Leaning against the wall outside the bar’s entrance, I looked out into the village and gazed at various familiar sights from my childhood. From the large, imposing temple that sat at the far end of one wall on its lonesome to the far more grandiose and homier Asha household longhouse, the sights brought back pleasant memories. As my eyes scanned over the village, however, they strictly avoided the large, flat area near its center where I knew the ashes of the funeral pyre were. Eventually, I heard as the bar’s door swung open and turned to see Alketas wearing a different outfit composed of a dark blue gambeson, leather greaves and bracers, and a sword in its scabbard at his side. His outfit was one far more fitting for a soldier or merchant guard and my surprise must have shown, because as he noticed me, he asked simply, “What?”
“You... you own a sword?” I asked, failing spectacularly at hiding my amazement.
“Yes,” he said in a confused tone, “Have you not seen it hanging on the wall?”
“Well, yes but—”
“But?” he asked with an eye raised.
“But swords are exceptionally rare and I suppose I’d assumed they were fakes.”
“Well then,” looking down at his hip, he withdrew the sword partially from its scabbard to reveal a magnificently shining blade before quickly replacing it, “Now you know it’s real. So, where are we off too? What are we doing?”
“I’m not sure,” I confessed, sheepishly looking at him as disappointment crossed his eyes, “I was actually hoping you would know who to ask on next.”
“I thought this was your boulder,” he replied, smirking.
“It is, yet I’ve been away for some time,” I countered, “And you’ve been here for the duration. I thought you would have an idea of where to begin.”
There was a pause as Alketas stopped and considered my statement. Then, after a few moments, he spoke.
“We might start by speaking with one of the other heads of household. The Dag house might be a good start. They’re agreeable folk and they’re one of the newest to Losthome. Might not have as much stake in the town’s conflicts to care about keeping information hidden.”
“Then to the Dags it is.”
Quickly, we made our way to the Dag family house which was rather small, being still quite a new building compared to much of the others in Losthome, and was surrounded by several large tents due to the house’s size not fitting quite all of its members. A foundation to the right of the current Dag home was being worked on and, as Al and I approached, a few of the workers stopped to look at our approach. One of them—a tall, well-built man of middle age with long, braided blonde hair and striking blue eyes even at a distance—called out to the others to pause and made his way towards us.
“That’s Hrodric Dag,” Al whispered to me, “One of the heads of the—”
“I know who it is,” I interrupted, elbowing him.
“You two!” Hrodric called out, gesturing to the both of us to come forward. He smiled in a familiar, kind way and nodded to the two of us, “Hello Alketas, and Laere!” he paused to shake our hands courteously, “What an odd pair to be going about the town together. Have you need of anything?”
“Yes, actually,” I said, stepping forward, “I actually wanted to speak with you and ask about…recent events. Seeing as I’ve been gone for so long, as I’m sure you know.”
“Certainly,” he said, his smile widening, “I would gladly have a conversation with a fellow. I’m certain some of the children wouldn’t mind asking after you, too. Likely some of them will want to show off on how they’ve fared in their learnings! Jesmelda’s particularly bright. Apparently, she’s read all of the books you lent her twice by now!” he laughed proudly and I found myself joining in as well, “Here, I can fetch her if you’d like. I’m sure she’d enjoy it—”
“Actually,” Al interrupted, “We were hoping to speak to the heads of household first.”
Realization striking me, I quickly agreed, “Yes, indeed. I need to speak on serious matters first. Perhaps after I can visit with the others.”
Hrodric hummed briefly, then nodded. “Certainly,” he said, “I will fetch Anés, then we will speak with you in the house. You may go there first, Anés and I will join you shortly.”
Agreeing, Al and I made our way into the house, passing a few people as we did who stopped me to chat briefly until Al told them to speak with me after. Eventually, we entered the small house which was built very similarly to my old home, though it was slightly more clustered. We sat down on a bench next to the firepit and waited for a few minutes until we heard the door open behind us. Turning, we saw as Hrodric entered with his wife, Anés, by his side. Anés was very different to Hrodric in her apearence, having hazel-brown skin and black hair which she wore in a tight bun. She was dressed in a manner very similar to Al yet, unlike Al, she had two daggers at her side and a bow slung over her shoulders instead of a sword and scabbard.
“So,” she said, removing herself from Hrodric’s side and sitting across from Al and me, “It’s my understanding you wanted to talk.”
[Compel
Challenge Dice: 4, 5; Action Die: 4 +2heart +1
Strong Hit: +2 Momentum]
[Gather Information
Challege Dice: 1, 6; Action Die: 3 +3wit +1
Strong Hit: +2 Momentum]
I looked around the house and out the window looking out into the extension of the house still under construction. Taking inspiration, I began to speak: “The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank / or beam,” I began to recite, smiling genuinely as I did, “The mason singing his, as he / makes ready for work, / or leaves off work, / The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's, on his way / in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at / sundown—”
“The day what belongs to the day—at night, / the / party of young fellows, robust, friendly,” Anés interrupted, continuing the poem, “Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious / songs.”
“You know the poem?” I asked enthusiastically, unable to hold back my excitement.
“Of course,” she said, smiling pleasantly and clasping her hand on Hrodric’s, who now sat beside her, “The children became obsessed with that poem not long after you introduced it to them. After you left, they kept wishing to hear it again so I asked Haf to write it down for me to memorize,” she laughed openly and I found myself following suit. Meanwhile, Hrodric smiled as he watched the two of us and Al looked between us like we were mad, “Works wonders as a way to put the kids to bed. Now, would you like to explain why you made all of this fuss of seriousness only to open conversation with a poem?”
“Yes, sorry about that,” I blushed, hearing Al chuckle beside me, “It’s just that your family reminded me of the poem so much that I felt like I had to say it. Your household is one of the newest to the village, and yet it feels as though you’ve been here longer than any of the rest of us. You have truly made this your home, and I can’t help but take inspiration from that.”
Anés and Hrodric turned to look at each other, smiling lovingly and pecking each other on the lips.
“That we have,” Hrodric said as he stroked Anés’s cheek. As I was lost in their romance, I heard as Al loudly cleared his throat and brought all parties back to the task at hand.
“Right,” I said, glancing at Al and saying a quick, “Sorry.” Clearing my throat as well, I got back to the task at hand, “The reason why I am here is because I heard Haf, my father, spoke with all of the heads of household in Losthome after the death of my mother, the village overseer. I wanted to ask you two a question: What did he tell you all? I would ask my father myself, but…” I paused, remembering how my father had thrown the pouch I had retrieved back into the firepit, “I’m afraid he will not tell me.”
“What do you know already?” Hrodric asked, obviously concerned.
“I know that my father doesn’t believe my mother had the plague of old. He said others would have gotten sick otherwise. Beyond that,” I shrugged, “I only know what Al’s heard.”
“And what is that?” Anés asked, looking to Al.
“Not much else, I’m afraid,” he responded, “Only really the basics: Her symptoms, the village’s reaction when she started getting worse, and the fact that Haf checked her body when she died and reported it to the heads of the houses.”
Anés and Hrodric looked between each other, concern overtaking both of their expressions. After a few moments, Anés spoke.
“Haf did give us information,” she started, yet she hesitated, “Haf is a good man, really. You know that—”
“Dear,” Hrodric interrupted, placing a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, “I think it’s best to tell him.”
“Tell me what?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Laere, the foremost thing Haf explained to us was that Overseer Jelma had been in a great amount of pain. Near the end, that is. He explained that she was convinced she had the old plague. She was one of the oldest of us, after all. She’d seen it first-hand. She was convinced that if she got any worse, she might cause…harm to the rest of us.”
“What does that mean?” I questioned.
“None of us were sure—Haf included,” Hrodric answered, “But Jelma, she was convicted to her gut feeling and, according to Haf, was not entirely wrong. The last few days, along with the excruciating pain, her personality apparently turned sour. She would curse at Haf, throwing objects and the like. Then, soon after, she would come back to her senses and tell Haf it was ‘happening faster’ than she thought.”
“So,” Anés picked up, “Haf told us Jelma hatched a plan. Haf…he told us and two other houses of this plan first.”
There was a pause that quickly filled the room with silence.
“What was the plan?” I asked, feeling a lump in my throat threatening my composure.
Anés continued in a now more hushed tone, “Haf asked the three of our houses to help him move Jelma to the temple…as though she were dead.”
“You mean—” I began to say, before I was sharply halted.
“Before we get your hopes up,” Hrodric interrupted, “No. Jelma is not still alive. I’m sorry.”
I stopped, bowing my head and nodding solemnly. As I did, Anés continued.
“Haf explained that he wanted us to take Jelma to the temple for her final rites where they would then…”
“What do you mean?”
“You have to understand—”
“What happened!” I stood and, as I did, Alketas gripped onto my arm and shook his head. Gradually, I sat back down and continued to listen.
“Jelma was in a great amount of pain,” Hrodric said, looking at me sympathetically and in the way a father might, “I saw it myself. I was one of the two who took her—draped in the cloth of the dead—to the temple. She was sweating from fever and in anguish. In order to conceal her voice, the Desht and Themon household heads acted as though they were arguing over who the next overseer would be. Caused quite a scene. Enough to conceal Jelma. Once she was at the temple…we left. Haf announced her death not long after and stated that he would examine her body. But…”
Another silent pause ensued. This time I remained quiet, yet my gaze became piercingly cold.
“What he was doing was entirely different,” Anés explained, “I knew of baneberries that were growing not far from Losthome and the Desht family has been growing a variety of flowers with certain…properties for decades. Haf, he combined them and created a tea for Jelma to drink. He wanted it to be in the temple so he could say a few prayers and to keep as close an eye on her as he could.”
“And,” I said, tears beginning to roll down my face without even realizing it, “Did she- how did she—”
“Peacefully,” Hrodric answered, “Haf explained afterwards to all of the heads of the households that she fell asleep before she passed. Apparently, the tea did its job of making it painless quite well. Before she said her final words, Haf said Jelma thought the concoction was sickeningly sweet.”
“And her last words?” I asked desperately, “What were they?”
The pair glanced at each other, then back to me with sad eyes.
“I think it would be best if Haf told you that himself,” Hrodric said as Anés nodded in agreement.
Wiping my eyes, I nodded in somewhat reluctant agreement. The pair stood and Alketas and I followed. As we began to go about our way, however, I asked a final question.
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Any other lead to follow?”
“Yes,” Anés said earnestly, “You ought to speak with the head of the Themon family. He might have further information for you that could be useful.”
As Alketas and I began to leave, Hrodric stopped us again briefly, saying, “And Laere. Feel free to stop by our household anytime. I know the children would greatly appreciate it.”
[Reach a Milestone
Formidable quest: Mark 1 Progress]
I nodded in agreement and, exiting the house, began to walk quickly towards my old home. As I came close to it, however, Alketas stopped me.
[Forge a Bond
Challenge Dice: 5, 5; Action Die: 2 +2heart +1; Use Momentum, +10 > 5
Strong Hit: Complication, Reset Momentum, +2 Momentum]
“Laere,” he said, gripping my wrist and halting me in my tracks.
“I like a look of Agony,” I began to say, not really knowing what it was I spoke of, “Because I know it’s true— / Men do not sham Convulsion, / Nor simulate a Throe—”
“Laere,” Al repeated, his worry clearly growing.
“The Eyes glaze once—and that is Death— /Impossible to feign / The Beads upon the Forehead / By homely Anguish strung.”
I grew silent, standing in place with my eyes downcast and my wrist still in Al’s grip. Neither of us spoke for a moment until I broke the silence.
“It’s another old poem. Another manuscript I’ve collected,” I began, “Written by a woman named Emily or so. I’m not really certain. All of the pieces of books, journals, and tomes are just that: Pieces. Some days I think that perhaps that is all I will ever have,” I began to chuckle sadly, tears building in my eyes, “Pieces of story never to be put together. Fragments. Maybe it will always be like that—”
“No,” Al interrupted, his eyes shining with an empathy I hadn’t realized was possible, “One day you will have all the pieces of the story in place. It is just that…for now,” he removed his hand from my wrist to place it on my shoulder comfortingly, “You only have pieces coming from a small, old town. There is so much beyond this,” he gestured to the village around, “And you of all people should know that. You’ve traveled much of Glain’s Frostcrag. You know a world outside of this one exists.”
“That knowledge feels more like a curse,” I retorted, turning my gaze from his.
“Some days, it most certainly does,” he agreed, “But in the span of years, the ‘curse’ of knowing is far better than the ‘gift’ of ignorance.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because,” he said slyly, “The few years I have over you have informed me as such. Now, if you truly want to speak with Haf, I can join you if you wish. Regardless of which you choose, I think you should pause a moment and level yourself.”
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