“So, now hwat?”
Jarl bites back a snarl as he temporarily lays Manus down on a bench in the nearby park. He has to dust it off quickly before depositing the once again passed out mage on the assembly of wood least he incurs his wrath.
But Áesta seems unconcerned with irritating the priest.
“We find an alternative, obviously.” The holy man sighs and rubs his eyes, knowing full well that’s easier said than done. All their research material is back home—in Shantown—and clearly more that just a few months out of date. Worst yet: Hagen and Manus were, again, the actual ones reading through those brochures.
Even if an up-to-date morsel were to be had in one of them, Jarl wouldn’t know it.
The only one who would is out cold (no pun intended)… or a spell away.
~
Convincing Áesta to play lookout was harder than it should have been.
The bratty daemon seemed to think it more fitting to remind Jarl that it was nearing morning time (A.K.A.: Áesta’s feeding time) than to assist the priest in figuring out their lodging arrangements.
It took Jarl pointing out that the sooner they got Manus settled, the sooner Áesta could go clubbing.
Suffice to say, the little devil was almost angelic after that—almost.
~
The Lay Tablet is not something Jarl has ever used before.
Part of this is his obvious aversion to all things magic: he’d much rather use a telephone line than… THIS blasphemy—especially since it makes a lot more sense to him than magic waves. However, another reason would simply be the lack of experience and exposure: sure, Manus loves showing off what he’s capable of; but that doesn’t mean he’s in the habit of helping others pull off the same things he does.
He is, after all, a diva: he’d rather watch the world burn than let someone else shine.
And don’t even get Jarl started on how possessive Manus is of his stuff!
~
Thankfully, knowing how to contact Hagen through the Lay Tablet isn’t needed—not by Jarl, anyway.
Áesta, instead, is the one to set it all up. He does this in the shadow of a tree that had no real business having a shadow in the first place. Jarl still isn’t quite sure how he did it—is doing it—because the sun is rising and they’re standing behind a dead tree with bare branches and everything; and yet: no one notices them.
Sure, there aren’t any people around at this hour but there ARE animals.
And not even the grumpy owl seems to care as she watches them.
~
Áesta gets the herbs from Manus’ bag and packs them into the right places.
He fills in the bits of clay, the potion, and even the blue gemstone before giving the item back to Jarl.
“Jus’ t’ink o’ ‘im,” he instructs, like he’s talking about the weather.
If only he understood that, to Jarl, this is like controlling a storm.
~
“Vhy are vou still houtside?”
Hagen’s accent is always thicker in the morning. Phlegm accumulates in his nasal cavities while he sleeps and blocks his airways nonfatally when he first tries to speak. It’s one of the reasons he drinks so much coffee: according to him, it helps clear up his airways, sinuses, and mental fog.
Too bad he hasn’t had any yet…
“There’s a problem,” Jarl says, ignoring Áesta’s no shite. “The Inn you two selected for us is closed.”
“H-Vhat???”
“T’e place ye picked—t’e river t’ing—is decrypt an’ Handsy ain’t gonna wake up any time soon. Do some’in’.”
“Ich…?”
Alarmed and now much more awake, Hagen quickly bolts up from his bed (where he was prior to the call) and rushes over to the collection of brochures, pamphlets, and infographics that he apparently still has. Thank Fate for Hagen: The Forever Reliable. A handful of paper pieces are extracted from the pile before the doctor runs them back over so he and Jarl can sit together and go through them.
(Not that Áesta understands why; he just grumbles that it’s obviously closed fer t’e wint’r! and pouts.)
Eventually, the problem is unearthed and both caffeine addicts sigh into their palms.
“Ich am sorry… Ich forget to pick up new ones each year…”
~
Alright, so Jarl’s assumption about outdated information was correct.
That’s fine. It’s a small error and, really, there’s little chance the town has just… left this hole there.
Something always comes to fill a vacuum and a closed inn would leave one like a black hole.
So… how did Bailenac’ringy fill theirs: their Native Church.
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