Craigmacc

Sauvanien Miritar Sauvanien watches in horror as Quinty is wrapped in a constrictor of fire. A mess of thoughts chase through her mind, with the forefront being - I have to help her! But, as she has proven many times before, Quinty is capable of looking after herself. Once the flames die down and the angered growl of the black mage is heard, Sauvanien sees the spreading bloodstain across Quinty’s body. She might have been able to fend off the black mage’s spell, but she is hurting regardless. Sauvanien knows that now is the time to do something, something to get Quinty to safety, kill the mage or at least… There is an option, but it would be a risk. Particularly since she had never managed the casting before. I just walked through mist for the first time... If it I can make that work, I can manage this. Her heartbeat quickens and her hand shakes as she gestures for her prayer book. It dutifully flips open, anticipating her intended spell. Sauvanien holds her hands out to her sides, palms down. A series of discs, shadowy and vibrating appear before her as she begins to encant. Quinty also notices that similar discs of shadow have appeared above the black mage, and the two nearby archers. Shaking from the effort, Sauvanien begins to twist her palms, turning the dark discs in a stuttering rotation. She shuts her eyes to block out distractions, feeling the connection to Cerin and Pit flit away. Pushing with all her will, she completes the rotations, and looks up breathless to see if the spell has worked. OOC SummaryMove: 10ft to the north Action: Cast Slow on mage and two archers (40ft cube) Bonus Action: none Rule of Cool: force mage to fail initial Wisdom save for Slow. ...

Summary Sauvanien, Wood Elf Wizard "Keep it with you..." Race: Wood Elf+2 Dex +1 Wis You can attempt to hide even when you are only lightly obscured by foliage, heavy rain, falling snow, mist, and other natural phenomena. Class: WizardCantrips (3) Mentor: GronlimContent... Starting Equipment: Proficiencies: Semberholme Private Content for: Rev73 Sauvanien’s home town is largely based on Cormanthyr’s Semberholme, with a few modifications. There are so many brilliant settlements in the forests of Cormanthor, and there is loads of lore there. I could rename it and move it somewhere else if required - I wouldn’t want to presume that anything is canon. The Moonshadows Private Content for: rev73 Again, this is largely based on the Moonshadows in FR canon, but I have tweaked it slightly, and moved names around etc. The main purpose is that I did not want to re-write any history that you may have established for the area already. It basically acts as Sauvanien’s early years training in casting. Personality and Description Early Years Miruviel, ever bold, stepped up onto the rising stairwell. Sauvanien, infinitely more careful, hesitated in the tree line. The curved structure, clearly the work of elven architects, climbed around the trunk of an old yew tree. It was made of a pale, almost white wood, and every two dozen steps or so, opened out onto wide platforms that looked out across Myth Drannor and the forest. "Miruviel!" Sauvanien shout-whispered. She glanced left and right, praying that nobody was nearby. If we get caught… It felt like they were trespassing, behind enemy lines, though in reality, aside from being a little confused, it was unlikely that anybody who noticed them would be alarmed. Still, Sauvanien’s heart thumped in her chest. Moments later, Miruviel’s head peeked out from the first platform above. "Hey, how is the view from down there? Certainly not as good as it is from up here!" Sauvanien clicked her fingers softly, and rubbed at the ring of copper wire bound around her thumb. She focussed on Miruviel, and whispered. "I don’t think we should go up there. What if we are seen?" Her hushed voice projected up to her twin, who expected the message - they often used the simple spell to communicate to each other. But Miruviel only grinned, and was soon gone again. Sauvanien felt her own mouth curl into a grin - It is to be a chase then…. She heard her brother’s soft footsteps grow quieter as he ascended further. Sauvanien stepped out of the treeline, up onto the structure, and took off after her brother. Higher and higher she climbed, torn at each platform between stopping to admire the view and chasing after her brother. The excitement of the adventure was piquing, all notion of danger dispelled by youthful ignorance. Her heartbeat quickened with the growing grin on her face. Soon, she saw that Miruviel waited for her around a bend. He motioned for Sauvanien to slow, and he held a finger to his lips. A warm breeze brought two things. The smell of baked goods, and the tinkle of heartfelt laughter. Edging around the trunk, the twins could see that the next platform had a set of side steps which branched off along one of the larger boughs of the tree. It ended in a small semi-circular platform and a delicate bench of rosewood. A young couple, their hands entwined, sat together on the bench facing the magnificent view to the west. From that position, many of the tree-tops were below the platform, and birds flitted amongst the canopy carpet below. The sky was a brilliant blue ceiling overhead. This place is incredible. If the city boasts buildings rivalling the beauty of this one, then it will be a wonderful place indeed. I don’t suppose Miruviel would care much to discuss the architecture of this tower… I must try to sketch it down when I get the time. I wonder if it is magical in composition... Sauvanien, certain that the proximity of the couple would be enough to discourage Miruviel from continuing further, reached out for his arm. But he was already moving, padding softly up the stairs to the higher platforms above. Eyeing the couple, Sauvanien followed, her bare feet barely sounding on the smooth timber boards. Higher and higher they climbed, fortunately avoiding running into any other company. And then they were at the top. The platform actually pierced out above the very top of the tree, held by a support network of weaving timbers. Sauvanien actually gasped as she reached the top. The blue of the sky was all around, the forest and city below seeming smaller. She walked around the edge of the platform, taking in the view from each side. Soon, she joined Miruviel over at the eastern edge. They both sat with their feet dangling down, looking down towards Myth Drannor. "It amazes me..." Sauvanien began, after the two shared a moment of silence. "...that anyone would rather live down there, in homes of stone, than up here, in the air. I mean, look at them." She pointed to a particular area at the gathering of four roads. The tiny people of Myth Drannor were bunched all together in what looked like a market square. There seemed barely room to breathe, never mind walk. They moved as one entity, flowing through the narrow gaps between the colourful stalls. Miruviel nodded. "It does seem flawed from up here, doesn’t it. I suppose that such an abode has its advantages - you can’t burn down a stone walled house." Sauvanien scoffed at the dark turn of her brother. So quick with the grim thoughts. In recent times I have worried that his mind is not at peace… I should raise my concerns with mother, she may also have noticed this change. Perhaps I am seeing darkness where there is only shade - I hope that is the case. "And what about that… quite something isn’t it?" Miruviel motioned towards the structure that dominated the city, standing vigil over everything else - the castle. "So much stone. Where do you suppose they found it all?" "I guess there must be a very large hole in the ground somewhere…" Miruviel nodded, continuing to stare out towards the city, but Sauvanien was only watching her brother. He had seemed different recently. It was a subtle thing, but his smile had been a little easier to drop, and his laugh a little less hearty. He caught him watching her, and smiled, somehow dispelling her doubts with that simple expression. The two forest folk deliberated on the wonders of Myth Drannor well into the afternoon, and enjoyed a lunch of berries and honeyed bread. As the sun threatened to drop into the treeline, Sauvanien eventually stood and prepared to leave. "We should return here one day. Perhaps even enter the city." Miruviel stood too, stretching his back. "Enter the city? You hesitated to set foot on this tower, let alone enter the city!" He hugged her close. He smelled like the forest. "I would like that, Sauvanien. We will return." Sauvanien smiled into her twin’s shoulder. I am blessed to have you, brother… how lonely it must be to grow up without such a companion. Never change... Before she followed Miruviel from the tree-tower, she looked once more to the west, and thanked Mielikki for keeping them safe on their journey to Myth Drannor. She asked that the Forest Queen continue to keep watch on them through whatever was to come next. Brother in Exile "If you don’t agree with the Council, then you can talk to them! You have influence, mother. They know well what father’s ancestors did for our people. What we have continued to do to this day. They would have to listen. You could get him back, if you believe him innocent." She remembered that he was dressed for travel. That was the first sign that something was wrong. The second was the look on his face. It was guilt. She could read him well - he was her twin after all. But that didn't help to make sense of the situation. "Miruviel, what is-" He had hugged her with a ferocity, like he could cling to her and that would prevent him from having to leave. She could still feel the closeness of him when she recalled the moment. And she remembered that it terrified her. His voice came back to her then. Watching his face, stunned into silence, Sauvanien could almost tell what he was going to say. It was the way his mouth seemed ready to fall into a frown but was somehow forced into a smile. ”Sauvanien… I must leave.” he pulled back from the embrace, holding his hands against her head. “I wish that I could explain more, I apologise. My heart rips to leave you, but it must be so.” Sauvanien was shaking her head, and could feel her hands trembling. They had never been apart. Not properly. "Please, don’t go… I don’t understand!" She searched his face for an answer. Then Miruviel clasped his hands around hers and the unease dulled. He pushed something into her palm and curled her fingers around it. “These brooches…” Looking down, Sauvanien saw a pair of brooches formed by fine silver wire, each one forming half of a deep green leaf. “These brooches will find their way back to one another. I have asked Mielikki to make it so. Keep this with you always, and we will be together once more.” He left one in her hand, took the other, and hugged her once more. Just as fiercely. Just as desperately, as if he could become one with her and that would be an end to it. “I love you, sister.” He broke off then, and backed away. She could find no words. “Keep it with you.” And he was gone. Myth Drannor ”Keep it with you” Sauvanien tensed. The thump of hurried footsteps drew her up into a sitting position. Her neck and back were stiff from having laid for hours on the floor of platform. She had performed her evening prayer to Mielikki from the tower top, which seemed an apt location to acknowledge the work of the Forest Queen. Then settling down on the same spot that she had shared with her twin a few months before, she had turned her attention to the sky. But she had stared so long at the stars that she hadn’t realised how dark it had become. The steps grew louder. Sauvanien leaned forward, gauging the distance to the next platform below. A fair drop… but if this is trouble approaching, at least I know I have a way out. The prospect of letting herself fall from such a height was less daunting than the approaching footsteps. She stood then, and turned, watching the top of the stairwell. A tall man crested onto the platform, clad in layers of robes, his eyes fixed firmly on the stars. He was walking fast, and paced back and forth across the platform muttering to himself. He barely seemed out of breath after the long and apparently hurried climb. He either looks alot older than he is, or he is incredibly spritely for his age. Sauvanien watched the strange man as he checked a small device on the end of a silver chain. She hesitated, barely breathing. Eventually, the old man spotted her - after nearly bowling her over. "Oh goodness! I do apologise, young lady. I haven’t missed it have I?" He returned to watching the sky, his eyes screwed in concentration. "My meeting with Cavarubios ran over, you see. You never heard it from me but by all the tomes of Tymerius that man is dry! A brilliant man, of course but…" He stopped, noticing Sauvanien staring at him warily. She took a careful step back towards the edge of the platform. "My apologies! Listen to me, rabbiting on like we aren’t about to witness the heavens themselves aligning before our very eyes! I am Gannon Mathiasson. And you are here for the eclipse, no?" Holding his hand up to the night sky, he smiled at her. There was a harmlessness to his features that put Sauvanien at ease. "I worried that the cloud cover would spoil the view, but it seems we may be fortunate. I doubt we will see the whole event, though I still hope to catch the lun’atisse." She missed Gannon’s sidelong glance at her as she looked skywards once more. They were silent for a time, watching the scene above. It was a quiet night, with barely a breath of wind to disturb the upper canopy. Sauvanien sat once more, this time cross-legged on the timber floor. Gannon did likewise, his long legs tucked awkwardly beneath him. "Oh! I almost forgot…" He fished around in his robes, then pulled out a set of intricate eyeglasses. "With these, we may just see the lun’atisse after all. Here, try them on." Suavanien hesitated, then reach out for the glasses. What is this old man’s game? Is he… "Oh wow…" Suavanien fiddled with the mechanism on the side of one of the eyeglass rims, slowly turning the disc implanted there. Through the lenses, the stars, and even the moon, moved as she wheeled it, as if she were controlling time itself. "Incredible!" Taking off the glasses, she inspected them more closely. "This is some clever magnification. And light redirection, I guess. I can’t even begin to imagine the time this took to calibrate!" And they were off. First covering the how’s of Gannon’s magnificent eyeglasses, then the where’s of the eclipse to come. Before long they had moved on to other subjects... ... … Sauvanien lay on the platform now, still mesmerised by the stars. Gannon paced nearby, tweaking the settings on his eyeglasses. Sauvanien continued. "The songs from home are, as you say sir, sorrowful, for the most part. And until recently I never understood why that was. I mean, yes, there is sorrow in the world, but shouldn’t it be the gay moments that are sung aloud in celebration?" Sauvanien took a breath, thinking of home. Sighing, she sat up to look over at the dotted lights of Myth Drannor, and wondered if Miruviel was down there. "Now I understand why the sad songs persist... She looked at Gannon once more. "If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what do you think it is that makes a note sound sad, or a progression of chords sound joyful?" She had probed him with a dozen such questions already, but his responses seemed to suggest that he didn’t mind… ... … Sauvanien whispered… "So that is what I meant by clarity, sir. Do you hear how it is more clear when the copper is spun like a spring, rather than straightened out like a needle?" Gannon, who now sat on the rosewood bench several levels below Sauvanien, replied, and the elf heard his voice whispering in her own head. "Yes, yes… quite the improvement, no doubt. And you understand why that is, don’t you? That lucidity?" His voice, of course, was as if he had been seated right next to her, whereas hers, she knew, was still crackly and imperfect despite her best efforts. Sauvanien waited for a moment, thinking. She twisted and straightened the length of copper between her fingers as she considered the question. "It is because of how sound propagates. The copper relays the information to where I want it to go, but some of it is lost… somewhere. Looping the copper helps to retain the information." She nodded, satisfied that she had solved the puzzle. She enjoyed the mental workout - it had been so long since she had turned her mind to her studies, so focussed had she been on finding Miruviel. Gannon’s voice sounded once more. "Interesting answer. And you are right, in a way. But not altogether correct, as it were." Sauvanien’s face furrowed in frustration and confusion. She hated being wrong. "You see, the copper in fact acts as..." ... … With the eclipse behind them, and the chill of the night taking hold, the green elf and the ageing wizard stood facing one another against the deep blue backdrop of the night. Gannon extended a hand. "It has been a pleasure, Sauvanien. Not many have the patience to gaze starward." Sauvanien took the old man’s hand and felt the lines of decades scratched upon them. "Thank you for showing me the eyeglasses, sir. And for explaining how the copper works. And… well there were many things. Thank you." Gannon watched her for a moment, not saying anything. He released her hand. "There is a joviality in your eyes, Sauvanien Miritar, but it is buried deep. I hope that you can free it. You are a bright elf, and so I believe that we will meet again. Fare well, and remember-!" He leaned in conspiratorially. "-you never heard it from me that Cavarubios is a boring old toad." He turned away, and began to descend the tower without a hint of stiffness or fatigue. And for the first time since Miruviel’s exile, Sauvanien smiled from her heart. The election festival had promised crowds, and though that made Sauvanien extremely uncomfortable, it also promised people. And people talked. Surely someone would have seen sign of the young green elf boy that had come to the city. The festivities themselves were more confusing than entertaining to Sauvanien; why anyone would want to put fire in their mouth was something that she would never understand. On the penultimate evening, having seen or heard nothing of Miruviel, Sauvanien was dispirited to the point where she almost never attended the night’s festivities. But the possibility of spotting Miruviel's shining brooch within the crowds was all too tempting, albeit seemingly hopeless. She attended all the same. She noticed that there was a barely contained anxiety amongst the younger folk gathered. By comparison, those lucky few that had already been appointed to mentors seemed relaxed and carefree. Tomorrow would be a big day for the hopeful candidates. A chance of a new life, a new profession. Sauvanien idly wondered which of the rich noble’s sons from her class Gannon would pick were he to take part in the apprenticeship programme. He had intimated to her before that he was not interested in the idea, so he doubted he would. Still, the crowd seemed hopeful, and whispers rumoured that the Knight Prince himself would be among those taking on apprentices. After completing a cursory scout of the festival grounds, Sauvanien slumped down against the bole of one of the few trees in the castle grounds. It was a thin bond with her homeland, but a connection all the same. Bark and leaf let off a feeble aroma that reminded the young elf of climbing in the trees back home, but the effect was spoiled by the suffocating wafts of crackling firewood and spilt ale. Her chosen seat offered a poor view of proceedings, but she didn’t care much for them anyway. It was Miruviel that filled her thoughts; running with him along the maple boughs, hiding amongst the canopy leaves… A glint of firelight coppered silver caught her eye. A figure was weaving amongst the crowd nearby, a cloak of green drawn up overhead, secured by a silver leaf brooch. She was amongst the crowd before she even remembered standing up. It was Miruviel. It had to be. It… It was the thief. Sauvanien spotted her feigning a stumble and falling into a young man. She came away with a pouch of coin in hand, and slipped away further into the crowd. Sauvanien followed, trying to determine the best way to proceed. She did not relish an open confrontation, not after how the last one went. She considered a simple trick that she had learned in one of Gannon’s classes, and ran through the steps required as she followed. The thief was nearing the edge of the crowd, and the safety of the darker streets beyond. Sauvanien, heart thumping at the prospect of casting the spell for something other than a demonstration in class, held forth her hand, palm facing the ember mote sky. She set her fingers in the appropriate positions, then slowly drew her thumb and middle finger together, all the while speaking the relevant incantation. Her fingers trembled from the effort, and her words melded together a little too slickly. She was surprised therefore when the spectral outline of a hand materialised before her, a mirror image on top of her own. The thief had made further progress and was hurrying away from the crowds now. Taking a breath, Sauvanien willed the hand forward, and tried to focus on maintaining the shape and substance of the conjured assistant. She could see its outline was frail, and it kept getting blown gently apart by the breeze. As people swelled around her, Sauvanien held forth her own hand, imitating the desired pose of the conjuration, willing it to remain whole. As it moved forward she likened the sensation to pushing a spoon through a thick batter. Her arm strained to maintain the direction and elevation. In the back of her mind, Gannon's words echoed something about the conservation of arcane energy. Eventually the hand reached the thief, and Sauvanien directed it to reach for the brooch. Closing her eyes she concentrated, manipulating the fingers to undo the mechanism. Sweat broke out on her brow. She felt the fastening needle loosen, and made a grab for the brooch. But there was nothing. The thief had moved beyond the range of the spell, and the spectral hand had dissipated up into the smoke of a torch. Her brooch disappeared down an alley and out of sight. Alternate Mentors Gronlim Merith version Cavarubios

Wip

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock The sudden appearance of radiant fire by the creature has Bellamy hoping that this will be over quickly, that it will burn like summer twigs. But of course not. Its erratic jerky movements only shovel more fear into his gut. He squeezes his knife tighter, his hand numb from the action. He flinches as bolts whislte by him, and stumbles on when he sees that they have struck the beast. Some instinct tells him to move, to close the distance and cut the thing's throat while it is reeling. He is already by it by the time regret hits. His mind can't fathom the smell, the scratchy breaths. It is all too much. He strikes out blindly, quite literally as his eyes are closed. He feels nothing, no resistance as his blade misses but quite a way. A distant part of him is relieved that he has not touched it.

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock Bellamy limped along, carried by the determined throng of his fellow townsfolk. He did not like these people, for the most part, but most had his respect. So the group gave him some reassurance, that someone might know what to do when they eventually caught up with the thing they were hunting. Because he certainly did not. Forfar bounded on ahead, with energy rarely seen in his later years. Bellamy feared for his companion, getting too far away from the others, and had to whistle him back a time or two. As they reached the edge of the town and got closer to the forest, he pulled out his dagger. It was little more than a knife, an oft sharpened tool of his profession. But it was better than nothing. He feared he would have to use it. He limped on. He wasn't looking far ahead when the creature was spotted, just worrying about each step. The rising slope up to the forest edge was proving difficult on his old legs and out of practice lungs. He nearly bumped into the back of Hektor, as the group halted suddenly. The screech told him that he would die that day. Nothing could make that noise and not scythe through the lot of them, he was sure of it. But something in Forfar's growl, an act of defiance almost as shocking as the creature's vile appearance, made Bellmay clutch his dagger tight. “That's it.” It was obvious, but felt it had to be said. “That's what's been in your ravens, what's been in our houses!” He raised his arm and pointed with his dagger. Its blade wobbled. “Move together.” His throat was dry. He wanted to move anywhere but towards the beast, but if they stayed together, maybe they would have a chance. Besides, that thing had tried to get Belluin. He stepped forward, up beside his Forfar, and hoped others would step with him.

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock Bellamy was glad to be out of the house, and it wasn't just because of the smell. Something else he couldn't put his finger on. Once outside, he kneeled and rested his hand on Belluin's shoulder, as intimate a gesture as he'd had with his sister in decades. “No need to be sorry.” He was frustrated too, that she hadn't seen anything solid that could help them get to the bottom of this. But perhaps… “Did you notice the smell? It's like a rat’s rear end in there.” The question from Viktor hung in the air, with nobody ready with an answer. He recalled his (short) time in military duty, how a superior always made the call. He had been trained to follow, not lead. But his mind was settling on a course of action, even as Hektor suggested it. He looked to Viktor - “He's right. There's little else to go on. Let's be after the beast, 'fore it gets to anyone else. Forfar, stay close. Belluin - you'll know yourself if you're up to it, but I'd say you come with us. If you can?” He rose, and offered her his hand to get upright. Even as he did so, he was looking down the road in the direction of the latest scream. The last direction he wanted to be heading in a hurry. His stomach growled, and his arm itched.

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock Bellamy was not the first to his sister’s side, but he made it there eventually. The shock of seeing her in such a state, and the relief that she was still standing, fogged the reality of his physical incompetence - he was struggling. But he nodded to Sheshi’s command, not thinking twice about the swiftness with which he followed this human’s request. He hesitated only slightly, a flesh hand on the door handle, a stone hand itching like a bag of nits. But he saw Hektor working his way around the other side, the larger fellow’s directness giving him confidence enough to open the door. The smell had him raising his collar to cover his nose and mouth. Squinting, he proceeded. He was initially surprised at how mundane it all looked - the table he had sat at just minutes before, his porridge plate still on the side. He pointed for Forfar, who had followed him in, to check the back rooms. The fact that he was not growling immediately told him that in all likelihood, the place was empty. He saw Hektor enter, and croaked at him. “Any sign of anything? Just seems she leapt out of the blasted window for nothing!” He knew that his sister would be the last to do such a thing unprovoked, but his head thumped at the absurdness of it, so it manifested in frustration.

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock Bellamy met Viktor’s eye, the two acknowledging their agreement, but the seriousness etched on the young man’s face meant the dwarf had to look away. He had always held a quiet respect for the woodsman. This news disturbs him, and so it should disturb us all. In the silence that followed the mayor’s question, his arm itched. It was a deep rooted itch, inside what was once his forearm bone. He rolled his shoulder, then when that didn't work, let his useless arm hang loosely at his side. He felt Forfar nudge it gently, which eased the itch somewhat. When he first heard the shout, he did not recognise it as someone who he knew. It was only when folk started looking to him, that he realised it was Belluin. He shoved himself to his feet, his stone arm slamming on the tabletop, and his chair clattering to the ground. Forfar had to back out of the way, but soon bounded after the dwarf who was limping hurriedly for the door. If anyone saw his expression, it was not determined anger, or stoic calm. It was the fear of a brother that his sister needed him, and he might not be able to help.

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock Predictable… Bellamy missed half of what his sister said, mulling that over. Bellamy raised an eyebrow as he looked towards the window. “Viktor.” He nodded to the hunter, but turned back to the last of his tea as the younger man explained why he had come. It was as though he could just show his back to the issue, and he would have no part of it. But he knew that shirking was not on the table. They would be expecting him to help, and he would. Monster. The word didn’t fit right in Belluin’s kitchen. It didn’t belong there. Bellamy looked down at Forfar as he contemplated this, letting a sigh whistle onto the tabletop. Forfar raised his head up from his paws, as if listening. “Alright, boy. Let’s be off.” He tapped his stone arm on the table, once, twice. “See you again, Bell. Thanks. And mind those hens.” —---- Most had already gathered in the inn by the time Bellamy limped in. It was a grim business, and the mood matched. He settled into a seat and scratched at this stone arm as Macran began, Forfar curling up at his feet. The old dwarf shifted uncomfortably as Sheshi singled him out. He kept his eyes down until the attention had moved on to the next person. He looked up though as Lucredda mentioned the difficulty with reaching the spirits. Though not something he put much time into himself, it was a concern nonetheless. He had lived in Hearth long enough to know the power of the natural world, and the spirits that held sway over the place. “Lucredda is right. We can’t be having everyone and their granny out and about. If its needing done, it needs done right.” He paused a moment, and he sighed. “A predator like that needs hunted.” He avoided meeting anyone’s eyes.

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock   Bellamy is distracted as he talks with his sister. She is leaving town. His last real family, a handful of weeks away from moving on. Where had the time gone? Never enough time… She surprises him with the directness of the question. He raises his stone arm at her, as if she'd forgotten about it. "Bah! Not much use for anything else, is it? Besides. Is that so bad? Animals are simple, uncomplicated. That's what The Hearth has for me. It's predictable." Even as he said it, the rookery scene from the night before flashed back to him, and he fell silent… He glanced up at Belluin, and knew that he hid his unease poorly. "Forfar is settled too. Wouldn't want to put him through the upheaval of flitting. What about you? Are you set on your course?"

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock   Bellamy's sigh of relief is audible when he sees Belluin through the window. He would not be able to explain why he was walking faster than his usual amble, but his heartbeat was skipping by the time he reached his sister's house. He reached out for the windowsill as she greeted him, the grip of his good hand stopping the shaking. "Pleasant? I wouldn't go that far. Smells pleasant enough in there though, so aye." And he stepped inside. He shuffled awkwardly to the dining table, where a central pot of oat porridge waited by a pair of bowls and spoons, and bowls of honey, ham and milk. Given that she lived alone, this should have been noteworthy, perhaps even worth raising with his sister. But it didn't register as unusual until later. He opted to stand, his stone arm resting across the back of a chair. His stomach grumbled, but he barely noticed. Forfar stretched out across the front of the hearth, his usual spot (if infrequent visits could warrant such a description). Bellamy knew he ought not to reveal all to Belluin; he didn't want to scare her. But all the same, he wanted her to know something was afoot. "There was an… incident out at Redgrove's, yester's eve. I'll no burden you with the details but… I wanted to make sure all was well out here. Keep your hens cooped today." He added the last after a moment's pause, not meeting her eyes. From what he saw at Hektor's, a coop wouldn't be enough, but he didn't know what else to advise. He cleared his throat, tapped his stone arm on the chair. "You heard anything of the Crier's Cross news then, as light as it was? I didn't see you down at Pine's." He didn't pry further with regards her absence, but would briefly update her on the little nuggets on gossip that were worth sharing. "... and Trenton's hogs're fine." He didn't elaborate on that encounter.    

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock The morning found Bellamy awake already, smoke curling up from a pipe long gone dark. His arm had been an irritant all night, pushing deep sleep further and further away until he had eventually resigned himself to staring at his ceiling. He had decided that he'd make his way around some of his closer clients, see if any one else had had any odd encounters, or had seen anything. Bellamy was not quite able to believe his recollection of the scene. He passed by Hektor's place on his way into town, but his neighbour had already left. The rookery was as they had seen it the previous night - the morning light did little to reveal the contents of the shed. The interior seemed to cling onto the darkness. He caught a whiff of the smell, which also had not lessened. Forfar kept his distance, waiting for the old dwarf by the roadside, whining gently. Scratching at his arm and shaking his head, Bellamy finally turned away. Though Forfar was keen to be on his way, Bellamy looked back more than once. Something about the rookery disturbed him, but he couldn't put a finger on what it was.  

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock The walk home, even with all its familiarity, was not a comfortable one for Bellamy. The encounter with Trenton had shoved him into grumpy, and he replayed the conversation searching for hidden meaning behind his nephew’s words. The turd on top was Hektor’s closeness. They kept a cart’s length between them as they walked, an unspoken agreed distance. Still, he wanted solitude. Bellamy marched ahead, and most likely Hektor had to check his step lest he catch up to the old dwarf. Forfar loped at Bellamy’s heel. It was enough excitement for the day.  Home and bed. And onto the next morn. Hektor’s voice stopped him. His neighbour usually bid him good eve in situations like this, but something about his tone was off. “What’s that now?” He cocked an ear, then turned when no response was forthcoming. He saw Hektor making his careful way up the side path.  Bellamy waved him off at first, and continued up the road. Near the crest of the hill, he glanced back at his neighbour. It was only then that he saw the swinging door. Something about the hesitation with which Hektor approached his own rookery troubled Bellamy.  Forfar sniffed the air, then padded about on the road, sniffed again. Death was on the night air. The wrongness of it stung his nose. He went no closer. Hektor heard a voice from behind him. “What in the Seven Trenches… what’s done this, Hektor?” Bellamy stood behind his neighbour, close enough to see that the black mass inside was blood and feathers. Close enough.    

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock Pierro's comments on Trenton niggled away in Bellamy's mind as the evening wore on. More than once he made up his mind to draw a line under the night and head for home. And yet he remained. And Pierro would get his unspoken wish. It started with a yelp. A big fellow had trodden on Forfar's tail. An accident bound to happen when a dog as big as Forfar sits in a busy bar. It was a yelp of surprise as much as anything, but Bellamy was on his feet before the burley lad had even turned to apologise. The sour ale had clouded his senses just enough to bypass the rational part of his mind. "Watch where you put those clown feet of yours 'fore I-" But he was cut-off. He had risen too quickly, and stumbled away from the table, knocking into Jillian Pine as she passed by. A tray of half empty plates of crayfish salad, and mugs of warm dregs, all clattered out of her hands. Bellamy rose, breathing raggedly. He had a shooting pain down one side, and a hammering headache. It wasn't helped by the image of Trenton picking chunks of crayfish out of his wet beard. Bellamy sighed, fingering his temples and holding a hand out towards his nephew. "Trenton. Larent." He didn't hide the sigh from his voice - it was pretty clear that he didn't want to be there. "You eh… Trenton, you got a bit of crayfish in your mustache." He gestured towards the younger dwarf's face. Regaining his composure somewhat, he drew himself up. "So anyway, how's the sows? Heard you'd gotten a good litter this year." It's all he knew to talk about, and he knew it sounded ridiculous. He glanced at his nephew from time to time, but mostly was looking back over at Forfar, and to see if the big lad looked like he would be up for a scramble.    

Bellamy "Ames" Woodcock Bellamy gives a twitch of the eyebrow to acknowledge the offered light, and fishes a long pipe from his sleeve. He fiddles with the pipeweed, a well practiced ritual. When ready, he holds it out for a light from Pierro. With Pierro's response, he offers an "Mmhmm" or a point of his pipe to continue the conversation. About Pierro's children he nods. "Aye, better off out of that nonsense for as long as possible." Bellamy noticed the outlander Sa'Sasril descend the stairs, and watched her carefully from the corner of his eye. Folks like her just didn't sit well with the old dwarf. They weren't right for Hearth. He noticed that she sat next to Hektor - he chewed on the end of his pipe as he considered that arrangement of folks. He had the wisdom to keep his thoughts to himself. Olivarth's news was watched through pinched eyes and pipe smoke puffs. The acrid weed smoke helped to mask the kitchen smell, but it always seem to sting his eyes, especially when smoked indoors. He gave an audible "Pah!" at the recruitment news, then muttered to himself. "Waste of time." It was a statement that suggested imminent departure, but he showed no signs of making such a move. Forfar nuzzled his knee, sensing agitation. There is a distinct straightening of his back when Trenton enters. He isn't even conscious of the shift. His attention is suddenly on Forfar, who just had to be petted as Trenton went by. He misses the attempted interaction from his nephew. The last scraps of news mean as little to Bellamy as the first did. The new farm could be a client in the future if they kept a draft horse or two, but it would most likely be serviced from Crier's Cross. He could see why Pierro would take no news as good news, but Bellamy was surprised to realise that he had been expecting more. He couldn't put his finger on why. He can put his finger on why he doesn't have any interest in approaching Trenton. Pierro tries this every so often, this subtle persuasion. It would anger Bellamy if he didn't admit that there was sense in it. And yet… "Not tonight, eh Pierro? As you say, a bit busy." He was glad of the excuse of eating, and thoroughly enjoyed Susanna's honey mutton. Forfar's sorry-looking stare from beneath the table earned him the last bite, otherwise the dwarf would have eaten the lot himself.