as Rowena lowers her arm, extending it to the man as a goodwill gesture. "My letter rode true, then?"

There is a pause, the hooded scarecrow still as a stone...then a low laugh. "Let it never be said that Serath lacked for sartorial taste," he says quietly. He bows, from the waist, then straightens and tugs back his hood with his free hand. "Your grace, a healer asks a few moments of the Masterhealer's time. I have a patient whose illness is beyond my ability to treat."

Lucius Nepos bows first at the sight of the former Mongoose head herself, deeply and respectfully. "Y'grace, it did." Once he's risen, he salutes the senior officer with a clenched fist over his heart. The thump is dull on his segmented breastplate. "I guess my days as infantry are over and my days as cavalry are starting true, here. Well, for now, anyways." He remarks, mainly to himself, then steps back to let Taran conduct business.

Returning her hand to lay over its mate in her lap, Rowena nods with a fading smile at Lucius and lets her attention shift to Taran. "An adventurer, bard, treasure hunter, /and/ healer in one body's package," She appraises, tugging Umbrus' reins to a full halt. The horse bobs his head forward then swings it around to question her action. Ignoring the beast, she shifts a mite noisily in the saddle to lean nearer with interest towards the tall man. "What precisely is it that ails your patient?"

Taran bows again, with a somewhat clearer laugh. "I am a true bard, your grace, and that encompasses all else I might ever be, for what is a bard if not a student of the world?" The smile fades then, and he says, "I am an accredited healer, your grace, but this illness is beyond me. If rumor is believed then she has what has been plaguing the lands hereabout - coughing, fever, a...matter in the lungs that makes breathing difficult. It is too soon yet to say if she will develop the sores, but it resists my febrifuges and expectorants. I am trying now some of the Wildlands plants that have medicinal properties, but I cannot bring down the fever. I thought perhaps your grace would know what would work."

This is all way beyond Lucius's expertise. His only knowledge of healing is the patching and care of wounds and injuries, not disease. HE does listen though.

"Where is she now and where has she hailed from recently?" Rowena blurts, encompassing Taran with her affamed, tenacious stare. Her hands are already at work behind and alongside of her, unbuckling straps and tugging at strings to loosen bag flaps. "How long has she been ill?"

Taran spreads his hands. "She rests in the Southern Cross, in Crown's Refuge, your grace," he says calmly. "As to how long...it is but a few days since she could no longer hide the symptoms. She was in Lightholder before that, I believe. A few days ago the coughing grew severe enough that she could no longer pass it off as a cold; I insisted on an examination then, and have kept her to her bed. Lack of appetite appears to be among the symptoms."

Lucius Nepos moves to go get Haste from the other side of the stable. He dissapears for a few minutes.

"Lightholder..." Rowena murmurs, brow furrowing. Twisting awkwardly around behind her, she rummages through a satchel and procures a few pieces of parchment. Shuffle shuffle. "Freehaven, Sweetwater, Trademeet - has she visited any of these places? What is her profession, if I may inquire?" Arching a brow to the man over the pages, she holds her breath, waiting.

Meanwhile, a couple of the guards join the route of Lucius' thought and head for the carriage to discuss routes with the driver.

"It is possible, even likely," says Taran quietly. "She is a bard, and we travel when we are well enough to. She thought it was a cold. But she has said her niece is ill with the sickness."

Lucius is still not here.

"It's quite possible that she has contracted it if she's been exposed, I suppose," Rowena mutters, stuffing a couple pieces of the parchment back into their hiding place. "She's suffered a cough for nigh a week at least - and a fever. There's relief to be had then in the slowness of the illness' progression. Had it been another dark pox outbreak, she'd be blistering if not dead by now." With a matter-of-fact sigh, the Duchess lurches suddenly aside and shoves her torso forward a bit futher than necessary to pull and fold her right leg over the saddle in attempts to dismount. Clearly this one's not too familiar with riding in a)snug, leather trousers, and b)bits of armor. The process over the next few seconds is a mite less than graceful, but the end result lands her on her feet well enough.

Tugging her long coat's hem off the saddle behind her, Rowena ducks her flushed cheeks aside and pokes through another pocket in the backpack.

Taran watches the efforts with some surprise. "I only came to seek advice from the Masterhealer," he says slowly. "...Are you willing to come to see her, then?"

Lucius Nepos pokes his head back around the corner and frowns as he catches the tail end of the bard's remarks.

Rowena chuckles briefly to that, lips twisting with a wry smile. "The wildlands, Refuge included, are not going to witness my arrival in any near future. They /were/, some time ago, but...well, that journey was once again denied." Clearing her throat, she procures a couple tiny, leather packets and tosses them to Taran. "We ride to the heart of this matter. I'm not so convinced that nature is entirely responsible for disease, this time. But if she is, I will recommend a blend of sage, tingleleaf, and aenitshield herb concoctions. Sage smoke is a thing of blessing for those plagued with troubled lungs - his Late Majesty included, as he was a life-long sufferer of such things. Grind the tingeleaf into a paste and mix the juices with her tea. The taste is terrible, but any fool with half your creativity can surmise an additive to remedy a fouled tongue. It will keep the fever's delerium at bay and if she chews some sage leaves morning, noon, and night, the heat will be driven out."

Taran reaches out a hand to catch the packets, bowing. "I will see to it. At what point should I return, an these remedies also fail?"

Lucius Nepos returns to the general area where the Royal Healer and Taran speak. The soldier clasps his hands behind his back and says, "Caravan's ready, y'grace. Your horse and mine are gonna be led by the carriage, and the four House Guards are gonna form a perimeter around." He states.

Rowena fishes out the final packet and extends it in her palm. "Patience is greatest weapon that any healer can wield. If in a week she's not improved, or if at any time her condition seems deteriorates severely, do not hesitate to seek me out. I would recommend, as a precaution, keeping her isolated. Now, this aenitshield - use with caution. A very dilute tea is usually the best form and will help to purify her insides. Use too potent a batch or too frequently and you /will/ kill her." All humor has left the Royal Healer's visage on that note, her fingers tensing around the mixture as it hovers in the air.

Rowena glances very briefly to Lucius with a nod.

Taran smiles wryly. "I am a healer, your grace. I will take care. Light guide you." He tucks the packet away with the others, and then tugs up the hood. Just another travelworn scarecrow, heading west.

"If you cannot find traces of me, Taran," Rowena adds, tying down the flaps of the bags and checking the security of all packs, "Search for Maeve Downwind in Lightholder. She is to be entrusted above all." A humble bow of her chin punctuates that remark and she pats Umbrus on the jaw. A longer, more hopeful look is offered to Lucius. "Shall we be off, then?"

Rowena takes Umbrus's reins and leads the horse along.

"Y'grace." Lucius says, nodding at the woman and motioning out to the carriage. He evidently expects her to lead the way.

Carriage - 15541

This carriage passenger compartment is rather cozy and informal, with a pair of shardwood benches facing each other and open windows on either side that can be somewhat inconvenient during inclement weather.

ALL DESTINATIONS 0 KAHAR IMPERIALS

"Taran's tale has only made stronger my inclination to venture first to Lightholder," Rowena says to Lucius as she climbs carefully inside the carriage.

"It will be safer, at any rate, to investigate from the outer fringes of this disease's spread. You again have my gratitude for accompanying me on such short notice." Unfolding herself as much as possible to rest comfortably inside, Rowena leans her head back to rest delicately against the fabric of the interior.

Lucius Nepos nods at Rowena. "Not a problem, y'grace." He doesn't bother to remove his helmet or get more comfortable than taking his rucksack off of his back and laying it on the floor of the cabin next to his feet. "I was going to originally check something out up north, but this is more important. I'd no real direction with that, anyways. Not much use without orders or a contract." He grins. "Y'know, I wouldn't have said this, y'grace but.. I'd heard from more than one person that the Pox was caused by someone in particular." He looks around, somewhat nervously. "Think maybe this disease is a Church one?"

The carriage strikes a bump in the road.

"I'm not convinced that the proximity of its origin laying almost precisely where the Church's first nefarious dealings with apothecaries and poisons began is entirely born of coincidence." Answers the Duchess, staring ahead through a veil of closed lashes as the carriage rocks to and fro. The mail vibrates a tinkling melody against her belly as the carriage bumps, forcing her torso to clench repeatedly in efforts to ward off the tickling sensation it elicits. She would not make a habit of dressing like this, no. With luck and faith, she would not have to.

"Well, Light be with us to make sure it's not dangerous. If we're attacked, y'grace, I don't mean to alarm you, but six isn't much. We've no idea what people are thinking there." Lucius comments, clutching his rucksack tightly. After a while longer, the carriage stops. Nepos opens the door and jumps out, pulling his rucksack off the carriage and onto his back once his feet are on the ground. Then he swings around to open Rowena's door and help her down.

Lightholder Carriage Hub - 

^=-=^=-=^=-=[ Indoors ]^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-=^=-^=-=^=-=^=-=


 * * The mainline Carriage Hub of the township of Lightholder

_,_ is a large station built of polished redwood and flax-hued


 * ;'._\ * riveroak timbers that acts as both a hub of transportation

';) \._, within the Empire, but also as a place where carriages can

/ /`-' be constructed and repaired when not in use.

/

))) Like many other carriage stops in Fastheld, this carriage

hub is not only roofed, but also mostly indoors, with

carriages stored in coach-house styled bays until needed to ensure that

wealthy Nobles and pragmatic Freelanders alike need not be subjected to the

elements while waiting for a carriage to take them to where they need to be.

The scent of leather and timber hangs in the air without every really being

unpleasant, reminding those who wait here of the dual-role that the Carriage

Hub serves, while one might occasionally get a glimpse of carpenters

delivering various parts for construction, blacksmiths delivering metal rims

and bolts for wheels and carriage axes, and - if one is lucky enough - brand

new carriages, freshly painted, being rolled out for distribution.

+carriage/hire to hire a carriage at this location.

--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.[ Royal Crown ]--.--.--.

"If we are attacked, then the offenders will have signed their death warrants before they strike the first blow," Rowena cooly responds, accepting the aid in climbing out. Her exit from the carriage is still far more fluid than her drop from the horse, so not all dignity is lost. Straightening out slowly, she massages some stiffness in her back with a hand and squints around to the horses. "Mercy is a trait to have sadly begun its fall from my name."

"Death warrants don't much matter, y'grace, if none of us are there to sign 'em." Lucius answers, somewhat glumly. "Not trying to be a downer, but that's the realism of it - s'not like the Light itself is gonna shield us." Nepos vaults into Haste's saddle by way of stirrups, after the horse is untied, and slings his leather covered shield over his arm. The wicked looking barbed spear he's got comes out, too. "I s'pose I'm more of a personal bodyguard, y'grace? Or am I under your lieutenant of the guard here?"

A funny smile traces across Rowena's lips in response to something said midway through his speech and she averts her eyes to meet those of her guardsmen. They encircle the pair and keep a vigilant eye on the hub, as little activity as there is at this hour. "You may serve as you're best utilized, Lucius," Rowena murmurs indifferently as she frees Umbrus from the rear of the carriage. Her climb into the saddle is a bit more slow and painstaking. "Once we rest for the night, I've something for you to drink. The other men have already had their doses. Consider it a precautionary measure."

"I'm sure it'll taste awful and make me strong as a bull, y'grace." Answers Lucius, grinning handily. He waits for the Lieutenant to lead the way, positioning his own horse to flank Umbrus.

"One would hope," Echoes Rowena back as she adjusts her weight in the saddle. Umbrus nickers softly, twitching his withers as her hands pat at them. "Lieutenant?" She asks of the older gentleman atop his mount. Smiling through another disheveled lock of graying hair, the man bows his head and clip-clops his horse around. The others join in formation, riding in front, behind, and on either side. The closely packed group moves as one then, pending cooperation from the horses as they leave the hub for the crossroads.

Southwest Span - 

Ziavri[ Outdoors ]19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)19:53, 16 November 2008 (UTC)Ziavri

The township of Lightholder is perhaps one of the most prominent

locations in Fastheld. A well-maintained town with clean streets and a high

standard of living, it is situated around the base of Caryas Hill upon the

Imperial Isle, beneath the watch of the Royal Palace, it is surrounded on all

four sides by the Lightholder River, though has flourished by virtue of being

at the heart of all the trade routes and political developments in the Empire.

The buildings are usually timber-framed with wattle walls the color of

clay, though a few stone buildings are also dotted around the place. The

southwest span of the township - known as the Coach District - is especially

robust due to the number of traveling Nobles and Merchants as they wait to

visit the Palace or rest before heading on to other locations.

Of substantial note is the Lightholder Tavern, a large and sturdy

no-nonsense stone structure with timber supports that has been rebuilt as many

times as it has had owners. Having recently undergone renovation, it has since

stuck a fine line between indulgence and pragmatic necessity, accommodating

anyone that has coin to spare.

One might note that a exceptionally regal road of white cobbles ascends

from this district to begin a clockwise-spiral around the edges of Caryas Hill

itself. Known as the Palace Road, this wide route leads uphill to the gates of

the Imperial Palace.

The Guild District of Lightholder rests on the southeastern span of the

Imperial Isle towards the east, while the Merchant District can be found on

the northwestern span in the north. The Lightholder River flows to the south

and west, while Caryas Hill looms overhead in the northeast.

Time of Day: Night.

It is the Twelfth hour by the Shadow on Lanternglow. A stiff breeze blows over

the land. Puffy white clouds fill most of the sky.

The following of the six moons are visible in the sky: Torch II (gray/waning).

=
===============================================[ Royal Crown ]===

Atop Haste, Lucius Nepos continues to flank the Duchess of Fastheld's arguably most powerful House, keen on observation of the area around and not so keen on conversation at all. He rests the long spear on his lap, at a rest position.

Up rolls another carriage to the stop. Clinging to the back is a dark garbed figure who drops off before it arrives, brushing over his pants with his hands, before wandering off into the city.

"The better part of our journey begins in the day when the sun deems it more appropriate," Rowena notes, guiding the body of horses and men from its center as her mount gets directed this way and that. "But for tonight, I've arranged for private - if even a bit too cozy - lodging. It's been quite some time since I've paid visit to the woman's home, but, I believe there are yet three rooms."

Atop Haste, Lucius Nepos isn't in much of a state to give a prolonged answer - in fact, there's only one word past his lips in reply to Rowena. "Y'grace."

Ducking around a corner, and behind the backside of a particularly smelly horse, Wolfsbane enters the street with no small amount of grumbling, yanking his hood over his head. He eyes the lit street lamps suspiciously, avoiding their glow over the cobbles as much as possible, which likely just makes him rather conspicuous to anyone who cares to be watching.

"There be a shriekweasel in the bush," Warns one of the ducal guard lowly to the others, gesturing vaguely with a finger at the distant form lurking between patches of light. Catching her breath to breathe a bit more quietly, Rowena turns her head also to look, her fingers tightening around Umbrus' reins with a heightened sense of alertness. The entourage continues to move towards the northern end of the crossroads to the cottages that perch yonder.

Lucius Nepos isn't the most comfortable of forms atop the horse, especially now that things are a bit more tense. With a few of the ducal guardsmen checking out the form, Nepos continues to scan, avoiding that area totally. He slides the spear into its saddle holster, free hand falling to the pommel of his sword but not withdrawing it.

As quiet as he might be trying to be, Vhramis encounters yet more of the horse on the street, boot squishing in a small pile of something unmentionable. His curse echoes through the street, the ranger dragging his heel against the cobbles to try to scrape off whatever he can.

Not many people are out and about this late at night--past midnight, on a chilly night cooled by a quick breeze that tears at cloaks and carries the raucous sounds of the nearby tavern away across the street. Eerily, the sound of out-of-tune singing drifts far away from that building, disembodied voices that float through the streets, severed from their sources by the cutting wind.

The wind carries with it the smell of horse manure, heady and thick from the direction of the stables and the carriage hub, mixed with hay and less pleasant things. Like the thing smeared across the bottom of Vhramis's boot. It also carries with it the distant sounds of someone coughing, and of footsteps which, in this would, could come from virtually anywhere.

One of the guards barks a rather gruff laugh, slapping his thigh in amusement. He shakes his head to his comrades. "Not the most graceful of shriekweasels I've seen, lads. No matter. Let us hurry on then to yer Missus. I've heard wonderful things about her pies." The other guards grin in agreement, bobbing their heads casually while maintaining a scan of the surroundings.

Keeping silent, Rowena favors to listen. A healer's ears will always perk at the sound of a cough and hers are no exception. Maintaining forward momentum, she does spare a long look around in attempts to identify the source.

"Shut up and keep to business. For all intents and purposes, this is an ambush waiting to happen. I know you're not used to discipline when you pomp around in garrison, but spin those cobwebs out of your heads and act like professionals."

Lucius dresses down the guardsmen rather bitingly, his eyes narrowed and breathing a bit faster than normal. He moves just as quickly as Rowena, keeping flank with her totally.

After a sufficient amount of stomping to clean his boots, or at least as much as he can, Wolfsbane's attention turns to the riders headed away. Curiosity peaks, and he moves to fade into the shadows, set to follow the procession. There's a marked difference in his mannerisms, the man actually seeming to /try/ to be subtle, this time around.

The cough sounds again--once, twice, and then cascading into a rough fit, followed by a thud as somebody leans against a wall to support themselves. Then there is a silence, punctuated only by the howl of the wind whirling through the streets. After a moment, the wind dies down enough for the location of the sound to be triangulated--it comes from a spot between two dwellings, not so very distant from the place where the little company walks.

"A fine fifth," Grunts the Lieutenant, eyeing Lucius with a guarded sense of appreciation. The men mutter for a moment or two then lapse again into respectful silence. Expression dazed, Rowena looks-and listens-on as though she were worlds away from the present gathering. Umbrus dutifully carries her on. Squinting into the paths that yet remain unseen, Rowena sweeps a fallen tendril of braid from her eyes and rests one hand behind her on the saddle, fingers sliding into a pack. "There. Let us bank left for a moment - we are not too far from Maeve. We've time to spare."

Lucius Nepos gives a brief nod to the Lieutenant as he slips out of the saddle, his spear forgotten there. Once appearing uncomfortable on horseback, he's now in his element as he keeps pace with those near him, free hand leading his mount's reigns. "Aye, y'grace."

Wolfsbane continues along, keeping away from notice as he can. The coughing doesn't seem to give him much pause, though he does glance in the direction of the alleyway as he slips past one on his side of the street.

As Rowena and those traveling with her grow close, they can make out a form in the shadows between the buildings--a man, by what can be seen, his back hunched and his shoulders slumped against the side of one of the buildings. One hand presses to his chest, as if in pain. He has not yet taken notice of those approaching, it seems.

A rat scurries across Vhramis' path, a darting bit of shadow that detaches itself from the corners on one side of the street in order to make a wild dash across to the other side. As the wind picks up again, there is the heavy scent of manure once more.

The leading guard follows Rowena's stare towards the hunched figure and with a sigh, directs his horse that way. The rest follow in total silence, noses twitching to the all-too familiar stench of horse droppings. The glow of lanterns and proud glint of breastplates make them an easy pack to follow and recognize. Once within earshot, Rowena calls her voice into the night. "You there! Master! Be it more than ale that finds you ill?"

Lucius Nepos comes to a stop next to Rowena's horse, not bothering to try to look uninterested in the current surroundings, or the man in front. But the latter occupies attention of many of the guards, so Lucius generally looks elsewhere. He does stay close to Rowena, though, despite that she be several feet above him.

Taking pause from the scurrying rat, Wolfsbane leans down to whisper something to it, though he doesn't seem to wait for any reaction. He passes the alley, nose wrinkling in distaste at the scent, before pausing and considering the goings-ons from his location.

Coughcough, hackhack. It is not a pretty sound. The man gasps at the air, one hand rising to massage his throat as he rests a moment after the latest fit. Miserably, he lifts his eyes to the coming visitors. "Aye, M'lady," he says, hoarse voice barely above a whisper. "Ah'm nae drunk."

"Let me through," Rowena commands softly to the guard ahead and, like magic, the sea of horse butts parts for hers to step through. Marginally. Keeping atop her mount, she bows her circlet to the coughing man. "Let us have a look at ye. You may step out a bit into the light, there's no need to hide. How long have you felt this way?"

Lucius Nepos drapes Haste's reigns over the horse's neck and then steps to follow Rowena, keeping two or three metres away from her.

He can only watch, after all. The ranger across the street in the shadows sighs to himself, looking back to attempt to locate his rodent aquaintance.

The man steps forward into the light, revealing himself to be aging, middle-aged with a wiry build and a narrow face contorted with the pain of his coughing.

"Mayhaps a week, but surely no more 'an that, M'lady," he manages.

At first, there is apparently no sign of Vhramis's rat friend. The typical squeaks of rats at night echo through the streets, but no actual *sight*. At least, not until the pink, whiskered nose twitches from one of the nearby shadows.

Lucius Nepos gives the man a quick nod in greeting, but nothing else. No, the soldier fellow is more interested Lightholder itself, it seems, much to the detriment of the actual visible people around him. Besides, he's not much of a healer.

"Where had your travels taken you during that week and prior to it?" Rowena inquires further, studying the human specimen with a hawkish gaze. Her mind, to be judged from the stare, is whirling at its quickest pace. "Your coughing - is it the only pain to wrack your chest? Have you fever? Sores? What other than water is thrown from your lungs?" To demand so much information from one who can hardly speak may seem indeed cruel, but it is necessary. Still, compassion does dwell in her gaze and in a tone a bit more gentle, she adds "I've come to learn of what ails you and much of these cities. If there is anything I can do, I will help."

Surprisingly (or maybe not so, considering it's him), Wolfsbane brightens a bit at the appearance of that quivering nose. He murmurs again towards the rat, crossing his arms at his chest.

The man draws up his sleeve, nodding and trying to suppress further coughs as he displays a speckling of sores on his arm. "Headache... chills," he manages. "There's some strange... stuff... 'at come from mah chest sometime... when Ah cough. Ches' 'urts all th' time."

That nose twitches at the sound of Vhramis' voice, poking a little further into the moonlight from the shadows. A pair of beady black eyes follows it, and soon, a foot.

The sight of sores draws a sharp breath from Rowena's throat and she tenses atop the horse. Likewise, all eyes from the guards are, for the briefest of moments, on the man. "You've not met any strange individuals, have you? Where is it you draw your water from? Your food?"

The ranger continues muttering to the rodent as it emerges more so, the man rocking on his heels slowly. Nothing overly urgent appears to be happening. Just a simple back and forth between individuals of like minds.

Lucius Nepos isn't really listening to the conversation. Or he doesn't appear to be, anyways.

"A well..." The man stops there and doubles over, coughing violently into his closed fist until he spits some sort of phlegmy stuff out on the ground. "Nae, nae strangers... garden, farm... Please, Lady, 'ave yeh anythin' fer this cough?"

A second foot joins the first furry paw on the road as the eyes gain shape in a face, peering curiously out at Vhramis with something bordering on uncertain trust. Ears follow the eyes, and soon an entire head is visible, cocked peculiarly to the side to consider the ranger.

There's only so much that can be said to a rat. Especially one that isn't really talking back. Vhramis scratches at the back of his head, peering at it, before speaking his farewell and turning to wander away.

That's precisely what she wanted to see. Eyeing the spittle as it splatters over its final resting place, Rowena nods quietly to herself. "I do, but I cannot guarantee /yet/ that it will bring you cure. Relief, yes." Blinking out of her seeming daze, the Duchess moves around in the saddle and fishes out two leather packets - one with a green string and one with a blue. "Burn the green string and inhale the smoke," She orders, tossing it at the man. "From the blue, fix a tea. Your lungs should find greater clarity and your chills will abate. Tomorrow, when the sun has just passed its peak, I want to meet you here again."

The man nods, catching the strings with quavering hands and bowing low. "Th-thank yeh, M'lady. Very kind. Very... generous. Ah will meet yeh here--as yeh say." Clutching the packets to his chest as if they are some commodity more precious than gold--or maybe even life itself--he starts off down the alleyway towards what is doubtless his home.

The rat seems to have similar thoughts in mind, those quick black eyes watching Vhramis move away. It squeaks, faintly, before turning tail and fleeing into the shadows.

Return to Season 8 (2008)