Open Can you hear the bones?

[Nere Ashorn]

When one spoke of the markets of Cindersend, they usually meant the ones in the Bone Ward - the rush of purified water cooling the air, the shout of merchants and hawkers friendly and familiar like the birds that chirped in the shady vertebrae above. The stretch of market street was built within the skeleton of some ancient behemoth*, semi-permanent tents lining boardwalks built over rows of rib bones. The novelty of the Bone markets made it an attractive place for visitors wanting a moderately-priced taste of Cindersend. It was easy to find the rhythm of the Bones, even to newcomers in the city.

Nere was no newcomer, and she was having a damn hard time finding her rhythm that day. First off, she hadn't been able to find anyone willing to join her expedition through the Ardent Fields. Sure, the armonium storms were dangerous and unpredictable, and the Flamebreakers ran that whole territory, but they didn't have to laugh her out of the tavern at the mere mention of the place. She had a good reason to go--!

A dog had started to follow her out of the tavern. Down the busy boardwalk, it tapped close at her heels. It had the sand-scruffed coat of every other stray, with a narrow snout and lanky limbs. Nere stopped abruptly. The dog stopped too. She twisted in place to look at it, and it looked at her with keen dark eyes.

"I don't suppose you want to accompany me to the Ardent Fields?" Nere asked the dog. It broke eye contact with a huff, and trotted off to disapear behind a cracked column of bone. No, of course not. It was a death sentence, after all.

Defeated, Nere found the nearest open seat and plopped down into it. She found herself at a high bartop along the walkway, the steam of spices and fried noodles wafting up from the grill behind the bar. She fished out the requisite service fee for sitting in public, and then paid a few more coins for a drink.

---

*The skeleton probably belonged to a dragon, but in 480 EoU invading elves put the skull on platforms and dragged it back to one of their Northern cities as a spoil of war, so no one was quite sure anymore.

 

[Delilah Bryndel]

Defeated and distracted by the drink as she was, it was likely that Nere wouldn't notice the slight hush falling among the other patrons at the bartop. She might not notice them shuffling away, quickly paying their last fees and draining their drinks before departing. It was even possible that she wouldn't notice the server busily occupying himself with a task requiring him to turn around and move as far back from the bartop as possible.

What she certainly could not fail to notice, however, was the dry, slightly crackly voice that spoke up in her direction.

"... so this'n's the looker lookin' for trouble, eh?"

A slight turn of the head would reveal the speaker: a strange, small girl, leaning languidly against one of the support beams of an adjacent market tent, much to the unvoiced but evident alarm of its proprietor. Contrary to the implications of her jaded, harsh voice, the girl didn't look to be older than her mid-to-late teens; but then, there was much about her appearance to instantly imply this was no ordinary girl. Her skin was an odd, unliving shade of ashen porcelain, stark against the weathered raven-black of her hair and shirt, and—bizarrely—was traced by countless tiny cracks tracing outward from the empty, staring hollow where her left eye ought to be.

Once acknowledged, the eerie waif offered an irreverent smirk with dark-dyed lips, idly turning a rolled leaf of some form over in her hand before lifting it to gnaw on the end. "Well, looks like today's your lucky day, looker. Trouble's gone an' found you."

 

[Cerridwen Castille]

The markets of Cindersend were an overwhelming wash of noise, color, and spices, but Cerridwen Castille had long since learned to navigate such chaos. After years of field expeditions in the most desolate and decrepit corners of the world, where the Shroud barely clung to life, this city was almost… comforting, in a twisted sort of way. Sure, the shade was provided by way of colossal size bones, and the air was choked with heat, but it was a place where discovery and danger were always within arm’s reach. And it set her heart ablaze.

She wandered through the Bone Ward, her white gaze sweeping over the vendors, not finding much by way of friendly faces as they clocked her pale shadows under her hood. Thankfully, her tail was wrapped around her waist beneath her layers of linen and even her claws tucked away safely within thin gloves. Her hand nervously checking the bag at her hip, her collection of shroud stones for this mission safely stowed away. Yes... the less attention brought to herself, the better. For her patron had paid the guild handsomely for secrecy. And there was a bonus in it for her if she kept that end of the bargain.

Despite her efforts, the skeleton of the ancient behemoth that caged in the market was more fascinating than the wares on offer, and she found herself distracted at the end of an alleyway, tracing the massive rib bones with a finger. Perhaps Fourth Age? It had the look of something from that time—distant, half-forgotten. Cerridwen had half a mind to lick the pocked column of bone nearest to her, just to test if the structure had fossilized over the centuries. It was the sort of hands-on technique that had served her well in the field. But the thought of the odd looks she'd earn from passersby, mouths agape at the sight of her tongue touching an ancient relic, kept her from indulging in the act.

Her thoughts drifted to the journal she kept close to her chest, bound in cracked leather and filled with scrawled notes, ink stains, diagrams, and fragments of lost knowledge. Inside was the culmination of months of her research, pages pointing toward something far more valuable than the baubles and curiosities that filled the market stalls. She was after ruins, ancient and forgotten, hidden somewhere in the Ardent Fields.

The last piece of information she had gleaned had led her here, to this desolate yet flourishing city at the heart of a dying desert. Her contact had been clear— the ruins she sought lay buried in the Ardent Fields.

But getting there was no simple task.

The Flamebreakers ruled those lands with an iron fist, and the deadly armonium storms made travel treacherous at best. Cerridwen had approached several potential guides, hoping to hire someone with the knowledge to navigate the Fields, but every one of them demanded a blood price—a price Cerridwen refused to pay.

She sighed, letting her hand drop from the bone. Perhaps a mystery for another time. Her stomach, that most pesky of mundane tethers to reality, growled with impatience, reminding her that not everything in life was ancient riddles and lost ruins. Perhaps a cold ale and a hot, spiced dish of lamb and noodles would clear her head and give her some clarity on her next move. And proper time to sulk over her failed efforts thus far.

Following her nose, Cerridwen meandered through the bustling market until the rich aroma of roasted meat and exotic spices led her to a modest bar tucked away near the ribs of the giant skeleton. She spotted an empty seat at a high bartop and slid onto the stool next to a stranger, offering a brief apology for the intrusion.

"Apologies, hope I’m not disturbing you," she muttered, already distracted as she set her worn field journal on the counter with a soft thud.

The bartender didn’t need much prompting as she ordered a plate of lamb, fried noodles, and a cool drink. Her mind already drifting back to her notes as she absentmindedly flicked through the pages, tracing lines of ancient text while the savory smell of food and the distant clamor of the market buzzed in her periphery.

@Nere Ashorn

 

[Bartels]

“How long do you think he can last in there? You're mad for letting him into the guts of the thing! It's all kinds of delicate stuff in there! This isn't protocol. Not at all.”

A shake of the head of someone who clearly knew anything about frohoggin as they both peered at the maintenance entrance, a firmly heavy chamber door lined with magitech instructions and mechanical leverage compulsions. Behind it was a thin sliver of a room, with firmer doors beyond it to maintain pressures and balances. Not even the two engineers knew how much water passed through it, being rudimentary in their responsibilities and training. They passed a poorly rolled cigarette between themselves, eyes to the door, inhaling smoke and exhaling words.

“Relax. He's a frohoggin so he can last just fine. And it might not be protocol, but as I keep telling you, we can't let it go down again this month. We've been lucky we've only had faults at night so far. This way is less risky than creating a bypass, and much quicker than draining it to go in ourselves. Everyone needs us to fight the heat. Just wait. You'll see. He'll get to the problem.”

“I'd be amazed if he doesn't ruin something in there.”

“If he does, it was your idea to let him in.”

The two engineers passed a cigarette between them, staring at the access door as they burned the minutes.

Two more cigarettes passed between them and much chuntering as they waited.

Another cigarette and further waiting.

And then-

A low rumble of gears turning and chains being pulled, never designed to be used by anyone whilst in the water itself as the one who had entered the waterworks made their exit of the cramped and dangerous internal workings of the pump system. The series of doors were navigated, each barrier removed and replaced, as the engineers had instructed the one who had entered so.

“See, told you. He even remembered to lock the third shunt on his way back, like I told him.”

The outer most door did rumble now, and in a short sequence of doors sealing by grinding gear, chains and magitech authority, was the door the two engineers stared towards opened.

Before them with a wide contented grin, slick with fresh waters that were not yet purified and cooled, hands clasped about a two foot crystalline shard that seemed more akin to a pale green sponge than of rock, the frohoggin stepped back into the world of air and walking. Striding out, water dripping onto the sands as it fell from pale plates of armour and clung to pale blue frohoggin skin. Yellow and black eyes did blink slowly as the air was adjusted to, and a cheery report followed.

“Gentlemen, I'm pleased to inform you that I have found the source of contention!”

The crystalline object was handed to the one who had given him permission to enter, a pleased hum provided by Bartels as he did so.

“What, uh, what is it?” the engineer did say, looking at the foreign object in puzzlement.

“Haven't the foggiest,” the frohoggin did say, “but I do know it was as a limpet gripping and a choking weed clogging. But I did shuck it all the same!”

Bartels detected his words weren't being understood, and ran a hand across his smooth head as he addressed his short fall in communication. All the excitement of being surrounded by water had brought back memories of more carefree days of home, instead of all his sand and heat.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, what I mean to say is, it had a great deal of power to it's grip on a particular viaduct. It was blocking an artery of this fine engineering. It is removed friends. So there's no need to shut down the system as you were rather spiritedly discussing as I walked by.”

A sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Bartels, was it?” the smarter of the two engineers said as he pawned off the odd object that had been removed from the system to the other, fearing it might grow too attached. The other looked at it dumbly. “Not sure how we're gunna to explain how this was found, but all the higher ups care for is that it's fixed. Lemme me give you something for the trouble. It aint much but,”

A shake of both hands in declining by the Lilypad Knight, a small croak of amusement.

“Oh no need no need, a trifle, a mere trifle. Indeed a pleasant dip, most welcome in fact. I'm just glad to be of assistance to the city and it's hard working people who keep the infrastructure tip top! Might I suggest taking that object post haste to someone who might know what it be. I don't want to suggest sabotage, but, well, that sort of object be awful peculiar I do think. But that's well, I best leave it to the wisdoms of your department.”

A nod as the word sabotage did hurry the team of two to return to work, quick and further thank yous and goodbyes provided.

Bartels did breathe in deep of the heated air and adjust their armour, head held sure and level as he did make his way, content that he had made a small difference and of course, in good spirits that he had been submersed in water so deep for so long.

Time for a good meal and a sit down, Bartels did think, and made his way with proud wide gait to the place near the ribs of a great being long deceased, where the hustle and bustle of hungry patrons quickly slaking their thirsts was joined. All hint of his recent submerged troubleshooting was near gone, by happenstance and considerations. Wouldn't do to sit down and sodden the place, Bartels did think, most improper a behaviour indeed.

A seat found and rest embraced, a quick polite order made to host that did ask of him his vittel request, hands resting on rotund belly and ears did that listen to the hubbub of socialising folk. A slight frown as the word 'trouble' did rise to the air, ears keenly listening for any sign of it to follow, eyes looking for noodles to arrive to his sate his empty stomach.

 

[Nere Ashorn]

A sticky glass of beer was set in front of Nere. If she had not been so down on herself, she would have noticed it was a special of the local ward, brewed with mint leaves and pepper. The delicate and refreshing flavor was lost on her. She only dragged it closer to her chest as a cloaked figure sat aslant of her. Cloaked figures weren't all that uncommon of a sight in Cindersend. She didn't notice that either.

"Apologies, hope I’m not disturbing you," she muttered, already distracted as she set her worn field journal on the counter with a soft thud.

"Not a bother at all," Nere responded. She wiped the frustrated look off her face. No need to bring strangers into her mess, when all they wanted was a hot meal.

"... so this'n's the looker lookin' for trouble, eh? Well, looks like today's your lucky day, looker. Trouble's gone an' found you."

When Nere looked for the owner of the voice, the boardwalk was crowded with passersby. She didn't see them right away. Standing up tense, she stepped away. The crowd cleared and Nere saw her - a young girl with a half-gaze, the irreverence about her speaking of danger. Somebody walking around with that dark of a demeanor, had to be part of one of the big Houses. A striker from Saerce, or maybe one of the Shrouded... if rumors had already reached that high up, the situation was right cooked.

Nere's brief commitment to keeping her own business her own crumbled in the face of the peculiar girl. She blubbered, eyes going soggy. "I'm not looking for trouble, I'm trying to fix it! Listen, you tell Elion - or whoever else you work for - that I'm going to get his precious artifact back. He just needs to wait a bit longer--"

Nere swallowed. Wrong thing to say. Better back-track. "No trouble," she repeated. "Just a quick little jaunt through the Ardent Fields, and everything will be right back where it's supposed to be."

@Cerridwen Castille @Bartels @Delilah Bryndel

 

[Delilah Bryndel]

Nere swallowed. Wrong thing to say. Better back-track. "No trouble," she repeated. "Just a quick little jaunt through the Ardent Fields, and everything will be right back where it's supposed to be."

The strange, scrawny girl sniffed with irreverent disdain, twirling the rolled leaf in her fingers. "Oh, relax. I don't work for any o'those arses." A faint violet flicker flashed in the hollow of her empty eye—there and gone again in a flash, so soon it was hard to tell if it was ever even there to begin with; a moment later, a faint spiral of lavender smoke began to swirl upwards from the roll. "Might wanna keep what you're doin' a bit more t'yourself, though. Glass gets wind you're fetchin' somethin' from the Fields, an' you'll be hearin' the Rake's laughter at your back 'fore you know it."

Pausing, she took a pull from the roll, before blowing a smoke ring at Nere with idle expertise. With it came a distinctively cloying, heady odor not unlike that of rotting fruit—the signature reek of dried witherbalm. That smell would cling irremovably to whatever it touched for days. In the wake of the ring, she herself finally straightened—coming to a full height still a few inches shy of five feet—and stepped forward after it.

". . . 'course, if you're so desp'rate ... sure's sure, y'need a guide o'some form, eh? Mayhaps a few trustworthy venturers alongside? That is what ye've been stirrin' the Bones askin' for these last few hours, aye?" A dry smirk implied she already knew the answer to her own query.

@Cerridwen Castille @Bartels @Nere Ashorn

 

[Cerridwen Castille]

The Devahni had been halfway through a gulp of her spiced ale when the strange woman beside her had answered that velvet coiled voice with blubberings of the Ardent Fields and an artifact. That alone had left Cerridwen spluttering her brew into her noodles, but the answer she received had her truly choking. She did not just fucking stumble onto the answer to her problems because she needed a goddamn drink? Truly someone was fucking with her.

But not being one to waste an opportunity given to her, no matter how tangled in fate it was, Castille cleared her throat and wiped her mouth before spinning and stepping off the stool to her full height next to the emotional woman. Adjusting the hem of her tunic, she cleared her throat once more and dropped her hood, one silver slit eye kohl-smudged against the beating sun stared down at the thin girl who spoke with a bravado bigger than her small frame seemed capable of handling. "I have heard that desperation fosters ingenuity and whatnot. Or perhaps just bad ideas. I'm not quite sure, nor do I care, as I am more interested in results." She saluted casually with two fingers in an arc from the base of her horn, a greeting customary to Devas. "Professor Castille at your service."

@Nere Ashorn @Delilah Bryndel @Bartels

 

[Bartels]

Eyes upon the noodle broth that did arrive with perfunctory gesture and quick step service moving forward, ears attentive the ripples of conversation that did patter about. Talk of trouble, then of tasks to perform, talk of venturers, professors and artefacts. Pleasing that this talk of trouble was discarded in favour of collaborations, Bartels did think, and clasped with wide padded fingertips a deep spoon. The broth was a silken shimmering surface of subtle flavours, pale of white noodles amassing about themselves between shredded vegetables, and of comforting scent did Bartels breathe in deep of the largest bowl available to him to purchase.

A clomping of heavy duty boots arriving behind Bartels, deliberate and loud, slow and irritated.

A voice from behind, born from someone who lived and breathed protocols yet had their hands firmly calloused by procedure that demanded rough labours.

"Heard you're dipping into the business of repairing our cooling stranger, proper wetwork it was from what I heard. Section twelve be working fine, and my people be working hard for a long time with certain assurances."

Bartels released the spoon. Clasped the bowl in both hands and raised it. Did sup deeply from the noodle broth as the fellow did speak from behind him. Expedience about nourishment be worth more in common sense and wisdoms than the acknowledgement of table manners when things were uncertain, Bartels knew. He took deep gulps as the man continued on, walking slow, heavy of boot to look at Bartels. He lowered his volume, serious and scolding, yet well measured.

"But unless you're about to turn in your application to gain some paperwork, qualifications, insurance and proper liability protections, best keep to keeping to cooling soup and your hide and that's all. You aint union and you aint in the guilds. You aint liable if something goes wrong from poking around. Sets precedent you fooling around. Precedent that puts folks out of a job. We earn a living around here, we pay our dues to due practice, and we don't appreciate outside consultation. Leave us to the wetwork stranger. Giving fair warning here."

The bowl was near empty, deep gulps were hidden by the wide bowl, each gulp vast, yet abundantly efficient. Being wide of mouth did make hurried eating less a chore and drinking competitions a breeze for Bartel's kind. Nonchalantly did he appear, but deductions and strategy were being formed.

The man's tone softened a measure, fair warning so delivered.

"If you want in, learn the trade the right way, come in like everyone else from the ground up. No shortcuts. Independent cowboys who might make a mess of the closing of shunts and endangering the infrastructure we toil over, well. You understand."

Feeling no need to explain himself, Bartels placed down the bowl and placed two hands upon his belly and turned slow, and blinked slow to break some tensions, prevent a stare down fierce and strong. A few pats of the belly now gurgling with broth. A croak that emerged into two words did rise, cheerful, hot and full of vapour, completely unperturbed in timbre.

"Understood Doctor."

Frohoggin eyes stared into the engineers, yellow and unassuming to stern and assessing. Bartels smiled as one might to a passing neighbor. More pats of the belly.

A nod from the engineer, a low sound of the throat from him to signify that an accord had been made, that the stranger had been told the facts and that there was some respect between the two now gained from careful title applied. The term doctor was not commonly known or used by those who had not toiled over schematic, mathmatics, pressure differentials and magitech theory. Some parts of the world did bestow the term doctor for one who had spent good valuable years in study, practice, test and attainment of qualification. But many were ignorant of such a title, thinking them but janitors to viaducts, turners of cogs and pullers of chains. To be recognised in such a way, it did soothe something deep seated in the engineer, and so a hint of a smile was shared between them.

"You have a nice day now Bartels."

Another nod, and a lighter step of insulated boots than had arrived did walk away, the weight of being disrespected in so many encounters i in the engineer's life firmly lightened by Bartel's respect for his profession.

Bartels waited a few moments before leaving his seat, sliding it back into place, and did pursue the next matter to address.

He walked as if he was the calm unflappable centre of things. Or simply perhaps as one who had quaffed the biggest bowl of noodle broth was inclined to, slowly and very pleased with his consumption.

He looked to the table of folks that were making introductions, and made introduction of his own, simple and plain, yellow and black eyes looking unassuming to each, voice sure, armour resplendant and spotless for so recent being washed, mood contented for his meal and conflict resolutions performed.

"Couldn't help but hear there might be something that needs fixing to prevent trouble?"

@Nere Ashorn @Delilah Bryndel @Cerridwen Castille

 

[Nere Ashorn]

As soon as the strange girl denied any affiliation with the Houses, Nere's let her shoulders relax and her breath go steady. Right in time to get a lungful of witherbalm. There was no way to dodge the ring of smoke in time. Uselessly, Nere waved it away with a hand, knowing the rotten herb was going to stick on her clothes until the next wash day. Her mother would mock her for it later, coming home smelling like one of the ward rats. "If you're going to be like that, offer me a drag at least."

She didn't need to shield herself from the rest of the girl's jabs. An unexpected defender came to Nere's aid. It was the hooded woman who had sat next to her. The hood was pulled back, and silver hair tumbled down over ashen horns. Judging by the horned woman's well-tended garb, nice complexion and general confidence, Nere guessed that she was from out of town. Not to mention that Cindersend didn't have anything like a university.

"Wow, a professor," Nere said, her face brightening. Her eyes scrunched up in a clear smile, curious in a genuine way. "What do you teach?"

Soon after the woman's response - if she made one - a squat, pot-bellied frog slid off his bar stool and joined the growing party. The gleam of his plate and the moisture to his skin was strange to Nere. She had never seen a frohoggin before. She blinked back at those round, ochre eyes. They seemed calm and composed enough. A nod met his question.

"Yes, that's right. I'm hiring for a job -- Clean work," she added quickly. "No flesh or blood shards, just a business-minded trip through the Fields and back."

Shifting to speak to everyone, Nere squared her shoulders. She rolled one of her fists upwards to bare a wrist. Showed the lattice work of runes and thin scars that lined her forearm. A gesture of commitment common to the darker parts of Cindersend - it meant she was willing to bleed, if necessary. "My name is Nere Ashorn, and I am desperate, to find my brother. He disappeared on a run in that area last week. Carrying something mighty important to House Talonrune, and they'll pay a fine amount to anyone who recovers their lost artifact. I don't care about that -- I just want my brother back. Help me find him, and you all, can do as you please with the ransom-reward."

@Cerridwen Castille @Bartels @Delilah Bryndel

 

[Delilah Bryndel]

"If you're going to be like that, offer me a drag at least."

The slim girl released a dry, slightly raspy chuckle, its mildly discomfiting effect enhanced by another witherbalm-laced exhalation. "Oh, y'don't want this shyte, darlin'. Terrible quality, this batch. Strong as hell, though, so that's fine by me."

She winked, an oddly disorienting expression from someone with just one eye. Rarely did addicts so readily admit what it was they partook in. Foolishness? Or perhaps confidence? Hard to say.

"I have heard that desperation fosters ingenuity and whatnot. Or perhaps just bad ideas. I'm not quite sure, nor do I care, as I am more interested in results." She saluted casually with two fingers in an arc from the base of her horn, a greeting customary to Devas. "Professor Castille at your service."

At the thus-introduced professor's interjection, the weird little waif just raised an eyebrow to match her gaze as she looked upwards at the (much taller) Deva, looking unperturbed and unimpressed. She gave a slight, mocking little bow, apparently not deigning to comment, before sparing a passing glance towards the Frohoggin. Ah, that one. She recognized that goody two-shoes, at least by reputation. Her single black eye twinkled darkly with something between interest and amusement. This just got more fun by the moment, it seemed ...

"Yes, that's right. I'm hiring for a job -- Clean work," she added quickly. "No flesh or blood shards, just a business-minded trip through the Fields and back."

Shifting to speak to everyone, Nere squared her shoulders. She rolled one of her fists upwards to bare a wrist. Showed the lattice work of runes and thin scars that lined her forearm. A gesture of commitment common to the darker parts of Cindersend - it meant she was willing to bleed, if necessary. "My name is Nere Ashorn, and I am desperate, to find my brother. He disappeared on a run in that area last week. Carrying something mighty important to House Talonrune, and they'll pay a fine amount to anyone who recovers their lost artifact. I don't care about that -- I just want my brother back. Help me find him, and you all, can do as you please with the ransom-reward."

At Nere's elaboration on the task at hand, the frail lass idly let her attention drift lazily back towards her. For all her languid air, there seemed a faint sharpening beneath it; the vague sense that, if nothing else, she was now prepared to talk business.

"Right, then." Another long pull from the rolled leaf. Her one eye remained curiously unglazed and alert, despite the fast-gathering cloud of heady, lavender smoke around her—one that was already enough to start the head to spinning for anyone standing too close to the sickly-sweet fumes. "To business. Delilah Bryndel; Wisprat Ringleader."

It was hardly a name that someone trying to avoid the ire of the houses ought to be happy to hear. Or even in general, to be honest; there was plenty of variety to the rumors about the latest rising star amidst the gangs of the Cindersend underbelly and its bizarre leader, but certainly none of them varied in the degree to which their content was as uncertain as unsettling.

"Look. I'll 'elp you out. An' you can keep your ransom, at least t'my share." The choking, cloying reek of the drug was making it slightly hard to think clearly nearby her, adding an additional reinforcement to the apparent conviction of most passerby that a wide berth served the little group best. "I don't need the damn money. No, I want somethin' else. Somethin' much easier, actually, t'be honest with you: information. An' a small favor."

@Cerridwen Castille @Bartels @Nere Ashorn

 

[Cerridwen Castille]

Could this strange and off-putting girl be after the same relic? Would Nere's brother try to intervene if they found him? If Cerridwen's sources were to be believed, then that meant her time was running out.

Cerridwen's eye squinted in scrutiny at Delilah. "As a professional academic, I find information to be more often than not, worth more than gold. Especially when it's the kind that can be misused." She crossed her arms and gave the woman a proper once over. "And pardon me for being wary of this favor. But considering your reputation isn't exactly kind in these parts, I'm sure you can give our mistrust some grace."

@Bartels @Delilah Bryndel @Nere Ashorn

 

[Bartels]

"Missing brother is all I need hear to attend what must be found," Bartels did say, and did place hand upon chin, wide of palm and wide of chin.

"And come to think of it, some gambling debts of some unfortunates I have encountered might be mollified, forgiven indeed, by virtue of taking something of important worth to Talonrune."

Hand returned to belt and Bartels did nod at their conclusion, and did broadly smile at the security of a mission adopted.

"Soothe some troubles and return a brother, Bartels will strive to aid in this matter!" Bartels did say, as if it were a seal of approval upon whatever verbal contract was being signed by his enthusiasm.

Upon hearing of word particular, Bartels did lean as was fully afforded ambulating legs of wide arc toward Cerridwen.

"Trust is earned, true, and mistrust is a fee that many pay," Bartels did say, providing cleansing word to defensive manners.

Bartels did lean back, piece said about such cynicisms, eyes that did turn somehow more placid for mentioning such truths.


@Delilah Bryndel @Nere Ashorn @Cerridwen Castille

 

[Nere Ashorn]

Gaze intense, Nere looked back at the one-eyed girl. "Whatever I know, I'll say. And whatever I can help with, I'll do," she said with an earnestness that could easily be taken advantage of. "My brother's life is worth more than gold or good graces."

It was kind of the professor and the frog-knight to defend her once again, really. But if Nere couldn't hold her own against a single streetrat, she might as well hang up her hat.

Wait, strikers didn't get hats. Where had that phrase come from...?

"Right, well, if that's a deal..." Nere turned round. She tapped on the bartop and motioned for the keeper to pour four drinks. "The winds are finicky. We'll have to leave before nightfall in order to beat the worst of the storms."

And before you all change your minds.

What the barkeep poured was thin like water, but the color of milk. And it smelled harshly of anise oil. She pinched two pairs of glasses by the rims with her thumbs and forefingers. Passed them around to whomever would take it. The last was for herself, held up high.

"To blood and coin," she said. "May we take more than we shed."

A striker's toast. The shot of whatever-it-was, she downed in one gulp. Nere blinked back the tears that welled up in her eyes, determined not to cough at the harsh drink. It tasted like it smelled, and combined with the sappy sweet of the witherbalm, it was sure to go straight to her head.