In Search of Questions

[Karelinkski]

(Closed)

The newcomer was a tall man, Marcum guessed around six foot, maybe a hair more. He was strongly built, but perhaps a bit gaunt for his height. His gait and his bearing denounced the ragged appearance of his clothing. He had an old pair of boots, worn, but not ragged. Bloused into his boot tops was a utilitarian pair of trousers that might have once been olive toned, but were now faded and dirty. A white linen shirt stood in contrast to the rest of the man, remarkable only in its distinct lack of stains or aging grime. Over all was an aged and fraying greatcoat, matching the pants in color or lack thereof. Several large dark stains on his coat and pants looked suspiciously like blood. The traveler stood at the crossroads, taking stock of the little village. Grey eyes squinted in bright sun taking in the scattered buildings, before settling squarely on Marcum. Framing those steely eyes were sharp features that perhaps betrayed a noble birth. His strong jawline gave way to a hard nose, and a clearly defined brow. All this was crowned with brown hair that, in weeks passed, might have been cut short in a military style, but was now ragged and grown out.

Looks like a deserter, but hell if I know from what army. Marcum hadn't heard of any fighting though, and stranger figures than this graced the road in Concordia.

The village was not much to look at. Nothing remarkable set the little outpost apart from others scattered throughout Concordia. Here, the major north-south route crossed with a local road that joined a nearby town to the west, with a little logging encampment to the east. The big man from Omsk had counted five buildings total. The largest was a rundown little tavern with a sign that read: The Fallen Oak. It was an old establishment, the oldest Sergei would guess. Faded timber walls, and a slightly canted roof suited the name perfectly. Still it seemed popular enough, a couple horses were lashed to a hitching post, and a wagon was parked in the open space beside.

Three log-built residences sat haphazardly around the little clearing, back from either road a bit, where the forest shade likely kept them cool most of the day. They weren't much to look at, a little garden plot next to one, another with an abutting workshop. The sound of a lathe marked it as a carpenter's shop.

To the left of the tavern sat a little depot, snuggled right up to the point where the roads crossed. It was a newer building by comparison, though still weather-stained and worn from years. An old wooden sign, still clinging to ancient white paint in a few places , declared it: Fallen Oak Sundries. The store was fronted by a porch that ran the width of the building, a grand total of perhaps fifteen feet; on which a couple of ancient rocking chairs hunkered in the shade provided by the sloped eave. An old-timer slouched in one such chair, wide brimmed hat low over his eyes to keep out the noon sun.

The soldier's boots clumped against the hollow woodwork as he climbed three steps to the porch. Bony old fingers tipped the hat back revealing a pair of clear blue eyes that seemed to take stock of what was before them. "If your looking for sundries, Jamus will have what you need. He ran over to the Fallen Oak, 'll be back in a tick. Go on inside if yah like." Marcum shifted in the chair, pulling his hat back over his eyes.

Clean white walls were not precisely what Sergei expected given the outer appearance of the building. The old wooden floor was clean, smooth, and freshly sanded. Horehound candy, cracked wheat, honey, and beer blended together pleasantly, giving the whole place a great aroma. Neat shelves lined the walls, and a central table displayed a variety of goods: barrels of flour; smaller kegs of beer; bags of milled wheat. Essential hardware occupied a corner: nails; hammers; a carpentry plane; and other assorted wood crafting tools. There were shelves lined with boxes, labeled as seeds for various vegetables and fruits. Below these shelves were hooks set into the wall and hung with various gardening implements: hoes; shovels; trowels; a post-hole digger. In short, this shop seemed to have enough goods to meet the needs of the various stead holders, loggers, and farmers, foresters, and rangers that eked out a steady existence in the surrounding environs.

Sergei had been on the road for a few days. Wandering between small settlements, he was beginning to getting a feel for the locals and the region. The forest was becoming more comfortable and his time in the company of the pines and oaks was refreshing. He'd stopped in here for a few supplies before meandering on. This new world he found himself in was complex and busy. His soul enjoyed these mostly empty spaces deep in Concordia for the tranquility they provided, away from the great cities like Radasanth. There were questions he needed answers too, but without some time to process recent events he didn't know what the questions were. Before he went searching for answers, it would be wise to know the questions. If only life would slow down for a few moments. So far since his displacement from the Eastern front, moments before a german mortar ended his life, he'd not had a chance to process. Strange voices, muggings with magic, coupled with the unwinding of his war ravaged brain, hadn't let him fully relax or concentrate.

Why had he been saved? What did the voice mean when it told him he had work to do?

[Silence Sei]

Out of all the small villages that littered Concordia, Fallen Oak was the closest to Ixian Castle. The town was about five miles beyond the sea of pines and oaks that primarily made up Concordia Forest to hide the giant fortress that housed the Ixian Knights. Naturally, it was common sense that the majority of the knights would come in every so often to buy or trade with the townsfolk. While the castle was home to people numbering in the hundreds, only a handful of members would come down each day. This had been standing orders from Sei Orlouge, who wished to give the town time to plow and ready crops, or craft new things without having more than it could handle.

In fact, while the Ixian Castle Garden was still under development, Fallen Oak was the primary source for fruits and vegetables among the knights. Every day around morning and dusk, one of the kitchen staff would come down and get as much food as possible from the town, earning it a modest income in doing so. Today, the responsibility of gathering the food from the tranquil little township fell upon both Emma Orlouge, second youngest of Sei's 'daughters', and the Mystic warrior himself.

As usual, the town was quiet other than a few people peddling their wares and items to what small number of Ixian officers had come by today. The sounds of the small bustle were accompanied by that of a melodic choir of magpies, as well as a few sporadic squeaks from the local forest life. Sei smiled while he watched Emma wave an imaginary baton as if she was orchestrating a symphony to the tune of the every day sounds. The girl had a unique ability to chain anything together into a melody that only she could hear. It was not until the girl stopped abruptly that Sei gave pause as well, wondering what could distract the girl from one of her favorite hobbies.

"There's a new kind of sound today," Emma spoke of the observations her ears picked up, "Exasperated breaths, heavy footsteps, as well as metal clinging together." Sei listened to the girl carefully, trusting her acute sense of hearing. From the sounds of things, Emma had detected a soldier not with the Ixian Knights. The mutes first thoughts went to Imperial Guard, or Corone Ranger, but those notions were dismissed by the fact that Emma would have actually used those titles if that’s who was here. No, some other kind of soldier was here, one Emma had not been familiar with.

Emma knew what her father would want to do, so she led the Mystic towards the sundries shop. Before the duo could enter the humble hut however, Emma turned around. Her brown eyes had a tinge of uncertainty in them, and Sei knew that something else was amiss. The two stood staring at one another for the better half of a minute before Emma realized that her father was waiting on her to speak before they continued.

"The shopkeeper is not in here," Emma said with confidence, "just this stranger. I hear a bit of rifling, but he's not making enough noise to be an outright thief. Before we jump the gun, maybe we should ask him a few questions?" Sei crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, a feeling of pride welling up from the pit of his stomach. He was impressed with how far along Emma's training in becoming a true warrior was progressing. He nodded and uncrossed his arms, walking into the store casually.

The man within the shop seemed to be humanoid in form, but his attire was something that Sei had only seen a sparse amount of times. The mute made a guttural cough to bring the attention to himself. When the stranger turned around, the Mystic's sixteen year old daughter began the interrogation.

"Hello sir,” Emma said, giving a slight curtsey to the strangely dressed man "is there something we may be able to help you with?"

[Karelinkski]

Most of the items that Sergei wanted had been easy to find. First, he’d found a canvas traveling pack, the sort with extra outer pockets. He was pleased, it was a nice pack and the brown fabric seemed pretty durable. The old soldier was using it to carry other items as he rummaged through the shelves and boxes. He had found candles, fluid for his lighter, a little metal cup. The shop was surprisingly well stocked given its outer appearance. He’d even found a small spool of fine gauge brass wire, perfect for snares.

“Alright, candles… check. Where was… here we are.” The little glass bottle of Kerosene fit snuggly into one of the outer pockets. His lighter was perilously low on fluid, and the kerosene would work in a pinch. Thankfully, the flint was still quite long and would last for some time if he used it economically.

It had been years since Sergei tried to trap anything. Remembrance was tinged with sadness. The years leading to the Second Great War had been rough on his family; trapping had often put meat on the table. Cold Russian winter nights kept at bay by a roaring fire, the family and few servants huddled into one room. Brief, mild summers spent in the family’s forests. Those days were long gone now, the revolution had seen to that. Of course, none of that mattered anymore. Not here where he had no title.

The woman’s voice startled him from his reverie. He spun to face the door, his elbow catching a shelf.

Thud! Clang!

“OW! Hellfire and blazes!”

There was a cast iron pan at his feet, it was the heavy sort used over campfires. Sergei rubbed the rapidly forming lump it’d caused, turning sheepishly to the doorway. He jerked his hand away, and stood up straight.

Wow… She’s pretty. And pretty young, quit you old idiot! That looks like a big brother behind her, don’t let him catch you looking or he’ll throw you out of his shop. Sergeant Karelinkski was no idiot, he knew a nasty weapon when he saw one. The red haired man had several and Sergei didn't feel like testing his skill.

"Apologies for swearing."

He picked up the heavy skillet, “Yes miss, I suppose you could help me. I still haven’t found a few things I need.” He ran through a mental list, ticking off all the items he’d found. “Well, I just found a suitable pan,” a wry grin accompanied this. “I still need… ummm.” The sunlight was distracting him, specifically as it was playing through the girl's hair. It seemed to make her glow. “Err, yeah.. A hatchet, I haven’t found one yet. I think, that’ll be that last item.”

Sergei wanted to kick himself; he was old enough to be her father. Years at the front had him wired too tight. He just hoped he hadn't offended her, or her heavily armed companion.

[Silence Sei]

The smell of freshly shaved pine seemed to fill the room, or at the very least, Sei's nostrils. The mute was shifting his eyes about as Sergei and Emma got cozy with one another. It was an awkward thing, to be a third party during friendly introductions. Luckily, the Dragon of Drantrak was keeping a loose ear on the conversation being had. It seemed as though this soldier needed a few more supplies, other than the fire associated objects he had been taking before the entrance of the Orlouges. As he spoke of needing the hatchet, the strategist began to think of what all the items had in common with one another. The blue orbs of the Mystic shifted back to Sergei just as Emma began to solve the riddle for her father.

"Camping supplies, right?" Emma asked with a genuine curiosity, "It seems that the candles, the pan, the kerosene. Everything seems to be used or camping." The girl smiled as if she had just solved one of Althanas great mysteries. The orange haired father looked to his little girl with a nod, a way of showing her that he had reached the same conclusion. Emma's own hazel colored pupils meeting with the azure mix of her parent, only to quickly shift down to the tapping foot of her father as it clicked against the wooden floor. Emma crossed her arms and ruffled her brow towards Sei, a look that was not currently mimicking her father.

The impatient tapping of Sei's foot quickly came to a stop. Emma turned back to Sergei and unfolded her arms as if to apologize to the stranger. For somebody who had previously been weary of this stranger, Emma Orlouge seemed keen on making sure that the soldier was another satisfied customer of this shop. The girl began to walk around the store, stopping every so often to listen to the sounds of the store. She could hear the termites as they lightly chewed through weaker areas of the walls, she heard ants as they gathered some scraps the merchant of this shop had left behind before going to the bar, she could even hear the heavy breathing of both her kin and the newly met man. As she listened, the girl attempted to recall where something obscure like a hatchet would be placed in the area.

She eventually turned to a row of hunting supplies lined upon a table. The glimmer of scalping knives shone in the girls face for a moment, temporarily blinding her. When she regained her vision, several animal skins also covered several of the wares. Emma turned to the man with a wry grin upon her features. She pointed to some skinned deer fur over the table.

"He tends to cover the dangerous items when he steps out of the shop," Emma explained, "He hates the idea of little kids running in and pulling sharp objects down upon their bodies. Not like draping a cover over them helps much, mind you, but you know what they say; out of sight, out of mind." The girl shrugged her shoulders as she awaited anything else this man needed, her good manners finally showing up. She jumped for a minute when she realized that she had not properly introduced herself to the man.

"Dear, I apologize for not giving you my name sooner. I'm Emma, Emma Orlouge. The rather serious looking man in the doorway is my father, Sei Orlouge." She curtsied once more before speaking again.

"Might I ask your name, stranger?"