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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Journeyman" data-source="post: 1687215" data-attributes="member: 9958">A gypsy in a cell was a songbird in a lead box, and Brishen was not going to be able to stand it much more.    Then it happened.      The cell block door, so small and simplistic, opened at the end of the hallway ushering both bright lantern light from the guardroom beyond and the silhouette of Eredricht D’Gours, Knight Protector of Havenview.  His bulk seemed stranger this night, thought Brishen, and the imperceptible tired mannerisms the young man easily saw would have been masked to the casual eye.  The taciturn knight stopped in front of Brishen’s cell and turned a too casual look over his shoulder at the three sickened inmates across the hall.    “Tell me, Tuathinkin, do they grow worse by the hour?  Or do they simply have night fever and sleep it down right now?”  Eredricht sounded odd.    “The three have stopped the throwing of barbs my way, and I wonder at their rapidly heaving, wheezing chests.  Yes, they are to me getting worse, Eredricht.” Brishen said carefully.  Where was this going?    Eredricht continued to study the three in the cell before slowly turning his head back to meet the boy’s eyes.  The man looked positively disquieting.  Solemn.  If Brishen were any less the man he was, the Tuathinkin would feel intimidated.  So, in his best fashion, he bluffed the feelings of fear onto his face.  It felt good.    The knight responded quickly enough.      “What they are suffering from is a malady that has recently wormed its way into the Havenview domains.  It affects the body by means of a wheezing cough, which progresses within a few days to a fever hot enough to boil the blood from the victim’s veins.  It finally consumes its host in pain the likes that render the body into contortions making snakes proud.  We have buried twenty, and these three men will most assuredly be next.”    Brishen wore the fear without need of bluffing now.    “I’m going to free you, gypsy, although my conscience would as soon let you rot perhaps making up for a small sliver of the historical damage your kind produce.  You have until the storm breaks to make your way from Havenview never to return.  I would not wish even you the ill will of travel on a night such as this.”    As if on cue a large peal of thunder broke out across the heavens precipitated by two large flashes of lightning.  Cries and shouts could be heard from outside the building.  Eredricht visibly shifted into the combat mode undoubtedly instilled into him since a young age, calm flooding his face, unlocking Brishen’s cell before the gypsy noticed movement.  With that, Eredricht spun on his heel and walked briskly down the hall toward the door.    “Eredricht!  Tell me, is this sickness passable?”    The knight did not hear Brishen or warrant a response worthy, for he strode from the cell block quickly and with the singular purpose of seeing to whatever had befallen Havenview during the conversation.  Brishen wasted no time himself.        Gathering what he could, which was his ripped cloak, the gypsy made his way through the cell block door and into the single room of the Knight’s Ward beyond.  Two simple desks, three foot chests, and the doorway to freedom were all that greeted him there.  A small pouch lay on the closest counter upon quicker inspection of the room.    Picking it up without so much as a thought Brishen felt the weight of a few coins and the crinkle of paper within.  Opening the pouch produced four silver lorians* and a note.  The missive was simplistic and direct.    Money for your stay, and your evacuation from my Domain.  You have until storm break.  –Eredricht-    Brishen headed for the door and the only place he knew to stay out the storm’s wrath, the Haven’s Rest.**********************************************************    It also happened the Haven’s Rest shared the destination of several others that evening.  Contessa Locksmith and Randal Scarborough walked, side by side, bodies bent, into the stinging, biting rain driven mad by the winds pushing it relentlessly to earth.  The storm howled, the thunder continued to pound the ears, and the lightning flashed providing another round of the endless cacophony.  However, nothing could stop the two youths this night.  Not when their desires were as great as they were.    Contessa, or Tessa as many knew her by, was in a rare mood.  The week had been long.  Too many locks made and too many locks passed by when potential buyers held their purses too close.  Her father was genuinely worried that there was a downturn in the market of personal security blooming, and this meant a harsher life for her family.  Rain slid down Tessa’s face as she adjusted the red bandanna on her head to conceal her features.      It was not a personal lifestyle change which caused Tessa to march determined toward alcoholic stupor.  It was the recent death of her close friend, Francie, to a strange disease.  It was the deaf look father Roderick gave her when she tried to get him to understand the way Francie had died.  It was the thoughts swirling in her mind of what to do without her best friend to support her.  If her parents were not still alive and so important to her she would leave town.    Randall on the other hand wanted nothing more than to keep a meeting with Kelsa.  The thought of the barmaid made the young man smile and stride all the more determined to reach his prize.  His father, a powerful merchant in the domain of Havenview taught him early the benefits of a good woman to the success of any enterprise.  Be it life, business, or simple pleasure a steady woman by your side was critical.  Kelsa had long been a friend of Randall’s and the more time that went on the more the merchant boy found he truly wanted more from her.  Tonight was going to be the night, damnable rains or not, that Kelsa would know his feelings.  How could she refuse?      The pair looked so solemn when they walked into the warmth and light of the inn that the welcoming stares of the patrons nearest the door lingered longer than normal.  Tessa gave a momentary cough and brushed back the few curly black locks of hair which escaped the confines of her hair piece.  She looked askance at Randal who had already begun whispering under his breath the words of magic so familiar to him.      Before her eyes Randal’s wet brown hair and goatee slowly dried while beads of rain water lifted and evaporated from clothes and skin.  His face seemed to glow slightly as the magic left his body before he turned blue eyes and his mercantile face toward her.  Those eyes calculated in an instant the possibilities of not giving his acquaintance the same benefit of a dry night, and realizing Tessa’s mental condition another cantrip followed from thought to action.    Warmth flowed through Tessa’s skin and clothing and soon she too was dry and ready for a night of simple musings and forgetfulness.  She quickly took in the common room of the Rest.  It was chocked full of people.  Never had she seen the place as packed as it was this evening.  No doubt Kelsa and Tobin would be worked to the bone this night.  As if reading her thoughts the young stable boy came up from her right.        “Hello Tessa.  Randall.  Can I take your things?”      “Well, if you insist I suppose that would be good of you, Tobin,” crowed Randall.  Pushing a copper piece into the stable boy’s hand, along with his cloak and gloves, he continued, “Have you seen Kelsa?”      “She’s busy.  Too many tonight, I think, to really get any free time, and Randall?”    “Yes?”    “Take your crappy copper piece.  I’m a friend remember?”    “Oh, yes.  That.  Call it simple habit I suppose.  Got to keep the help satisfied, and your welcome for the spell Tessa.  Go drink, and remember darling, it’s not the end of the world.”    With that Randall walked over to his normal table.  Tessa and Tobin, still standing by the door, watched in mute apathy as Randall paid one gold lorian to the table’s current occupants to vacate.  He then sat down and stared directly, uncomfortably, and very noticeably at the busy Kelsa across the room as she restocked on mugs.  All the while fiddling with that damnable coffee bean necklace always found at his throat.    “What is it like I wonder?”  Asked Tobin softly.    “Too crippling.  However you put it.  Be happy you’re not him.”  Tessa said with equal volume.  Darling?    “He does do good though.  He helps us and for some reason patrons our small causes.”    “He will never be his father that is true.”  Tessa agreed.    Randall was the only son of the largest merchant in Havenview, Thomas Scarborough.  His family was primarily from the city-state of Rothloria to the distant north.  He had arrived in Havenview with his father at the age of five, and schooled with Tessa and Kelsa under Roderick.  It was when his mother died some five years back that he had begun to become more assessable to the other kids his age.  Of those in Havenview Tobin, Kelsa, and Tessa were his closest acquaintances.  Despite his father’s constant and obvious urgings not to relate with the riff raff, Randall continued to associate with the three.  Sometimes, when life became financially troublesome, money was even spared.    “Tobin?”        Tobin sensed the pain in that question, and taking his eyes from Randall to Tessa he saw the few specks of tears in her eyes.  Tobin did his best to soften his look and mood.      “You want to come back to the kitchen?  There is a table there and I think I can get you a half bottle of fire wine.  Perhaps some cheese too. “        “Yeah, yeah that’d be real good of you Tobin.” came forth the quiet response.    As Tobin led Tessa back towards the kitchen her comments sparked more about their collective past.  Tessa always was the backbone of the group.  She was the level headed one.  She was the individual of the collective.  Since Francie’s death though, that had all changed.  Why should it not though?      Looking at her now he tried to frame words of consolation.  She stood five and eight inches in height her face framed by constant stray locks of blackest hair.  Her skin seemed pasty white this evening, but she had certainly walked through much of the storm outside to deserve that countenance.  The constant bandanna on her head was there, yet it was still storm blown.  The sadness was simply too much for him to keep quiet about.    “Look Tessa.  If there is anything I can do, I mean between Kirian’s orders and the horses, let me know o.k.?  You look positively destroyed, and I-I don’t think I like that.”    Tessa couldn’t help small grin from the side of her mouth.  “Thanks Tobin.  Don’t worry about me I’ll get past it.  I’m used to a sort of inner solitude.  I suppose Francie just spoiled me a little, right?”    Tessa sat down in the chair and watched the kitchen staff hurry to and fro.  They would soon be out of mutton from the looks of it.  Tobin fetched a forgotten bottle of fire wine and brought it over to her.  He whistled and a cook, looking over her shoulder, deftly cut a hunk of cheese and threw it perfectly on the table in front of the sullen girl.      “Master Kirian sure knows how to pick them, eh?”  Tobin smiled.  “I’ve got to go make sure he is done with Ike in the stables.”    “Ike?” Tessa said around a mouthful of cheese.    “Ike is the hired entertainer from the road tonight.  Seems a real charlatan, and almost managed to have his assistant burn the inn down!  Kirian is giving the poof one of his region famous lectures on spell safety no doubt.  If I hear more ill tell you.  By the way, are you staying here tonight?”    “Yes.”    “I’ll make your place in the attic then.  See you round.”    With that Tobin ran out of the kitchen into the common room beyond leaving Tessa to drink slowly amongst the bustle of the Rest’s kitchen.* The Lorian is the coinage of Rothloria.  It is divided into copper, silver, gold, platinum, and mithril.</blockquote>

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