Scattered dropulits of a Wolf's soul: Chapter I

[Bard]

closed to Bard, Darkest Desires, and Drumheller

City of Pestovo
At the docks
Dynette, first Stryde in Mársámýr, 1815 C.P.

“Welcome to Pestovo, good mistress, one of the finest ports in Salvir.” Deckmaster Wilaferd Slone extended a massive paw of a hand – weatherworn, callused, big knuckled, with short curly hairs between the fingers, almost a bear paw minus the claws – to take in the entire long wharf with a sweeping gesture. The artificial anchorage in question was a gigantic edifice, the base of which was an enormous half-moon made of some dark stone, with two wooden docks jutting out to form a “V”. The wooden portions were formed like three capital “T” in the trade tongue, each one stacked atop the other, and were clearly meant for smaller vessels, given the number of single sailed and unmassted boats tide up there. Ships of every size lined the various portions that formed the pier, most moored by the stern, and despite the early hour – the sun had not yet risen – and the chilly weather dock men in coarse, sleeveless woolen tunics hurried about loading and unloading bales and containers, crates and casks, with ropes and booms, or on their backs. Massive lanterns set atop gigantic polls that rose into the sky three meters or more, created islands of illumination almost overlapping in places. These revealing sentries combined with the diminutive lanterns set on sternposts served to give the entire scene an almost surreal quality. The smaller ships seemed like buzzing fire flies as they scurried from port to the immense Carracks that sat out at anchor, slowly disgorging cargo to the smaller boats, which then scurried back to port to discharge their loads, by way of cranes, or by the old labor intensive method of offloading by hand.

This vessel, the Caravel called the Sun’s Chaser, would be docking at the half-moon peer,
Slone had informed her shortly before the port had first come into view, and even from that distance it seemed like an enormity. From her current vantage point, it utterly dominated her vision.

“Best day for landing we’ve had all year,” Slone continued, in the same gravelly voice that was the hallmark of his speech, “the finest spring day we’re likely to be having all year.” From the feel of it, it could be early spring, or late autumn, the two being close enough at times to make no difference. Still she had been told that much of Salvir would still be in winter’s grip at this time, some of it, she had been told remained within winter’s grasp permanently. Still, as near as could be told, winter had left the port city for now, and planting would be beginning on the farms and towns nearby in earnest, their folks working in earnest to take advantage of the finer weather, fully knowing that winter came far too early in this part of the world. “Passengers will be the first, along with their affects, cargo next.”

He was a large man, the deckmaster, with fiery red hair that covered the back of his head like a main, and an even thicker charcoal hued beard, wild and unkempt, covered his face, which only added to his beastly appearance. Yet, despite his gruff mannerisms and harsh sounding speech, his heart was as big as his barreled chest.

“So what do yer plans are when you hit land lass?”

[darkest.desires.]

The sky clear with no clouds in the sky, a pasture of blue was to have been seen for miles in the blue "sea" about their heads. A small sigh parted the full crimson, naturally pouty lips of the woman that wore a long dingy cloak with the hood drawn over her head hiding her face in a dark shadow much like the one that seemed to loom around her soul, waiting to claim her for the dark side fully. Paying no mind to anything going around her the woman slightly tilted her head to the sky inhaling deeply the smell of the salty water calmed her galloping storm of a heart. I left... my home... my past... where I laid them to rest... A lump was rose in her throat threatening to constrict her air way and expose her raw wounds that were still aching from past events of a revengeful witch and getting back at her for taking her down and ripping her satanic coven apart bit by bit. Drawing her back to where she was now and far away from her home was the voice of an earthy man. The tone of his voice was so deep in his chest that for a moment she just listened to the rumble of her his vocal cords before she actually heard what he was saying. Drawing back her cloak, her honey brown locks whipped and billowed in the winds of the sea. Her face was captivating and stunning, her fierce dark midnight ocean blue eyes were sharp and held what seemed thousand years of sadness in them as she slowly looked at the male holding his hand out towards her. Her sharp angled cheek bones made her eyes that much sharper and fierce looking as her pouty full red lips were pulled into a straight line as she slid her small petite hand into his giving him a firm shake.

As the male continued to make small talk with the woman known as Camille, she simply just nodded at him not really sure of how to make small talk any more with other people. Her hand absent mindedly clasped tightly onto a unique necklace that had two intertwining vials that seemed to have some sort of ash in it that would seem strange to any other person but to her it was her beloved Josh and brother James ashes. Picking up her large duffle bag that held the clothes that she had hurriedly packed after trying to escape the suffocation that was her past and her brothers old bow and splintered arrows. Slinging the hefty duffle bag over her shoulder she braced herself for what was yet to come.. the unknown of this land mad her eerily uncomfortable.

After being informed on how the order was for people being let off the large vessel that was known as the Sun's Chaser she drummed her fingers on the railing staring absent mindedly out at the port that was now coming into her view. Though as the girthy male called back her attention to him she tilted her head sideways as if she to show that she hadn't thought of what she was going to do when hitting the shores. Her tone was light but held no hint of emotion in it.

"Find a place to stay and work.."

[Bard]

Sea green eyes regarded her for a moment. Deeps set eyes, eyes full of knowing, and understanding, awareness that seemed to bubble up from incomprehensible depths. Arms that belonged as much on a blacksmith or miner crossed themselves across a bull’s chest. The gesture seeming born more out of a natural disposition, than out of any defensiveness, as though this was how the man naturally stood when his hands weren’t being engaged in some important task.

“Ugatakk,” he began after a short pause,” who has the night watch up in the crow’s nest has a message for you.” She had no doubt heard of the half-orc during the voyage, even if their paths never crossed. The crew and the passengers both ate in the same galley after all. She would have no doubt seen the short stalky half-orc, with his tusks cut off done to mere nubs, his tunics always covering up his neck so that no one could see the scar that gossip said was there. “He can’t talk, but he can still communicate with either the pipes we gave him, or with his hands.” He shrugged, somewhat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure on the best way to go about delivering the message he was given, but trying to make the best of it anyway. “He told me to tell you, that yer best bet, would to catch a ride on a delivery wagon leaving the docks. There’s always plenty coming and going, and for a couple of coppers you can ride one, and get some news on what’s about.” He paused for another moment, while he scratched his bearded chin with a chipped and dirty fingernail. “He says make your way to an inn called the Four White Horses, it is a good one, and you will find work there. He also says,” another brief pause, as though some decision needed to be reached before the enormity of a sailor and deckmaster could continue, “ he says keep your eyes out for the lad with gem colored eyes, he will help you with your soul scars.” He shrugged again at that, and his expression was clearly that of a man that had no clue as to what the last part meant. “Anyhow, that’s what he told me to tell you, sometimes… sometimes he see’s things in the clouds, and sometimes what he sees comes true.” He shrugged again, as if to say that it didn’t matter, when in truth it quite clearly did, “best of luck to you lass.”

His message delivered the Deckmaster immediately turned and began bellowing orders for securing the vessel for Port Fall, an event no less demanding of careful attentions as launch. Men scurried across the deck, and up in the rigging sailors scampered up and down lines like squirrels as yarding shifted forcing their attended shadows to shift across the deck in a dance of vailed murkiness near as dark as the tortured thoughts of the lone woman on deck. With one final creek of deck planks, and a final whoosh of air through sails, the vessel was safely fitted into its birth, and the busied activity of Port Fall shifted into the controlled frenzy of unloading.

None of that really concerned her though.

The gang plank was swiftly erected for disembarking, a pair of mooring lines serving as railings to ensure that no passengers slipped off during the unsteady crossing from wooden deck to Stoney wharf. A trio of passengers preceded her from off the vessel, the sagely looking male elf with his hand on a young lass’s shoulder, which both sight and smell stated quite clearly was his daughter. A lean looking human well loaded down with packs and sacks and duffels bringing up the rear might have been their manservant, it would be hard to tell. Of course that little mattered too, save to serve as reminders of how alone she now was. Naturally all thoughts would be readily shoved aside by the slap to the face that was the aromas of the harbor itself.

“… no you fofiting lummox you handle the fragile boxes first…”
“… you drop that end and I’ll thump your skull for you…”
“… You put that crate on top of that wine barrel and I’ll toss yer sorry arse in the drink…”
It was an attack upon her ears, an assault upon her nose – where the bitter aroma of excreted salts intermingled with the bitter chatter of sea salt and watery foam; where the odors of labored masculinity, tapped against nostrils as surely as half-boiled leathers; here and there the scents of vermin, human and animal leavings, and half consumed spirits would arise from the tide of near pervasive stench of laboring humanity, only to sink back beneath the waves of maleness – underfoot the stones seemed to be the only stable aspect in the sea of half-controlled barely organized chaos that was dock life at any major port. Still, for those not forced to be a part of said activities, the desire to flee the scene would grow greater with every passing moment.

“Welcome to Pestovo good mistress, can I assist you?”

The man addressing her, a lad really by the look of him, coming up only to her shoulder, with blond curly hairs spilling forth from a gray cap that despite being crammed down to the midpoint of his forehead did not manage to encapsulate all of the unruly locks. His lanky form, which spoke of hard sinewy strength, was clad in a dull brown woolen tunic and baggy gray trousers thrust into cracked honey brown boots. The lad was just then preparing to climb up onto the seat of a wagon, whose bed was full of sacks containing what only the gods knew. The smile on his face seemed a brave attempt at hiding bashfulness at addressing a being as lovely as she, and this combined with the easy nature that spilled forth from his nut hued eyes made him an easy mark for her needs, which all, no doubt, centered around fleeing, like a hunted wolf, the port scene.

[darkest.desires.]

Camille watched the salty sea lap up at the side of the boat as her mind wondered every which direction it possibly could. Am I making the right decision to have fled my home that I worked so hard to build? Did I make the wrong choice for only leaving because it was too painful to stay there? What would my sweet fiancé Josh have thought, or my fierce yet loving brother James think of me as a coward or find it okay that I left? She was drawn back out of he thoughts as she heard the voice of the man that she was just speaking too.

Tilting her head sideways as the male spoke of the vision the half orc had about her. The look on her face was a cross between what the hell and I am not entirely sure if I believe the story he is feeding me. Her plump pouty red lips were pulled into a thin straight line. Her vibrant dark midnight ocean blue hued eyes started at the male as he continued to tell her about what she should do and what was to come of her future. She was unsure what to say as he paused a few several times before continuing. When he paused again she spoke, "um this sure is a lot to take in.." Before she let him continue once again, her eyebrow arched as he spoke of the scarring of her soul, goose bumps rose up on her flesh. The mention of her dark and tattered soul made it some what realistic that this orc was not a fraud. After she knew he was done she looked at the male blinking a few times before speaking softly, "I will take what he said into consideration and try and live up to his vision that he had of my future." With a curt nod she walked over the side of the boat to have her nose filled with a mixture of smells.

Had she had something in her stomach she would have up heaved it the moment the scent hit her nostrils. Clasping her hand to cover her mouth and nose her nostrils were still insulted with the smell of musk from the men that ran by her to heed to their captains orders, the smell of the various street shops also mixed with the masculine aroma. Her stomach twisted and turned as a small young boy approached her with a shy smile on his lips. When he called her mistress her face twisted just as her stomach was but as she started to feel green around the edges she forced a stiff smile and nodded, "lets go doll you can show me to an inn that is called the Four White Horses. You know the joint?" As she spoke she had already taken his small hand in hers she was all but practically dragging him from the ship deck trying to flee the smell.

Hoping onto the back of the wagon she had to force herself not to dry heave from the horrid smell. Simply wishing for the boy to hit the acceleration on his noble stead so that she could have the smell of fresh air fill her longs. Though in the back of her mind the message from the half breed still assaulted her thoughts.

(OOC: Excuse my hectic reply I had been more than half way through it when my computer reset to update it's software and I lost it and was scrambling around to try and remember what I wrote...)

[Bard]

The lad offered no resistance as he was half dragged to his wagon. Any casual onlooker, and there were more than just a couple, would think the lad was used to having gorgeous women drag him around. Only the back of his neck gave the lye to such an assumption. “Oh aye good mistress, oh aye, I know that place.” He affirmed, golden curls dancing as he scrambled up onto the driver’s bench with all the liveliness of a squirrel. With one hand he snatched up the reins, while the other fumbled with a satchel connected to a strip of leather tied round his waste in front with a complicated knot. Even with that strap one might wonder how the skinny youth kept his trousers up. With an ease born of long experience, he twirled his right wrist and the wagon lurched into motion. While the rolling of the wheels was a little bumpy at first – the jolts rocking driver and passenger alike a couple of times – things smoothed out quickly enough. No sooner than the going leveled out, than the youth produced a roundish object from out of the diminutive haversack at his waste, which was all wrapped in some kind of goat skin casings. Working at the coverings with his free hand, the lad expertly guided the wagon round sailors, dock hands, merchants, and hawkers alike. The barely perceptible tugs on the reins commanding the Northern Haulers with all the sureness as if he were at their shoulders, instead of the other end of a draft halter. After just another moment of working, His left hand crossed his right, and “here mistress place this under your nose,” was the only warning she would have before a somewhat aged, but very strong smelling orange stuffed with cinnamon leafs was positioned before her. Along with the thin heavy knuckled hand of the youth, complete with two missing fingers on the side furthest away from his thumb.

“We’ll be approaching the fish market soon,” he said by way of explanation, “and no matter what time of the Brightening the smell is always bad.” He jerked the reins a little harder this time, avoiding a hand cart, which was backing out of a lean-to, which looked like it was sealing beer. At least there were barrels of something set behind a table, and several women were filling mugs with some dark liquid, a cash-box sat on the table near a beefy looking taciturn dwarf, who looked ready to fight anyone and everyone the moment they started making trouble. All about folks darted on one task or another, some watching where they were going and others not. Still the wagon never bumped a soul, never jostled a cart, or passerby, or carelessly stacked bluster of crates. “Just keep that near your nose and your eyes on the wall and all will be fine. The smell bothers everyone, “the lad continued cheerfully, with the kind of good-natured humor that was oft infectious. The wall though, it’s a real beut. You’ll see.”

And she did.

The wall like the stone half-moon landing of the wharf experienced prior, and that was even now being traversed, appeared to be one solid piece of stone. Not merely tightly packed blocks, with cleverly painted over cement, but one solid piece, without seam or joint or mortar, as though the wall had somehow grown up around the spot. Its solidity seeming to merely rise up from the stone underneath the wagon’s wheels. Parapets appeared at regular intervals, their zig zag form indicating that multiples forms of fire could be brought to bare at any one place. Many of those defensive positions had portals open, and many a heavy Trebuchet And Ballista could be seen. There could be no doubt that the defense works of the city were considerable.

Still that was not what would normally hold the eye.

Crafted across the wall, the patterns overlaying and incorporating the parapets into the art work, was a stylized scene of the ocean depths. Sharks and fish swam about sunken ships, and seaweed and shellfish could be seen surrounded by those alien creatures found in the frigid waters of the north. Lovely merfolk swam side-by-side with dolphins, while a wail battled with a pair of giant squids. Up and up it went thirty five feet of grandeur, painted and carved the fanciful imagery of every aspect of the ocean’s depths laid out before them.

[darkest.desires.]

(OOC: My reply may be short due to being ill lately but I didn't wish to keep you waiting any longer.)

As the voyage to the inn took longer than she had hoped for she tried to stager her breathing as the mixtures of strong smells made her stomach twist and turn as she tried to keep the contents in her stomach down. Grateful she took the piece that the boy offered her as she breathed into her. Though it was to help her such powerful scents like cinnamon made her senses go hay wire. Camille could feel her pupils dilate at the overload that her body was going through, her claws extended slightly as she hurriedly covered her hands breathed deeply but the smell of rotting and fresh fish invaded her nostrils. Drawing her cloak over her face she took the cloth to her nose and sniffed gently this time, as she inhaled each time she slowly parted her lips ands blew the air out slowly that she had just intake.

As they had passed through the fish market she kept her eyes low but not before she saw the wall that had decorative patterns of fish and what not. Her dark midnight ocean blue eyes sparked with admiration to its beauty. Sighing softly she drew her cloak closer to her body as she swayed with the cart as her feet dangled off the edge. Closing her eyes she shielded herself from the beauty that had been captured by some talented soul. Slowly she let her mind go adrift to her surrounding as she day dreamed of her brother and his smiling face the one that mirrored hers own in many ways but a few contributions that differed them greatly. Like his blue eyes were light and clear like the water in a spring. His nose was slightly larger than her own but had sat well on his handsome face. Than flashed her beloved Josh, his marvelous smile that had caught her breath each time he had graced her with it. His bright green gem for eyes and his olive toned skin that complimented them very nicely. Her breath hitched in her chest as she opened her eyes gasping, choking on the air around her. Forcing herself to calm down she clutched the unique pendant that hung around her neck, two vials intertwining; one filled with ash and the other filled with water. Finally after she had gotten her breathing under control she looked up to be greeted with the sight of a building that could be the inn. With relief flooding her, she was over taken by exhaustion and numbness at the same time.

"Is that the inn?"

[Bard]

With her eyes closed she did not notice the fish market, a treat for the eyes to be sure. The center piece of the bazaar of the sea was a structure shaped in the form of a ship, complete with masts – without sails of course – With a horseshoe shaped canal that ran around it. Three stone bridges, their sides cunningly wrought to look like waves connected the ship to the rest of the market, a veritable forest of stall and shops, which all rested on a gently sloping incline that served to separate it from the rest of the dock proper. Longboats made a regular circuit round that never moving vessel delivering every catch of the sea one could imagine – and a few things they probably couldn’t – before swiftly rowing back out to the larger fishing craft, some as large as merchant ships, which plied the cold northern waters. Some of the shops were as fanciful in their construct as the vessel that served as the processing center. Not all of the catch came through that way, just most of it did, and those that wanted the best handled only purchased what had come through the ‘Sea Queen’ first. Her companion informed her of this, quite naturally it was a source of civic pride, but only one of many.

“Construction on the Sea Queen began around 200 CP, when the city was originally under the control of the Mage Lord Nicolas Kytensky, by his steward Andriko Auttavá. While the harbor and the wall predate both men, indeed, both structures predate the coming of the Church and the Demon Wars; it is still one of the thirteen oldest structures in the city.” Lost so in her internal musings, it was unlikely that she heard of any of this, nor noticed the occasional glances the lad shot her way out of the corner of his eyes. Perhaps he knew that she was not truly listening, and possibly simply kept up the conversation to help drown out the constant noise.

“We are coming up to the third gate, good mistress. The smallest of the wagon gates this one is called the wail gate for obvious reasons, and like the rest of the wall here before recorded history and never once having to be repaired.” The gate was, in fact, shaped like a wail with its enormous maw wide open and unlike the other entrances meant for wagons, of which there were five, this one was only large enough to let a trio of wagons to pass through at one time.

No sooner had the pair traveled through that portal than it would seem as though they had been mystically transported to another world. The shouting and the sounds of cranes and ships and mooring lines seeming to have been cut off with a knife the moment they came out of the portcullis. This fact might register upon the she Lycan, or perchance not.

It was most improbable that she would notice the alteration in the street beneath the wagon’s wheels. The solid massive all-encompassing lone block that was the impression of the docks being altered to tightly packed hexagonal and diamond shaped flagstones in an intermingled hue of the pale and vivid blue green associated with Paris green and Emerald, dotted here and there with acicular formed stones that looked like Malachite. She most certainly would not see the two marble statues, one of an elderly sagely looking man and the other of an equally wise elderly woman that stood at the first intersection, right past a pair of barracks for the city guard. The building themselves looking as much as though some magician managed to freeze a waterfall and superimpose stately oaks for the water. She might have heard the heavy foot falls of some of the city guard overhead, as they marched on patrol, or heard the flute and the drummer of a pair of street performers as the wagon made a left; although it was unlikely.

She would have not seen the mushroom fashioned eatery on their right just two blockhouses down, nor those block houses with their wide porches and “V” shaped overhangs to catch snow and rain water, nor the heavy doored cellar entrances that faced the street. She wouldn’t have spied the little statuary or adornments that were found on every structure they past. She would have not laid eyes on the fact that every construction had stairs or ramps as often as not, that lead up to doors on the second story, even on those erections that only had two floors. She would have not perceived the footpaths in soapstone and granite that wrapped around each block. Nor spied the lavish and intricately styled walkover bridges that allowed foot traffic to cross busy intersections. She would not observe the garments, which often woolen, were near always comprised of multihued patterns. She would have gazed upon none of it, none at all. Not until they made their second, and last turn, arriving at her destination.

“Welcome to the Four White Horses.”

With those words, all that she had not viewed before, would after a fashion, be placed before her like a banquet. The smell of Yellow Primes, and blueberry bushes, and daisies would come to her nostrils upon a gentle breeze, as the edifice – all five stories of Cedar, Walnut, pine, interspersed with alabaster – stood before her. It was as magnificent a building as any apparent on the avenue. Three blue and green marble steps, which had the form of grassy fields in miniature, stretched up to a wide overhand that seemed itself a sequence of cunningly fashioned arches, where themselves held up by four massive bleached wood horses, which must have stood at least nine feet. Each equine was standing on its hindquarters with their fore hooves in the air. The two on the left, one being quite clearly a unicorn, had their s close to their frame, while the pair on the right had their hooves as if frozen in the midst of buffeting the air. The last one on the most extreme right even had a set of feathered wings that look as if at any moment the thing would take flight.

“I have just a scant moment good mistress, but would you like me to introduce you to the headman?”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Congratulations!

Bard receives 355 EXP and 45 GP!

darkest.desires receives 245 EXP and 35 GP!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards have been added!