The Ancestral Home

[Bloodrose]

Solo

How long? The sled bounced over a snow drift, rocking the wood and wicker frame on its runners before the vehicle evened itself out and continued steadily on its way. Twenty years? Twenty one? Teric was bundled heavily against the harsh Salvic wind, his entire body swathed in shields against the cold. He had on his usual coat, but he had added a knit cap and mittens to the ensemble, as well as a heavy black cloak and a pair of alchemist's goggles to protect his eyes. The goggles limited his vision, and the mercenary was finding that he had to repeatedly wipe snow kicked up by the sled dogs off the lenses. It was annoying, but it was better than trying to peer through an arctic wind that could freeze a man's tears to his cheek.

Twenty one years since I've gone... home...

That word, home, sent more of a chill down Teric's spine than the winter cold around him could ever hope to. For a man who had spent almost his entire adult life travelling the world, home seemed almost like a foreign concept. He'd stay in inns, sleep in tents, board in a ship's quarters, but none of those places were lasting or important. The next morning brought no commitments, no responsibilities, and it was off to the next anonymous place where the veteran could lay his head. Home was where everyone knew your name, and you couldn't just slink off in the shadows without notice.

After that long, I wonder if anyone is still alive who will remember me? Teric tugged sharply on the leads to slow the dogs before they ran headlong over another nasty looking drift. Milo, the big Drave/Coyote mix at the lead of the six dog team, turned and raised his head questioningly as he ran, and Teric could empathetically decipher a 'What?' from the animal. Three days they'd been running from sunrise to sunset, piling up the wilderness miles of the Salvic States behind them, and Milo's only complaint was that they were slowing down.

Farrowmoor had been the last settlement at the outer edges of the neighboring fiefdom, and from there the landmarks Teric recalled from his youth had started passing more frequently as the terrain became more familiar. Gregor's Rock, Witch Pine Grove, the old copper mine, the old watchtower; all disguised in snow, but that was how Teric remembered them. And there's Caddy's Bridge. Teric thought as the sled flew right by the stone construction and across the frozen stream it spanned. Which means I should be able to see Lothiaan from the hilltop after next.

The sled dipped as the dogs accelerated downhill, heading into the shallow valley between the past hilltop and the next. A cloud of white powder shot up from under the sled as the weight of the vehicle fell to meet the angle of the terrain, and Teric reached up to wipe flakes of snow from his goggles. As he cleared his vision, he saw the hindquarters of the dogs rise as they instinctively leapt over something buried under the snow.

"Milo!" Teric's panicked shout was drowned out by the yelping of a half dozen dogs as the runners slammed into the buried obstacle, snapping sled and animals alike to a sudden and violent halt. Wooden joints bound with leather exploded as the sled tore itself apart under the strain of its own momentum, and Teric was sent flying forwards over the front of the vehicle. He landed in the snow with a muffled "Oomph!", cold snow cramming itself into the neck of his coat, around his eyes, and in his mouth even as it cushioned his fall. Everything under the snow cover was dark and suffocating, like a wall of sand pushing in around him...

"Fucking dogs." The mercenary was grumbling to himself as he pulled his body from the cold snow and pushed himself up onto his knees. He'd been tossed a good dozen feet or so by the impact, and Teric could see the long impression of disturbed snow where he'd landed and slid further down the moderate incline. From this side of things he could also make out the obstacle which had been buried from above: a fallen birch tree.

Picking himself up, Teric climbed back up the hill to where the sled and the dogs were stuck. The animals seemed fine, sitting and panting with their tongues out like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and like this was just any other rest break. Five pairs of dumb, happy eyes followed the old fighter as he slogged through the knee deep snow to the vehicle. Milo's brighter, more intelligent eyes were busy scanning the valley. The Drave-mix's ears were flattened aggressively, like a guard dog who knows something is up.

"Great..." It didn't take much to see that the sled was a lost cause. The runners were jammed up under the tree trunk, which had been sheared of its branches sometime earlier. Probably a tree felled in late autumn for timber, but not chopped and hauled before the first snow. The basket part of the sled, which had Teric's supplies tied to the frame, was broken in half and crumpled. It looked for all the world like a wicker basket after someone has stepped on it, crushing it underfoot.

"Just my luck." The veteran muttered darkly, sitting down heavily on the fallen birch. "Now I have to walk the rest of the way to Lothiaan."

[Bloodrose]

Teric was busy cutting away the ropes that bound his gear to the broken sled when Milo's first bark punctuated the quiet on the hillside. It was a loud, piercing noise that split the solitude of the snow covered forest like an axe, forcing everyone to pay attention. The other dogs, startled by the mix-breed's initiative, all rose to stand with shoulders hunched and ears upright to catch any sound. The mercenary, dirk in hand, stood up as well, his mouth slightly open as he pulled off the goggles restricting his sight and scanned the valley.

Nothing moved, and nothing happened. What seemed like hours but was probably only a few moments passed as Teric and his pack of dogs stood silently waiting for whatever it was that caused Milo to bark. The Drave mix breed wore an enchanted collar Teric had picked up on one of his journeys, and the mild mental link the magic object created between the two let the old mercenary sense what the dog was feeling. He couldn't sense enough to know why Milo was standing tense with hackles raised, but he could sense enough to know that something was out...

There!

Teric's eyes shot to a grove of pine trees standing a hundred or more paces away, the heavy boughs weighed down with snow. Something was pushing its way through the green needles, emerging into the open between the grove and the incline up the slope Teric's sled was crash on. It was a bear, skinny and malnourished from the winter, shuffling up the hill on its hindquarters towards the mercenary.

What the hell is a bear doing out here? Teric leapt into action even as he thought, jumping down off the birch tree by the sled and amongst the dogs still trapped in their harnesses. All of them were alert and tense now, a dozen beady eyes pinpointed on the bear as it shambled towards them. Bears are supposed to hibernate in this region. The veteran knew from a childhood spent in the area. Of course, if something woke him up, he's probably pretty mean and pretty hungry... Teric grabbed a hold of the leather strap holding all the dogs to the front of the sled, and was just about to cut the bindings and set the dogs loose when the skinny brown predator raised its arm and waved.

"Hey there!" A distinctly human voice echoed across the shallow valley as the 'bear' wandered nearer. As it got closer it became easier to see the snowshoes strapped to the feet, and to make out the face peering out of the mottled snout. The 'bear', as it turned out, was actually a man wearing a bear skin. As clever a woodland disguise as any Teric could remember seeing, and one expertly pulled off by the man approaching him. At about thirty paces Teric caught sight of one more thing about the man that caught his interest: the tip of a muzzle loaded rifle peeking out from over his shoulder.

"Hello." Teric called back in greeting, walking down the hill away from the dogs to meet the bear-man. The animals seemed to have figured out that the 'bear' wasn't a threat, but they were still wary enough that Teric didn't want them leaping on the poor bastard if he got to close.

"You're certainly a long way from the beaten path." The bear-man quipped as the two men extended arms and shook hands cordially. The face peeking out from between the bear's teeth was heavily bearded, and the skin of his hands was painted brown to match the bear fur. "What are you doing way out here?"

The question sounded friendly enough, but there was something about the man's inflection that set Teric's mercenary nerves on edge. The firearm, the woodland disguise, the subtly baited hook fishing for immediately relevant information... This man is a lookout. Teric deciphered almost immediately, although his discipline didn't let his surprise register on his face. Why would Lothiaan need a lookout?

"I'm travelling to Lothiaan." Teric replied innocently enough. Sometimes the truth was the easiest answer, and there was no sense in lying to the man. "Almost got there, too, until my dogs pulled the sled into that tree up there." Teric gestured towards the fallen birch and the wreckage plowed up against its trunk.

"I can see that." The man replied, still friendly. "One more hill and you would have made it into town no problem. What brings you all the way out here to our neck of the woods, mister?" There is was again; that feeling that the man was probing for information while trying not to be obvious about it.

"I know people there." Teric answered hesitantly this time, giving the bear-man a questioning look. "And in all the times I've come through this way, I've never seen Lothiaan post a lookout this far from town before?" Teric trailed his words into a question just so as to confirm that he knew what he was talking about without making the lookout suspicious. The ploy seemed to work, because the man started to smile and his shoulders seemed to relax a little.

"Yeah, we've only recently started posting guards out this far." Bear-man revealed. "You've heard of the troubles, I'm sure?"

"The war has reached this far out into the States?" Teric didn't even bother to try and hide his surprise this time. It was apparent now that the man wasn't going to harm him, and that by extension he needn't harm the man. By 'the troubles' Teric only knew all too well that the sentry was referring to the civil war between Salvar's monarchy and the Church of Ethereal Sway. He'd been in Knife's Edge, Salvar's capital, with his nephew Rayse when the war had first broken out. In fact, the war was the whole reason why Teric had decided to go home for the first time in more than two decades. While not really attached to the place, he did have a vested interest in knowing how his hometown was faring Salvar's turmoil.

"The Royalist's war has spread everywhere in Salvar." The armed sentry unknowingly gave Teric a vital piece of information. By calling it the Royalist's war he revealed that Lothiaan was, either officially or unofficially, sided with the Church. It was that sort of information that kept people from getting killed by openly siding with the enemy. "The Church has taken control of most of the fiefdoms around here, and has been distributing arms to prevent Rathaxea's forces from burning the chapels."

"So you're out here watching for Royalist soldiers?" Teric asked.

"Pretty much." The sentry replied. "Seems a little unnecessary, since we're so far from anywhere important, but Father Hawthorn says we have to be ready at a moment's notice to fight in Saint Denebriel's name." There was a slight pause as both men just sort of stood there, awkward in their silence.

"Oh," Bear-man added finally, "the name's Charles. Charles Bancroft."

[Bloodrose]

Charles led the way, carrying most of Teric's belongings on his back while the veteran plodded through the heavy snow behind him. With the advantage of his snowshoes, the young Bancroft stalked his way over the snow without difficulty, while Teric waded through drifts as deep as his thigh in some places. It made for slow going, and kept conversation between the two men to a minimum. Both were focused on breathing as they exerted themselves, both jealous of the spry dogs that played and ran circles around them in the snow.

Lothiaan came into view ahead of them as the two men reached the summit of the last hill between town and wilderness. Charles and Teric stopped here to catch their breath, and from the top of the hill Teric could make out several changes that taken place since he's last visited his home. Where once had sat an idyllic little woodland town nestled in the foot slopes of the Iron Hills, now sat a smoking, walled center of industry. Two large smelters were clearly visible on the east side of the town, the heat from the furnaces used to process iron melting off the snow nearby. A palisade wall, likely cut from the heavy pine groves that dotted the landscape, surrounded the town and made it accessible only by a central gate. A broad swath of snow if front of the gate had been removed, and the furrow snaked out from in front of the gate like a road had been cut through the snow itself.

"Well that's interesting." Teric muttered, talking more to himself than Charles. "None of that was here the last time I visited."

"You must not visit very often then." Charles replied glibly. "What's different?"

"The walls." Teric offered first. Lothiaan had never been a place that fear attack from the outside - they were too far removed from anywhere. It was actually a little disconcerting to see the place so obviously concerned now. "The smelters too, they didn't used to be there."

"The smelters went up years ago." Charles offered helpfully. "First one, and then the second when the demand for iron went up. Almost all of it goes towards expanding the Knife's Edge-Ettermire Railway. They rely on Lothiaan so much for their iron, we even have a Rail Depot running into the town now."

That would explain the furrow cut through the snow. Teric thought, absently biting his lower lip. The veteran had only seen the "train" than ran on the rails once before, at an expo in Knife's Edge. He knew that the big cars ran on wood or coal fired engines from Alerar, and that they had a plow on the front of keep the tracks clear. It seemed unbelievable to think that the railway for such a thing had reached this far into the Salvic States, but then again, a lot can happen in twenty years.

"The palisade we built just recently." Charles was saying, seemingly ignorant of the worried crease that had formed over Teric's eyes as he contemplated the changes his hometown had gone through. "Father Hawthorn ordered it put up when we got word that the Cathedral in Knife's Edge was under siege. He had the whole town working on it, and it only took us a week to get it up." Bancroft seemed proud of that fact, like hastily erecting a wall that had never been needed before in a week's time was some sort of pleasant accomplishment. Teric could only imagine how some of the older residents felt as they watched a wall rise up between them and their wilderness homeland for the first time...

"Come’ on." Charles got the two men moving again, leading the way towards the furrow snaking its way through the snow. "The snow isn't nearly as deep where the train runs, so we'll head over there and follow the tracks the rest of the way home."

[Bloodrose]

"Stop right there." A gruff voice called down from the top of the palisade wall, his order grinding Teric and Charles to a halt. Once they had made it to the train-cut path in the snow, the remainder of the trip towards town has passed rapidly in silence. Both men were feeling the cold, especially Teric after trudging knee deep in snow for over an hour, and both were eager to be indoors somewhere. The dogs halted as well, sitting in the snow around the two men while a couple walked over to the gate and sniffed at it inquisitively.

A quick glance up towards the voice revealed several sharpshooters armed with Aleran muzzle-loaders similar to the one Charles carried across his back. Somewhere, and somehow, the militia of Lothiaan has come into possession of some of the most potent weapons on Althanas - so far as weapons manageable by common citizens go. Like most everything else Teric had seen in Salvar recently, the whole situation reeked of civil war.

"Let us in Bryan!" Charles called up to the snipers on the wall. The bear-head of his camouflage was tucked under one arm, meaning the guards had no excuse not to see his face. There was a hint of exasperation in Charles voice as he bartered for entry, like he was tired of having to jump through hoops just to get home. "Don't pretend like you don't know who I am."

"I know you, Charlie." The gruff-voiced guard, Bryan, that seemed to be the spokesperson on the wall retorted. He was speaking from behind his weapon, talking over the butt of the musket as his eye trained down the barrel at Teric. "But I don't know him."

"If he was a Royalist soldier, do you think he'd be caught dead wandering up to the gates with me at his side?" Charles seemed to know instinctively what this stoppage was about, although Teric could have figured it out just as easily. Lothiaan had built a wall, and for that there had to be a reason. Guards with firearms stood posted on the wall, and for that there had to be a reason. All of Salvar was dissolving into civil war, Lothiaan had sided with the Church, and so it didn't take a scholar to figure out why they didn't want strangers hanging around...

"Might be a spy?" Bryan retorted again, a little less brusquely this time. "Could be he want you to help him get into town."

"An old duffer like this guy?" Charles indicated Teric with a gesture of his thumb. Normally Teric might have taken offense to such a blatant indication of his age, considering his prowess, but he let the comment slide for being useful to their cause. "I found him with a crashed sled and a pack of yelping dogs over on Barrow Hill. Does that sound like a clandestine spy looking to sneak into town to you?"

There was a short pause as several of the guards huddle together atop the wall and conversed amongst themselves. Teric tried to make out what they were saying, but they kept their voices purposefully hushed and their heads ducked together. Two guards, the two on the outer edges of the group, kept their rifles trained on the old mercenary until Bryan turned back to them and waved off the muskets.

"Alright Charlie, but you'll be responsible for him while he's in town." He said as the wide gate suspended just over the steel tracks started to swing open.

"That's fine." Charles waved to his fellows on the wall as he and Teric started forward once more, trudging through the gate before it was even opened all the way. As they passed through the opening, the dogs followed quietly, seemingly aware in their own right that their welcome was a tenuous one.

The gate swung shut behind them, and turning to glance over his shoulder as they moved into town, Teric could see that a lot more work had gone into the fortifications than just erecting a wooden palisade. Behind the relatively common pine barrier fronting the wall, several stone support structures had been built behind it. They rose like towers, big columns of stone just shorter than the wall, and were connected by a lower stone wall about as tall as a man. The stone tower-wall support system ran parallel to the wooden wall, lending structural support, making it strong, and giving the armed guards a place to stand. They manned the walls in teams - several to each wide platform at the top of the towers. Farther down though, in the distance, the stone wall ended and there was visible ongoing construction.

Charles wasn't lying. Teric thought as he estimated about three dozen laborers scurrying over the in-progress section of the stone wall like busy ants. This is all just recently built, and they're still working on it. Whoever is in charge here is paranoid about the war coming to Lothiaan's doorstep...

"So, stranger," Charles' voice snapped Teric away from his thoughts, "since you haven't been here for a while, where would you like to go to warm up?"

"Vaka's Tavern still open?" Teric asked. Things had certainly changed in Lothiaan since he had last visited, but hopefully some things were the same.

"Absolutely!" Charles beamed a smile that reminded Teric of a small child who's just been given a sweet. "Old Vaka died a few years back, but his son Taka is still around to manage the place."

"Does he still prefer to be called Tony?" Teric cracked a smile of his own as he remembered Taka's self-given nickname. The stories I could tell about that guy. The veteran thought as Charles steered them in the direction of the west side of town. The dogs followed obediently, just a few steps behind.

"Of course! Wouldn't you?" Charles laughed heartily. "Imagine running around being called Taka Vaka, the poor bastard. His parents certainly had a strange sense of humor."

"That was Old Vaka for you." Teric reminisced. "He was a peculiar old man; old even when I knew him."

"I suppose so. He must have been closing in on one hundred years when he finally went. Some people didn't think he'd ever die." Charles bantered on for a moment and then went quiet, both men content to sift through old memories quietly on their own for a while as they trudged towards the tavern. Teric didn't give much thought to what Charles was contemplating, but thought plenty about what might happen when they reached their destination. Tony Vaka, the tavern's new propriety, and the mercenary had plenty of history together - ranging from childhood fights in the schoolyard to a stint in the militia together. Young Vaka, as some people were apt to call him back then, was probably only a year or two younger than Teric was himself, so if anyone was going to remember him at first glance, it would be Tony.

That could be a good thing, or bad thing, depending on how well he takes seeing my face again. "Time heals all wounds", the saying went, but Teric was forced to wonder just how long one had to stay gone to take the sting out of some wounds...

"Ah, I can taste the Chestnut beer already." Charles let out an expectant sigh as they came up on the squat two-storied building standing in the fork of the road they traveled. In summer time the road would have been all cobbles and stone, but a tightly packed blanket of snow hid the street's finer details beneath their feet. The road came to mind only because the tavern was constructed of the same slate colored stone as the street, and was built so close to the edges of it that in the summer the building seemed to grow right up out of the road. A heavy iron-bound door in the center of the fork, beneath a worn sign bearing the image of a frothing mug, was open despite the cold to welcome travelers and locals alike.

Here we go. Teric took a deep breath as a nervous knot started to build in his gut, his feet keeping pace with Charles as the younger man strode boldly into the tavern. Let's see how well you’re welcomed home this time...

[Bloodrose]

The sound of the dogs playing and following along behind him stopped Teric just outside the tavern door. His deep breath was still held in his lungs, that nervous knot roiling around in his intestines like a live worm or some other unthinkable malady. Whoops, can't bring all the dogs in there. The veteran let his breath rush out in a rattling sigh, almost glad to have some legitimate reason to put off entering the warm main room. Charles turned to see if Teric was following, but as soon as he saw the old man gathering up the harnesses still attached to each dog, the young Bancroft disappeared further inside.

"Come 'on you lot." Teric quietly ordered the dogs as he led them over to a hitching post. Normally used for the horses of travelers passing through Lothiaan - what few of them there were on occasion - Teric substituted the reins of a horse for the leather straps that bound a dog to its sled. The short tethers would keep the animals in place, but gave them ample room to lie down or play in a confined area. Most of the dogs, realizing they were being given a prime opportunity to rest, plopped down on their bellies and proceeded to smile the way a dog smiles, their tongues hanging out over their lower teeth and rising up and down with each panting dog-breath. "You come with me." Teric finally added to Milo. The Drave-mix obediently and purposefully stuck close to the mercenary's left thigh as he turned and entered Vaka's Tavern.

The heat was the first thing to hit Teric upon entering the homely main room that consumed most of the building's ground level - and for that he was plenty glad. Twin hearths, one built into the stone foundation on either side of the open doorway, vented extraordinary heat from the fires blazing behind the metal grate adorning each. The fires and the hearths themselves were designed to nullify the cold chill of the air outside as it wafted through the open doorway, and iron pipes built into the very walls of the building circulated warm around the inside of the whole tavern. It was really a very ingenious system, one attributed to Old Vaka's grandfather - one of the pioneering civil engineers responsible for first starting Lothiaan's booming iron industry.

"Feels good, don't it?" Charles Bancroft had staked out a table near the doorway, and sat with his back toward the merry fire on the left of the entranceway. His bear suit was peeled down to the waist, revealing a stocky and muscular frame beneath a plain white cotton shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, and already the man's face and arms were beaded in sweat. A tall pint of ale rested comfortably in his hands as he enjoyed the atmosphere.

"Certainly does." Teric replied, shrugging off the heavy coat he wore around everywhere and draping it over the back of a chair at Charles' table. He rolled up the sleeves of his crimson shirt in a manner similar to that of Charles, stopping at the elbow, and opened the front of his black vest. "It could be sleeting and blizzarding outside and it would still be hotter than a bread oven in here."

"Of course." Charles beamed that childish smile again, a rather endearing feature Teric was starting to associate with the man at every turn. "Would you have it any other way?"

A barmaid brushed past Teric's shoulder, coming from the other side of the room and heading back towards the lacquered pine bar that dominated the left-hand side of the room. As she passed Teric glanced over to see who had just passed him, and he smiled. "No," Teric flashed a smile of his own, "I certainly wouldn't."

In addition to his reputation as an iron-baron, Old Vaka's grandfather had an equally renowned reputation around Lothiaan; that of a dirty old womanizer. Of the several barmaids flirting around the tables, maybe one or two of them had even been born the last time Teric was in town. They were young, supple, and beautiful as Vaka's illustrious history demanded, and the abnormally high temperature in the room wasn't designed just to keep the patrons safe from the cold, it also kept the hardworking barmaids stripped down to the bare necessities. Just enough clothing to keep from being vulgar, but not so much as to stifle or suffocate themselves in the heat.

"Paradise." Charles sighed, more to himself than anyone else. "What man wouldn't want to come here after several days in the wild?"

"Milo, stay." Teric whispered as he shook his head at Charles, leaving the man to his idyllic barmaid-watching.

Teric strode purposefully to the bar. There was a decent crowd in the tavern for a mid-afternoon, with several full tables and a few individuals sitting alone or at the bar. From what Teric could remember, the main room would likely be packed to the rafters shortly after sundown, when all the laborers from the mines came down out of the hills to enjoy their evenings. Vaka's, like the couple other watering holes in town, was never without an appreciative crowd - mostly because there was little else for the populace of Lothiaan to do on any given evening but go out. Where one ended up depended on what one wanted, and the loudest, the most boisterous, and the thirstiest usually ended up right where Teric was now.

Settling down in an empty stool several empty seats removed from the nearest other patron, Teric picked out a familiar face behind the bar almost immediately. The man was washing a mug, his face turned down towards the sink set behind the bar surface itself.

"What can I get you mister?" A perky barmaid standing by the wall of kegs at the back asked without turning around, even as she poured a dark beer from an open spout for another customer. She was a little older than most of the other girls, but not by much - just enough to have worked long enough to pick up the arrival of new customers without so much as a glance.

"Does Vaka's still stock that terrible Kachuk Clear? Not the best dwarven spirit by a long shot, but that stuff packs a nice kick." Teric purposefully tilted his head towards the man washing the mug, a knowing half-smile glued to his face as he waited for the inevitable reaction. No one had distilled Kachuk Clear in a decade and a half, and anyone who ordered it was just baiting for a response...

He'll pick me out of the crowd eventually. The veteran was thinking, that nervous knot now tightened into a stone. Might as well get this over with and clear the air sooner rather than later.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?" Tony Vaka, clear eyed and recognizable despite the graying mutton-chops he'd grown and the salt-and-pepper hair, glanced up from the mug in his hands to gaze down the bar. The instant recognition visible in the man's brown eyes told Teric that he was long from forgotten. "By the Witch's left tit, you're still alive!"

Tony said it loud, and half the tavern seemed to pick up on the surprise in the tavern keeper's voice. A dozen heads turned to the bar as most of the ambient conversation in the room dropped off, and Teric felt that stone in his gut drop into his bowels like a brick.

"I get that reaction a lot these days." Teric managed to reply, trying his best to ignore the wondering eyes poised on his back. "Nice to see you too."

[Bloodrose]

"I heard you died in Akashima?" Tony was stalking down the bar now, the mug in his hands forgotten as he moved to stand right across the bar from where Teric was sitting. Teric followed the man with his eyes, ready for anything, but oddly enough the brick in his guts was starting to dissolve. Tony's voice sounded almost more surprised than angry.

He hasn't forgotten I'm sure... but perhaps he's over what I did? Teric could only hope.

"You're not the first one to tell me that, either." Teric replied. Behind him he could feel some of the eyes going back to their own business. Like most tavern patrons, those relaxing here likely wanted to see a fight break out, but they were quickly losing interest after Tony's initial outburst faded away. "Must be a swift-winged little bird spreading that rumor if it made it this far out."

"Robert Neht told me. Figured it was his business to be spreading news of his good friend's demise on his way to settle down in Knife's Edge. But by the Nine Hells, that was fifteen years ago!" Tony started rubbing the mug again with the cloth in his other hand, absently cleaning the glass as he talked.

"Figures it'd be him." Teric shook his head. "He said the same exact thing to me last time I saw him."

"No shit?" Tony was shaking his head as well, dumbfounded. "All this time people have been thinking you for dead, and you couldn't wander home to prove them wrong? How long since you last set foot in my Father's... my, tavern?"

"Twenty years? Twenty-one maybe? I don't know." Teric sighed, relieved that the knot in his gut was easing itself away. The tone in his voice was soft, sentimental. "It was easier to stay away than to come back I'll have you know. I've got a lot of memories in this town, but not all of them are good. Maybe I figured I'd be better received as a dead man in these parts."

There was a knowing nod on Tony's part as the tavern keeper finally set down the mug and reached under the bar. He came back up with a green glass bottle half-full with an unidentifiable liquid and a couple of shot glasses. The two glasses he set down between the two men and each he topped off with the contents of the bottle. The ugly looking spirit was mostly clear, but the cloudy wisps floating throughout it warned of poorly distilled potato vodka. It was a trench drink - a militia man's drink - and both men wordlessly tipped back the shot and downed the fiery splash in unison. It hit Teric's stomach like a fire bomb, vaporizing the last of that queasy nervousness and causing the veteran to inhale sharply.

Wow! He almost gasped out loud. It had been a while...

"I imagine there was a time when I would have spit on you rather than drink with you," Tony said softly after he'd recovered from his shot, "so I imagine I can understand what kept you away. Twenty years though, that's a long time, and a lot of things can change a man's mind in twenty years. They say time heals all wounds, so I suppose a couple decades is time enough to think of you as a comrade and Son of Lothiaan once more."

"Instead of as an adulterer?" Teric said it, because it needed saying. If he and Tony were going to clear the air between the two of them right from the start, then it was long past appropriate to dance around their past. "If it's any consolation, I apologize for sleeping with your wife."

Oddly enough, Tony cracked a smile. "I'm not looking for your consolations, Teric." The man said. "I don't need them either. As it turns out, you weren't the first man Heather strayed with, and you were far from the last. I hated you for three years before I discovered her other transgressions, and from that point forward I've found myself hating her - rather than the men she dallied with."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Teric just barely managed to spit out that sentence instead of a crude 'Oh, well that's good for me then!' He waved at the barmaid returning from dropping off the dark beer she'd be pouring earlier.

"Two of the Beakwater's ales, in pints." Tony added to her as she passed behind him, filling in the obvious blanks of Teric's waving order. "Water under the bridge," he added to Teric without missing a beat, "so I guess we can call it forgotten and just start over."

"Sounds fine by me." Teric allowed himself a small smile as he accepted his ale and took a relieving sip of it to prevent having to talk for a second. He let the cold drink pour over his tongue and down his throat, relishing the deep flavor and woody bite of the ale. It was crisp, refreshing, and it made the heat (both physical and psychological) a little easier to bear.

"Old friends?" Charles showed up at the bar and set down an empty pint. He looked at Tony and asked, "If you know him so well, is it alright if I just leave him here with you? Bryan charged me with keeping an eye on him, but I don't think he'll cause any trouble, do you?"

"Teric here is more trouble than he's worth." Tony replied, in a joking manner. Both Lothiaan residents were smiling at each other. "So because of that, I'll keep an eye on him. He's a little too sly for the likes of you."

"Oh, hardy-har-har Taka, nice one. I'll leave him to you then. I'm going to go report to my field Captain and then maybe I'll be back." With that, Charles slapped his hand on the bar a couple times and got up to leave, moving to the door and pulling his bear suit back up over his shoulders. As his guide left, Teric snapped his fingers and Milo got up from where he was sitting to trot over to the bar. There was a moment of silence between Teric and Tony as the mercenary pet his dog lovingly on the head and Tony took Charles' pint glass off the bar and set it over by the sink.

"So what brings you home now?" Tony asked. There was something in his voice that made Teric think he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak. "Twenty or more years, so why now?"

"You know as well as I that civil war is ripping Salvar apart." Teric replied softly, keeping his voice low. "I was there, Tony, in Knife's Edge when it all broke loose. That's when I saw Robert last, just before The Sway excommunicated Rathaxea and the Royalists laid siege to Denebriel Cathedral. All Hell is breaking loose all over the country, and the fight isn't just contained to the larger cities. Churches are being sacked, whole towns razed to the ground... What proper Son of Lothiaan would stay away now, when his home might need him most?"

Silence again, a little more awkward this time. Tony seemed to contemplating something, but Teric wasn't immediately sure about what. There was a furrow in the man's brow, a concentrated effort to decide something. Mercenaries who lasted the longest were the ones who learned to pick up on the small visual clues - the ones who could read people. Tony's eyes, darting back and forth across the bar only so slightly, meant the man was in the middle of a difficult personal struggle.

"Let's take this conversation into my office." Tony said, waving over one of the bustier young barmaids standing nearby. "Tabitha, you're in charge while I talk to my friend here, so make sure the drinks keep going out and the rabble doesn't get to rowdy. I'll be back before the evening rush."

[Bloodrose]

Tony's office was a small but comfortable space set behind the bar and separated from the main room by a wall of stone and an iron-bound door similar to the one that lead outside. There was no fireplace in the room, but heavy knit rugs kept the cold of the floor off one's feet, and heat piped in through the walls kept the office temperate. There was a bookcase, a couple cozy looking chairs, and a desk crafted from the same pine that most everything in town was made of. Stone, Pine, and Iron - the only three materials any Lothiaanian could ever need.

"Have a seat." The graying Tony indicated a high-backed chair upholstered in coyote fur as he settled himself behind his desk, a bottle of liquor in his hand. Teric accepted the seat graciously, even as Milo stepped over to sniff at the chair inquisitively and growl.

"Part wild dog?" Tony asked, skirting the reason they were in here. There had to be a reason why Tony took their conversation in out of the main room, away from prying ears, but Teric wasn't going to force it out of the man.

"I think so." Teric rubbed Milo behind the ears comfortingly, settling the animal near the feet of the chair. "I don't know that for fact, but he's got that look to him."

"Uh-huh." Tony seemed to be a little farther away than just the desk, carrying the conversation mildly forward while he processed something in the background. Teric waited patiently, content to just relax and pet his canine companion while his old comrade sorted things out for himself.

"It's a nice office." The veteran offered helpfully.

"Yeah, it was Dad's before mine." Tony replied, shaking his head and coming back into the moment. The far away sound in his voice went away, and the man seemed a little more focused as he pulled two shot glasses from a drawer in the desk and poured the liquor. There was glassware all over the place, it seemed. "I remember playing in here as a kid, lining up the little cast-iron soldiers Dad used to make for us kids. It was all great fun, staging those battles and playing militia before it was actually time to serve."

"I remember playing militia." Teric replied. Who doesn't? He accepted the shot but sipped at this one, taking his time instead of throwing it back. "I remember because I won a lot."

"Yes, yes you did." Tony smiled sentimentally and threw back his own shot. His face screwed up as the potent spirit went down his throat, but he recovered like a champion alcoholic. "I remember you broke my arm at the Battle of Juniper Street. Six years old, and already you could swing a sword - albeit a fake one - like a gladiator."

The two men shared a collective chuckle as they recalled their past exploits together. Teric's memories of dashing through the streets of Lothiaan with a wooden sword and his company of miscreants came floating back to the mercenary in a deluge. That was a happier time back then, wasn't it? The veteran mulled thoughtfully.

"You always were the better fighter. The better strategist and the better commander too. I don't think I'll ever understand why you gave up the militia for a life as a mercenary. You could have made Captain in no time, and gone higher than that even. Your skills, plus your family's..."

"Let's not talk about that." Teric interrupted, and the playful reminiscing came to a quiet end. Tony put down his empty glass and seemed to be contemplating pouring another drink, but his hand didn't reach for the bottle. It was back again, that far away look in his eyes, like the man kept drifting in and out of the conversation. A moment or two passed in silence before either man spoke again.

"What side are you with, Teric?" Tony asked at last, his voice haunting. There was a quality to his voice that said he already knew the answer, but was forced to ask anyways.

"I don't have a side." Teric replied carefully. "I've managed to stay out of it thus far."

Tony shook his head. "And if I told you the Sons were going to war? Would you pick a side then?"

"Are the Sons going to war?" Teric retorted, not entirely certain he liked the direction their conversation was being steered in. "Lothiaan is in the middle of nowhere. We're in a one rail-track town with a pile of iron that has no strategic importance. The Royalists are too busy fighting in the cities to be bothered with us, so why should we go to war?"

"Because Father Hawthorn says we're going to war." Tony was quiet now, and deadly serious. "The man has been here for about three years, a replacement for McDermont after the old Father passed away in his sleep. He's a real firebrand, this Hawthorn, and he breaths fire from the pulpit in Denebriel's name. He's cunning to boot, because as soon as word reached here of the fighting in Knife's Edge, Hawthorn declared martial law in the name of The Sway and poof, he'd armed a cadre of supporters with Aleran gunpowder and arrested the acting Steward."

"He managed to get away with that?" Teric interrupted. "No one tried to stop him?"

"We didn't have a choice, it happened so fast. The local priests and their sycophants overthrew a dozen fiefs overnight, like they had been waiting for this. Huge swaths of countryside have been pulled from King Rathaxea's sphere of control, and even as we speak the fiefs are being individually dismantled into one rapidly growing power base for the Church. The Royalists are fighting back, but their primary focus in on the large cities. That focus is going to doom them."

Teric was almost too afraid to ask.

"Denebriel planned it all. The Church is keeping their only opposition busy in the cities while their followers take control of the wild. With the countryside under their control, the Church plans to starve the Royalists in the cities and then cobble together the fief militias to retake Knife's Edge."

"So the Sons are going to take on the Royalists then? Fight for Denebriel?"

"No, we're not."

"Wait... I'm confused." Teric started. "You just said yourself that Hawthorn and the Ethereal Sway are calling the shots around here, and the Church has it all planned out. I thought this town was allied with Denebriel and her cause?"

"Father Hawthorn has a small contingent of loyal followers," Tony stated matter-of-factly, "mostly new arrivals from Knife's Edge who arrived in town with him when he came to fill his post. You know us, Teric, the real Lothiaanians. It may be illegal, but we've practiced the old traditions here since before the Forgotten Ones ever roamed Althanas."

"You follow the Goddess, the Mother of Creation, the Womb of the World, yes I know." Teric offered. "My Mother raised me in the old ways too, remember."

"Yes, I know, which is why you'll understand when I say most of the people here don't give two pig shits about what Denebriel or her fanatics want. We've lived in relative peace here for centuries, and now Father Hawthorn thinks he's going to arm our militia and ship us off to take back a city most of us have never seen?"

"Why do I get the feeling you aren't going to let that happen?" Teric wondered out loud, cringing slightly at the haunting smile that spread itself across Tony's face. The Sons of Lothiaan were a militia, sure, but in their long history they hadn't fought more than a few rogue bandit groups and a couple packs of wolves. Most men served and retired in Lothiaan without ever seeing combat, and now Tony Vaka was talking about starting a rebellion against a well armed and zealous opponent.

"You understand the implications of what you're proposing here?" Teric ventured cautiously. "If the Church win's their war with Rathaxea, they'll start hunting rebels next."

"I have an idea of what's at stake." Tony replied, pouring another round of shots. "We've lived far to long paying lip service to Denebriel's lackeys, wearing their invisible collars around our necks. This might be our one chance to topple the religious monopoly The Ethereal Sway enjoys, and bring our beliefs back into the world."

[Bloodrose]

The tables at Vaka's were crowded with men covered head to toe in rock dust; laborers from the iron mines on the North side of town. Like clockwork they belched forth from the underground maw each night to filter into taverns across town, the majority of them finding their way here, and their arrival heralded in the "Evening Rush". Barmaids scurried from table to table like trained worker bees, slinging ales and stouts and friendly banter to the regulars. The ambient noise in the main room swelled and ebbed on the staff's turnaround time with drink orders - patrons talking boisterously between drinks and quieting down whenever a full pint of their chosen brew hit their lips.

It was less ruckus than most people would imagine, and the volume in the main room was more reminiscent of a friendly family reunion than a bunch of drunken miners trying to out voice their peers. It was a trait common among small towns like Lothiaan - everyone knew everybody - and so there was much back-patting and handshaking and pleasant greetings amongst old friends and longtime neighbors. It was a comfortable, easy-going scene seemingly completely detached from the reality of the war raging across the country.

I wonder how many of them know? Teric sat by himself at the bar, his stool swiveled around to face the common area. One elbow was behind him on the counter, propping him upright as his right hand held a third pint of Vaka's famous Chestnut beer to his lips. I wonder how many of them know and understand the dangerous undercurrents flowing beneath their feet?

It was a sad thought, and one Teric didn't relish pondering for long. He'd been home barely a couple of hours, and already he found himself standing waist deep in a plot most of Lothiaan's full-time residents might have been oblivious of. It made sense, in an odd sort of way, that Tony would entrust the secret rebellion looming with him; he was a former militiaman himself, after all. Yet, despite the fairness of Tony's reasoning for the turmoil brewing beneath Lothiaan's calm surface, there was one thing that the man had said that put Teric on edge...

"We've lived far too long paying lip service to Denebriel's lackeys, wearing their invisible collars around our necks. This might be our one chance to topple the religious monopoly The Ethereal Sway enjoys, and bring our beliefs back into the world."

That sentiment sent a shiver down Teric's spine. Staging a rebellion to keep the Sway from sending Lothiaan's meager defensive force into a war for Knife's Edge was one thing, but dragging religion into the picture made this rebellion something else. Teric knew only too well what Tony was talking about, and knowing didn't make him feel any better. The Church of Ethereal Sway was Salvar's only legally recognized faith, but just because other creeds and doctrines were illegal didn't necessarily keep people from following their own beliefs. Teric's mother for instance, like a decent number of Lothiaan's residents (and a sizeable chunk of folks in the other rural fiefs), followed a faith older than the Forgotten One herself. While their faith didn't have a name, these woodsmen and woods-women followed a deity known only as the Goddess, the Mother of Creation, and the Womb of the World. They practiced in secret, meeting in the woods and paying homage to the simple stone sculptures that represented their Mother and the old crones that acted as Her voice. It was all very pagan and shamanistic, akin to the nature worship Teric had found practiced amongst the Fae in Dheathain. It was all very secretive, and had been for hundreds of years, so for Tony to bring it up elevated Teric's concern considerably.

She marks the difference between a battle for survival and a battle over theology. The veteran sipped his beer appreciatively as he thought. And bringing Her into this gives me the dark suspicion that Denebriel's civil war is just someone's convenient excuse for starting a holy crusade...

Milo, sitting quietly by the foot of the warrior's stool, picked his head up cautiously as a barmaid passed a little close to where Teric was sitting. The mercenary absently moved his foot towards the big dog's head, and the Drave-mix nuzzled his head reassuringly against his master's booted foot. With the enchanted collar around his neck, Teric's uneasiness was making the animal uneasy, and its effect on both of them was obvious.

"You're certainly enjoying that beer." A semi-familiar voice spoke from Teric's right, attracting the mercenary's attention. The voice was that of Charles Bancroft, sans bear costume, who had taken a seat at the bar a couple stools down. "Glad to see you haven't moved very far from where I left you."

"Didn't have anywhere to go, really." Teric replied casually, more acutely aware of Charles now than he had been before. After his conversation with Tony, the mercenary found himself wondering if Charles was one of the several followers the younger Vaka had made reference too. 'Bancroft' certainly wasn't a surname local to Lothiaan - or at least it hadn't been in Teric's time here, so it stood to reason that the young man was an import from somewhere else. "Didn't think I'd see you again, either." The veteran added. "Aren't you on duty or something?"

"Naw," Charles beamed that smile of his, big white teeth shining, "I'm off for the night. Even so, I do have one matter of business to attend to."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" Teric asked chummily, returning the smile.

"I'm here to arrest you."

[Bloodrose]

Teric nearly choked on his ale, coughing the cool liquid back into his mug and slowly setting the vessel down on the bar. Charles was still beaming that childish smile of his, one hand in the front of his coat. The mercenary was suddenly very aware of the fact that the noise in Vaka's had died down considerably, the friendly banter replaced by hushed whispers.

"What did you just say to me?" Teric retorted, any hint of friendliness gone from his tone.

"I said I'm here to arrest you, Teric Barton." Charles replied. The young man's hand emerged from his coat, a cocked flintlock pistol in his hand. He pointed the weapon at Teric meaningfully.

"Don't call me by that name." This time Teric's voice was laced with anger. "You weren't even born yet when I gave up that name."

"Look you old fart, I don't give a shit what you call yourself." Charles' voice rose to match the anger in Teric's, the young man rising from his seat and jabbing the weapon closer to the still seated veteran. "You're under arrest!"

"On what charge?" Tony's voice cut in, the old bartender coming out from behind the lacquered counter to stand near Teric. The main room had gone eerily silent now as the patrons huddled around their tables and watched the unfolding situation. Teric could hear a few whispers though. Barton! Some were saying, their eyes wide. I thought he was dead!

"Murder, escape, conspiracy to overthrow the Church, and suspicion of being a Royalist spy." Charles seemed almost happy to level the charges against him, and Teric found himself wanting to knock some dark holes in the man's gleaming smile. "We have reports that one Teric Barton, aka Teric Bloodrose, was arrested in Knife's Edge a couple of months ago - at which time he escaped with one other prisoner and killed several Church officials. Since this is his hometown, it was believed that he would likely flee here after evading custody - and so we have been waiting for him."

"That's preposterous!" Tony exclaimed.

"What say you, Teric?" Charles' eyes were focused solely on his person, and the old mercenary could feel that weapon pointed squarely at his chest. Flintlocks weren't the most accurate weapons, but at this range Charles would be hard pressed to miss.

Milo, seemingly forgotten, rose from his spot by Teric's stool and growled. The hackles on the big dog's neck stood up on end, giving the canine a fearsome look. Charles gave the dog a cautious glance, and Teric picked up on the twitch in the man's trigger finger.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Teric replied, reaching down to pet Milo on the head comfortingly. For a moment, the big dog wouldn't let itself be calmed down - continuing to growl meaningfully. After a couple tense seconds, however, the animal settled back down into a sitting position, his growl fading.

"Whatever." Charles sneered. "Play dumb all you want. You're still under arrest."

Young Bancroft waved his free hand, and someone by the door jumped up to pull it open. Into the main room burst a half dozen riflemen, their cloaks covered in freshly fallen snow and their weapons primed and ready to fire. Behind them came another man dressed in white, his robes and hat betraying his profession. The last man was a mage - and judging by the number of small pouches dangling from his belt - a rather good one. That was only a guess, but Teric had learned that you could always estimate a magi's level of expertise by the number of spell components he carried.

"Weapon." One of the guards said brusquely, holding out his hand expectantly. The crowd was still quiet, watching Teric's arrest carefully. The Church was the law here, and so none of them interfered. Even so, Teric saw more than a few glances that told him some would have liked to interfere. That look started with Tony Vaka, who stood silently by with his hands balled into fists.

Seems Vaka's revolution has a few more soldiers than I imagined. Teric thought, if the number of anxious glances he counted was any indication.

"Alright, I'll go quietly." Teric offered after a moment, reaching slowly to his belt. He stood up, and as he did so a half dozen rifles trained in on him. Apparently my reputation isn't lost on them. The mercenary almost smiled, but the situation certainly didn't call for it.

He relieved himself of his sword and the knife in his boot, handing them to the soldier with the outstretched hand. He raised his hands into the air, placing them on his head and breathing deeply as the mage came forward and patted him down to make sure he was unarmed. He was cuffed around the wrists and ankles, a chain around his waist securing him to a guard on either side. It was all done quickly, quietly, and methodically - right up until they turned to leave.

"Tell the dog to stay." Charles ordered, pointing his pistol at Milo.

"Tony." Teric didn't even have to ask - the barman walked over solemnly and took the Drave-mix by the collar. Milo growled, but not at Tony. The big dog had his sights set squarely on Charles.

"Get the prisoner out of here." Charles ordered, heading for the door. Teric followed his escorts willingly, breathing deeply and taking care not to cause trouble. He had a feeling, judging by the look Tony gave him on the way out, that his stay in whatever prison the Church had constructed here would be a short one.

Part 1/3 in a planned series.

No Spoils requested - they'll build to one big spoil at the end.

[Ataraxis]

Quest Judging
The Ancestral Home

I’m sorry it took so long, but here’s your long-awaited judgment! I have to say I was intrigued by the direction of this quest, though it didn’t quite top your previous solos. Still, considering this is more of a preliminary solo in a series of three, I’ve got the nice feeling that the best part is still to come!

STORY

Continuity ~ 9/10.Difficult to go wrong, here. This was basically a story about returning to the fold, and finding things aren’t quite like they were, all those years ago: incidentally a perfect premise for high-continuity scores. On top of having good reasons to be there, I learned much more about Teric’s past than I did in Stomping Grounds, from his years as a child to his time spent in the militia with Tony/Taka. Moreover, on top of the vibrant history tied to Teric and Lothiaan, you managed to include the Salvaran conflict rather seamlessly into this story, giving a new spin by creating a third side to the war. All in all, I think you did fantastically in this category.

Setting ~ 7.5/10.You didn’t stint on effort here, and the sled-ride in the first post gave way to a very realistic setting that I could imagine accurately with little to no effort, but overall it didn’t have the same uniqueness that I noticed in your older quests (half-grungy, half-classy is what comes to mind). While I think you did show improvement, snowlands and a bar still don’t make room for descriptions that are engaging enough. I did enjoy Charles and Teric’s walk along the tracks and the descriptions about what lay behind the palisade, and I also did think there was a little something about Tony’s office, though that may be because you also gave it a sentimental value. The reference to Old Vaka’s grandfather being a civil engineer and designing the heating system for the tavern (as well as describing the system very well) was also nice addition.

Pacing ~ 8/10.I definitely didn’t get bored while reading this, nor did I hit any stump other than the occasional mistake. In contrast, I also wasn’t particularly drawn by the story itself. It was all very well written, though I could feel no actual tension as a reader, and even your conclusion post seemed to dispel what hope of suspense I was looking for as a reader (by having Teric tell himself that his stay in prison would be much shorter than the Church mooks hoped. From the look in Tony’s eyes). That, couped with the fact that I saw the arrest coming and knew Charles wouldn’t be playing a friendly role for quite so long. Not necessarily bad things, though rational unpredictability still remains a good thing to strive for.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 7/10. I liked the dialogue because it felt fluid and real - as far from plastic as can be. There’s still that déjÃ*-vu feeling I’ve mentioned in Stomping Grounds: the lines aren’t taken from anywhere, but the context and contents still do remind me of books and movies where the protagonist returns to a home where he doesn’t know if he’ll be welcomed or chased off with pitchforks. I know someone said there’s nothing new under the sun, and that such things should be expected, but I think you the dialogue would leave a much more lasting impression of there were some lines that made the reader wonder – think-outside-the-box dialogue, if you will. It doesn’t have to be witty or philosophical, and it doesn’t have to stray from your current style. In vague and intuitive terms, I think it just needs ‘that little something’.

Action ~ 7.5/10. I have to admit it took me some time to think of noteworthy instances where Action came into play. The sled-incident came to mind, then Charles introduction as a scrawny bear from out the woods were nice little touches. Not much else came to mind, other than the fact that things fall into place quite snugly and they made sense. Teric did seem quite attached to Milo though, and his constant care, what with the patting and scratching gave him a very humane quality, a bit of a reminder that even though he’s a mercenary and he’s done a parade of pretty awful things, that doesn’t make him any less impervious to a dangerous and overgrown version of man’s best friend. Taking shots with Tony also gave you a boost here, as it seemed like more than friendly alcoholism, but almost like a vice turned military tradition (like how people only smoke when they’re around their fellows in the army).

Persona ~ 7.25/10. There were moments where I could feel an empathic link with the characters from the way you portrayed them and their thoughts. Teric’s worry at Tony’s reaction upon seeing him (will he hug me or slug me?) was a notable instant, as well as the general interaction with the sled dogs and Milo, and the catching-up between Teric and Tony. As a whole, though, you wrote everyone as mainly analytical rather than introspective: while it’s understandable in times of warfare, people will feel and show their doubts and distrust differently, whereas here, people either deconstructed every action into potentially friendly or harmful, or were oblivious to it all. On the other hand, that’s still something that applies in Persona, so you’re actually still getting points for that (though not as much as you would if there had been more variety, more ‘standing out’ for each character’s portrayal of their thoughts and emotions).

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 7.25/10.I think you did wrote with the same quality I expected from you, so it’s all fine. There’s not much I can say here that I haven’t already said in your past judgment; it’s still just as engaging, and makes use of descriptions that aren’t over-the-top, but still offer a refreshing image compared to stuffy, adjective-heavy types of of writing. My only advice to you would be to include more, as I definitely noticed less effective imagery and rhetorical devices to liven up your sentences. Compared to your past works.

Mechanics ~ 8.5/10.I Nothing too important, and you can find most of it in the notes at the end of the judgment.

Clarity ~ 9/10.It’s not exactly that I didn’t comprehend certain passages of your writing, but that I sometimes had to reread a paragraph because my mind went off wandering. Not often, mind you, but it did make a difference. It’s not because of any attention deficit, but because some excerpts were longer than others, and written too evenly – that is to say, without ups and downs to keep me on the edge.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 6.5/10. It was an interesting solo, though I think you’ll understand that things only began to escalate near the end: there wasn’t much of an actual story until they went to Vaka’s Tavern. I do think part II will be quite the ride, though!

TOTAL ~ 77.5/100.

EXP Rewards

Teric Bloodrose gains: 3002.5 XP, doubled by the FQ = 6005 XP!


GP Rewards

Teric Bloodrose gains: 127 GP, doubled by the FQ = 254 GP!


Other Rewards

Teric Bloodrose gains: Nothing!

FINAL NOTES

This was an enjoyable read, and I’ll be waiting for the next chapter! Good luck with all, and until next time!
 

There was a slight pause as both men just sort of stood there (2) Considering you’re going for a more contemporary feel of writing, I can understand the use of these expressions, though I just wanted to point out that ‘sort of’ didn’t seem to fit your style. Maybe it’s because to me, it always sounds like a throwaway expression that goes hand in hand with ‘kinda like, you know, wink wink nudge nudge’.
several changes that taken place since he's last visited his home (3) that had taken
snow if front (3) in front, thought it’s used twice at close intervals.
been a place that fear attack (3) feared
Behind the relatively common pine barrier fronting the wall, several stone support structures had been built behind it (4) Redundancy of ‘behind’
Tony Vaka, the tavern's new propriety, (4) proprietor
Tony seemed to contemplating something, (6) ‘to contemplate’ or ‘to be contemplating’
the rabble doesn't get to rowdy (6) too rowdy
We've lived far to long paying lip service (7) too long