House Call

House Call

Postby girl » Tue Sep 02, 2014 1:24 pm

She'd never had a person on retainer before. It made her feel a little bit more important, in some small (and sad) way more officious. And so it was, with shoulders back and chin thrust out and an imperious tone in her voice did she hire a young gentleman as courier for her news to Ser Serrus Belcaw. The fee she paid him was split in half; threepence up front and threepence upon return, and was considerably more than the boy had asked for.

The note delivered by those young and eager fingers was elegantly penned and sealed with dark blue wax and a crest that was unfamiliar to anybody but the physician herself. The words inside were succinct, no prose spared, a simple request for the sellsword's presence the next day. The plan was predawn meeting at the Broken Dagger to coordinate therein, and the journey would commence before sunup, with the hopes that they would be well within the forest before the sun had a chance to begin its daily, glaring onslaught.

As for the physician herself, she'd been preparing for this outing for weeks now; studying with fervor and amassing tinctures and herbal concoctions that she felt might be of use to the patient, though being as removed from the truth situation as she was meant it was likely all useless. The lot of it, paltry in her critical estimation, amounted to guesswork and estimation, a reality that sat in the pit of the physician's stomach that evening like a lump of ice, quashing any remaining semblance of the self-importance she'd worn on her sleeve earlier in the day.

Am I ready? She questioned herself constantly, but usually those questions were a formality, the icing atop a cake of competence and absolute assurance in her abilities. This evening everything was different.
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Re: House Call

Postby Serrus » Thu Sep 04, 2014 1:03 am

It was quiet at the late hour, and many in The Hollows slept the short hours they had before dawn would would rouse them from their slumber to toil their labours until dusk brought them home to sup and sleep again. Others were up, those who's trade required them to be awake all eve, or those skulking about the alleys, nooks and crannies, sneaking to the perimeters that bordered to the downtown areas, waiting some soused lord or merchant to wander a little too close to the poorer slums and have their purse filched -- or if they were far unluckier, their purses stolen, clothes torn off and throats slit.

The summer night was beautiful, even with the amber glow of lanterns and torches that dotted the streets like fireflies in the spring. Stars speckled their diamond canvas across the sky. The moon a thin crescent, sinking slowly towards the horizon, golden brown and mysterious. It was even a little peaceful, the dogs and babes seemed to be sleeping, too, a rarity for summer nights in this part of town.

Ella never tired of watching the day to day goings on of town and city life, whether it was the busy humdrum of the day, or the sleepy, hazy activity of evenings. She sat by a small window, moonlight gleaming in her good eye, her hands clasped about her knees. This night was different, though, for she had company, even if it was paid company. Her deformity meant she often didn't have the best of clients, and even the better ones rarely paid much more than the average price of a whore for her services. At least tonight, she liked the man she had served.

She watched him as he stood by the bedside, dressing himself. Not the first time she'd seen him do so, though this night things seemed different. His movements were rigid, meticulous. Careful, even, much more careful than she often saw him.

"Early start?" she asked him. It had been the first words spoken since their deed had been done, a long intermittent silence between both parties. She watched as he tightened the padded garment that he'd slipped over cotton tunic, pulling the sleeves tight. She smiled, looking upon the contours of his face in the dim candelight.

"Always," the sellsword replied. Fingers worked to tighten the belt at his waist, before he turned for his mail hauberk, the rings hissing as he rolled it up and over, folding back the longer sleeves into the padded fabric. He grunted as he reached for the clasp behind him.

The whore stood slowly, her hands moving gently over the clasp. "Here," she said. She'd dressed and undressed so many soldiers in her lifetime, she might have considered herself some form of squire or page. Fingers worked quickly, clasps and links coming together without a single pinch against his scarred back. "You're tense," she whispered, a free hand reaching to rest against his shoulder. "I've never seen you tense before."

"Different sort of work," he replied, a hand rising to his shoulder to clasp hers. "Different sort of job."

"Dangerous men this time?" Her lips curved into a smile. "Monsters?"

He squeezed her hand gently. "No. Summat else." He leaned down, stooping to fetch his brigadine, a jack of plates made of boiled leather and steel sheets, with oiled iron studs on the outer layers. It was heavy, and he grunted as he slipped into it. Ella helped with the straps without so much as a word of complaint, well practiced in such tasks.

"Something else?" she repeated. "What else could there be?" She tightened the final strap with a hard pull, and he grunted with discomfort, turning to face her with narrowed eyes. She met him with a teasing smile, and it wasn't long before his own wry grin was back. She lowered a hand to his chest, finger trailing slowly towards his waist. Still working, it seemed. "Maybe it can wait until tonight?"

He shook his head. "Not this time, luv. I don't much like t'refuse a summons when I've already been paid a retainer."

She shrugged, indifferent. "You could always pay it back. Find some other work later. Relax for today, perhaps. A day of rest... yes. Rest and... other things." Her smile remained, unwavering. Even with her disfigured eye, she was still practiced enough for it to send his blood rushing, hot under all that armour as she leaned closer, hand reaching to stroke the thick beard at his chin.

He glanced to her at a time, tempted, but then he shook off the heat and pounding in his ears as he stepped away, reaching for the two handed sabre by the door, fingers working to tie the sword belt around his waist. When he was done, he turned, offering the woman a shrug of his own. "You'll still be 'ere when I get back. We can get back to enjoyin' ourselves then, aye?"

Ella's smile vanished, and she stepped back, hugging her shoulders. "What is it, then? What sort of... job?"

He sighed. "Y'know I don't like talkin' about my bloody work t'others who ain't involved."

Her hands lowered to her sides, her shoulders rolling into a lazy shrug. "Fine." She turned away, slipping back onto the bed to glance out window, much like she often did when she tried to hide hurt by avoiding those around her.

He slipped on fingerless gloves, watching her retreat. Silence filled the room for a time, before it was interrupted with the gentle chime of shillings that he lowered onto the bed beside her.

"It's dangerous work, is all. Least, it might be. See, dangerous men I know. Dangerous men I can 'andle. Monsters I can 'anlde, too. I can 'andle them lot just bloody fine. But this? This is summat else."

"What else?" she asked gently. "Please... Tell me."

He stared at her for a time, and there was a caution in his eyes, a caution hidden behind the veil of overconfidence he so often carried.

"Demons," he uttered.

* * * *


There were only a few places he knew he might find her. She was like a wandering albatross, or a lost child. One of the two or both.. an oddity among a town of oddities. Twilight shone in the summer night, the moon a pale orange. Trees of spruce and maple stood tall in the small grove south of the inn, and he glanced about, one hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. He hadn't found her in the stables, nor by the small fountain he'd seen sitting by once, laughing with some children. He supposed he might find her here, but he wasn't sure -- he'd been gone for almost two weeks without so much as a word of leave. Where she might have resided during that time was anybody's guess. He looked up to the trees, between thick tall branches, but there was a thin fog rising from the humid morning dew. He needed answers -- perhaps even help, though he would be the last to admit that particular need to anyone, even her.

"Nova..."

His beckon was firm enough. He'd used her name for starters, not the moniker he often gave her, and there was impatience in his overtones -- he didn't have a lot of time left before he might be considered to be running late, and for all the man's transgressions he often tried to be punctual.

She was either here and she would answer, or she wasn't here, and he'd be caught out standing around like a bloody idiot talking to a bunch of trees.
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Re: House Call

Postby AnE » Thu Sep 04, 2014 5:54 am

Sometimes, she would let hours pass before she bothered to move. There was something comforting about staring out at the sky, watching hues shift as morning peeked through the darkness of night and feeling the air turn warm against her skin. She supposed that it was something she appreciated more than most, as it seemed a new sensation all over again. Everything seemed new after so long was spent severed from the physical plane of existence, and it always brought her a sense of wonder...

...or dread.

At times, the girl would admit that it was downright overwhelming. Something as simple as feeling the gauzy silk of her dress rubbing between her fingers could frighten her. Tonight though, those changes, nuanced and soft and fleeting as they were -- she could truly relax and let them envelop her, mind and body alike.

The problem with that silence, with basking in subtle sensations that grazed and teased across every sense, was that she was left with far too much time to think; reflecting on her past mistakes and wondering how she might send her life spiraling into chaos next. Thoughts of being a disappointment danced within the creature's pretty little head, though she would be pulled out of that trance by the utterance of a single word.

"Nova..."

Leaves fluttered from the looming canopy, a distinct rustling heard after a short time. It wouldn't be long before a blur of white could be seen dropping from the treetops, and the girl herself, with that mane of ivory and those luminous red eyes, could be seen perching on a low limb, ignoring the thin red scrapes scattered across her milky skin as she moved to cling to the side of the tree.

It never struck Nova as odd that she was so happy to see him -- a surly, gruff mercenary who likely only tolerated her company. But if he was seeking her out, this meant that their partnership was in tact. Perhaps she could be of use once again.

"Serrus!" A bright smile lit up her face as she peered down at the man, practically purring. "Good morning."
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Re: House Call

Postby Serrus » Fri Sep 05, 2014 2:13 am

She was smiling, beaming almost, looking down to him amidst the various branches and leaves. Happy, she seemed. She always seemed happy, like some chirping blue jay hopping about without a care in the world. He found it odd how one could maintain such high spirits in a town known for its perils and tribulations.

It was still relatively dark, though the light of the creeping dawn could be seen approaching from the east, a faint blue glow that was threatening to turn golden if he didn't hurry on his way. He glanced to her, a smug grin upon his features, though it didn't seemd to mirror the tones in his voice.

"Ain't too sure if y'could say it's a good one, least, not yet." His arms were folded, and that smug grin of his loosened into a stoic frown - the one he carried when he meant business.

"I need yer advice on summat." He stepped back, leaning against an adjacent tree trunk. "Nah, bugger that. I need yer help with this job, as like." He could have broken into a detailed background on how and why he'd eneded up in this positition, but they didn't have a lot of time -- though they weren't far from the Broken Dagger, the meet was to be before dawn.

"I told y'bout that bouncin' work I 'ad down t' Rem'dium. Well, I didn't quite tell y't'whole story. There's a girl some healer's need t'help, but she's don't have no bloody fever. She got summat else." A beat. "Some wilding girl. Y'might've heard of 'er. Know her, even. Name's Noura. Some folks call her t'Whelp. See, some healer girl put me on this job, said she needed my help dealing wit' treatin' this girl, like. Said she had some identity crisis, or some bloody thing, though she was bit sketchy on the details."

"Turns out this wildin' girl's not bloody sick. Turns out it's a demon. 'It', they call the thing, or some such bloody nonsense." The arms about his chest squeezed tighter as he glanced the tailed girl's way. "I don't think these healers have a fucking clue what they're gettin' into. I don't even know if they 'ave a clue what they're dealin' with, either. Shite, I don't even bloody know, for t'most part."

He was uncomfortable, though he fought not to show it, all blase and relaxed as per his usual modus operandi. He always preferred to work alone, irregardless of the work at hand. But he knew he was out of his expertise dealing with this problem, and also felt the healers were much the same.

"All I can say is, I don't much know what this healer girl thinks she's doin'. I don't even know if she's got 'erself one o'them priests. But I do know this demon -- this thing called 'It' -- it's not jus' some bloody case of some girl cussin' and spittin' curses while they give 'er t'whole 'Power of the One True God compels you' shite. I've 'eard this demon's dangerous. Some even say it's killed folk --- though I don't know 'f that's true."

He glanced her way with a frown, seeming hesitant. "I dunno. Maybe I should jus' tell this healer girl to piss off." He fell silent, turning his head to spit, looking askance toward the trees, his silence perhaps a good enough sign that he was waiting to hear what she had to say about the whole affair.
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Re: House Call

Postby AnE » Mon Sep 08, 2014 2:43 pm

"Could be worse," Nova called down in a sing-song voice. She was right, in a very vague sort of way; it could always be worse. But, unaware as she was of the thoughts troubling the sellsword, she'd assumed things weren't that bad to begin with. She was just, strangely enough, pleased to see him.

Her next leap brought her down from the tree, her small form hitting the ground with a soft thud that left her a touch disoriented. As such, she staggered forward some and opted to steady herself on Serrus' broader frame. Did he say advice? Nova's advice? She straightened up at that, brows raising high on her face. Then, as he said the 'H' word, her lips went from a surprised 'o'-shape to a bright, toothy (and perhaps cheeky) grin.

"I'd be glad to help you, ser! Just tell me what I can do." Finally, she'd push away from the man, though kept herself within arm's length, sliding her hands behind her back.

As he spoke, the artificial girl began to bob her head up and down in an understanding nod. Healers need to help a girl-- a wildling. "Noura? I know of her. But- your help? They are asking hired muscle to assi--"

It. A demon. Nova was not overly familiar with the wildling and her unusual affliction. She recalled one night in the Broken Dagger, however, when the creature was loose. It released enough putrid magical energy to make the homunculus double over in pain and nearly pass out. That was an experience she would prefer to avoid if at all possible.

Her gaze lifted, then, and Serrus was regarded with a slow nod of her head, "I'm sure they know they're dealing with something dangerous. Something-- something foul. I've not spoken to the demon, It, but I've felt its presence. I wouldn't be surprised if the things you've heard are all true."

Unpleasant memories aside, Nova was never fond of those of the demonic pursuasion, whether it be in their blood or just the arts they chose to practice. Though she'd been called such by others just because of her appearance, there was no demonic influence within the unusual girl. She nudged at a rock with a bare foot, her tail falling between her legs. "I will help you as much as I can. But something-- er, someone like myself, may be vulnerable to the demon. If nothing else, I can give you protection."

And just like that, she was peering up at Serrus once again, expectant, hopeful. It wasn't as though she had much insight on the matter; she was no student of wizardry, just a being created to serve. It was the least she could do.
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Re: House Call

Postby Serrus » Tue Sep 09, 2014 12:41 am

She spoke well of the healers, as if they knew what they were getting into and were well prepared, and he shook his head with disagreement.

"Not bloody likely. Them healers think they can cure this girl with their tinctures, an' them potions an' shite. T'bloodly hells a physician know about demon folk? Maybe an ointment for some rash, aye, but not 'ow t'cast 'em out of some crazed girl from t'woods."

She explained that she'd felt the demon's presence in the past, whatever that meant. He didn't have the time to ask her to elaborate, and he supposed there wasn't any need. Everyone seemed to agree that the demon was both powerful and dangerous, and here he was, going to help a healer of all people to try and exorcise it. Because that makes perfect bloody sense. Nova did also mention she'd help him if she could, but then she admitted something else.

"Vulnerable?" he spat, voice interrogating. That didn't sound particularly promising. What if this thing could use her skills? He barely even knew what those skills were, and now there was a possibly they could turn against him? "What a wonderful morning this is turning out to be," he mutters between gnashed teeth, glancing back to girl. "If you're comin', might be best y'keep out of t'picture for a spell, then." He gestures in the direction of the Broken Dagger. "That healer girl, Mercy, she don't 'spect you'll be comin'. An' if that Whelp an' 'er demon leech get a whuff o'you, well, things might turn more bloody ugly than they're already set t'be."

Looking to the east, he nodded to the brightening sky. "We're runnin' short o'time. Come or don't. In t'flesh, or not, buggered if I care. S'your decision t'make." He pushed off the tree, walking away as he raised two fingers to his lips, blowing a soft whistle. "C'mon shithead, we're going!"

A familiar snort and whinny could be heard in the trees, and the soft clomping of hooves revealed the grey roan as it emerged from the shadows in a brisk trot, letting out a nicker as it approached its usual rider, head flicking a thick stallion's mane with impatience, perhaps a horse's way of saying, 'Finally!' Serrus held the reins, swinging up onto the saddle quickly, the horse shifting and stomping, eager to get going. The sellsword spun the rouncey around, hooves kicking up a trail of dust as he glanced toward Nova, awaiting her decision.
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Re: House Call

Postby AnE » Tue Sep 09, 2014 1:29 am

Well, she was assuming that the healers knew they were dealing with a dangerous entity, not necessarily that they knew how to handle it! There was a time when someone asked Nova to assist in a demon-related manner, though she wasn't sure what to do then either. As much as she wanted to help, she didn't know how good of a job she could do.

"Vulnerable," she repeated, lowering her gaze slightly. "Please don't be angry. The creature, it hurts to be around. It exudes a foulness that I have never known."

Nova quietly explained her own experience in dealing with It before she stepped forward, following behind Serrus. In the blink of an eye, though, where once stood the pale girl, a small glimmer of light bobbed and twinkled. It was quick to zip towards the sellsword, diving 'head' first into the ring it had been offered as a temporary home. Though she would effectively vanish from sight, Serrus might be able to just know she was there; she did, however, refrain from speaking into his head.
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Re: House Call

Postby Serrus » Thu Sep 11, 2014 1:52 am

Thick grass shattered into small pieces as a blur of storm grey broke through a thicket, the war-rouncey's hooves thundering in a gallop across grassland, stallion breath strong and fierce, eager and excited at being able to run again, a moment to be free. Trees whipped past horse and rider in the twilight, some so close the air hissed about them as they stormed ahead.

The southron road appeared before them, and the sellsword gave a grumbling series of calls to the rouncey, gently reining it in. It slowed to a trot, and he clicked his tongue to encourage the animal along, guiding it left to turn south along the road towards the Broken Dagger toward the predetermined rendezvous.

Up ahead, a dim glow could be seen faintly through the trees where the large inn's lights peeked through. A few more moments he'd be there. The stallion let out a sigh, and Serrus sat up in the saddle, relaxing. It was notably quiet, even the crickets weren't as chirpy as usual, and the tensile wait as he headed down the road nagged at him like pins and needles after a long sleep. In the silence, the sellsword's mind began to wander, and for a moment a flash came across his mind - bright as the moon had been all those years ago.

Two horses in a trot, carrying two soldiers on horseback, side by side, brothers in arms. Heading south, a great forest before them loomed, ominous and treacherous. The moon dimmed everything into a grey shade, but he knew the uniforms, knew them all too well. A golden griffon embroidered on a red surcoat with grey pipings. The wind was cold, snows thick among the trees.

"Ware. Arawen will surely know we're coming. He'll be ready for us."

"Aye, an' we'll be ready for him."


He was back on the road again, dim lights of the inn drawing nearer, the memory dissolving, the whole reverie over in a few trots and heartbeats. A part of him knew he was supposed to recognise those men, though the other part knew strongly he was supposed to have forgotten. The conflicting thoughts were numbing, and he blinked a few times, turning to spit, as if that would help alleviate his mind to think of other things. With a sigh, the man spoke up.

"Y'can talk in me 'ead if y'like," he muttered to no-one in particular. Or at least, that's the way it would appear to an outside observer. "Just not so loud," he added. "An'don't talk in me' 'ead when others are talkin'. That'd drive me round t'bend. Actually, it'd be best if y'don't talk when others are around, else folks'll see me talkin' t'meself an' they'll think I'm stark ravin' mad, jus' like this feels now," he growled. "Just... ah, bugger it. You'll figure it out."

He kicked his heels in again, impatient, and the horse nickered and broke into a canter, hooves thumping down the road as the inn's light brightened through the trees, the clearing opening up to reveal an amber hue from its many windows. He pulled the reins, the stallion kicking up dust and grass to stop at the outskirts of the inn's lawn. The sellword turned in his saddle, sharp eye glancing about for signs of Mercy and whatever company she had brought with her.
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Re: House Call

Postby girl » Sat Sep 13, 2014 8:04 am

The healer did not, in point of fact, know what she was dealing with. This visit, as well-armed as she had planned it to be, was an merely an initial consultation. An initial consultation that, for all the world, was wholly unwelcomed. Mercy had met Noura on one occasion, had casually mentioned the fact that she'd been ascribed to work on Noura's case, and the outcome of the interaction registered pretty far from the positive side. Even with all the worry and negativity surrounding the encounter, the physician fully intends to see her task through, dedication burning feverishly behind her dark eyes.

Mercy has, for the past twenty minutes, been standing on lookout for the sellsword, perched on the topmost stair, just off the Broken Dagger's porch. She stands like a woman awaiting a stagecoach, prim and all manner of proper. Her posture is erect and alight with expectation, shoulders back, chin lifted high in a very convincing mockery of self-confidence. Hands are clasped before her, fingertips wrapped white-knuckle tight around the handles of a large leather bag, the sum of the tools and tinctures she'd deemed necessary for this particular visit. The physician awaits her very small retinue with the staunch conviction that at any moment she will see the sellsword rounding the bend, ready for whatever action their adventure might throw at them.

The physician has arrayed herself in a distinct departure from her normal regalia, her own bid at being ready for whatever trouble might find them. In the place of fancier dress and fuller skirts, the physician wears a fitted chemise, undyed and in a shade of taupe, beneath a laced surcoat in red, and the requisite starched and white Remedium apron. Atop her head is a folded, starched, cap, settled tightly against the intricate coiffure that is her braided hair. As flagging as her confidence may be inside, the posture and crisp outward appearance do well to belie that lack of self-assurance.

She breaks that pose as soon as she catches sight of Serrus' approach, descending the stairs in a hasty clatter, surcoat flaring wildly with the commotion. She stops two steps up, in an effort to not have to crane quite so hard to see the man. When she speaks it is without obvious admonishment, tone level, words accompanied with a relieved sort of smile, “I had begun to think you forgot.”
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Re: House Call

Postby Serrus » Sun Sep 14, 2014 2:13 am

The sellsword clicked his tongue, encouraging the rouncey forward into a walk towards the inn steps. The horse snorted in the moist air, stopping short of the stairs to graze on the lawn grass while Serrus crossed his hands over its mane, glancing down toward the healer.

"I don't forget me contracts," he replied to her, resolute. "So here I am." He leant back in the saddle, one hand propped on the horses back. "This it, then? Just you? Nobody else t'speak of?" He glanced about, but there didn't appear to be anybody else, and the man let out a sigh. "I'd've expected more than jus' some healer's kit an' t'like for this job. You do know what it is we're dealin' with here, right?" he asked, leaning forward to glance the healer and kit up and down.

"See, while you been off frolickin' 'bout in them meadows, I 'ad a chat with Wynsee 'bout this wildling girl. And it ain't no fever this girl 'as that some tincture or salve o'yours is gonna make all better. No, sera Mercy, this little Whelp has got summat else fer us t'worry about." He leant back to his previous slouch, rolling a shrug for the sake of indifference.

"So what's the plan? Far as I know, girl looked fine t'me last time I saw 'er, well, save for t'whole evil demonic possession eatin' away her soul, or some such bollocks." Eyes glance about the inn. "An' let me guess... you got no means o' transportation save them two feet o'yours." He turned to the side and spat. "Y'know what? Bugger it. Get on. Y'can tell me bout this grand master plan o'yours t'save some poor wildling slag along t'way."

From a plethora of questions about this whole mess of a job to an ill-tempered demand in less than a moment, yet Serrus didn't appear the least bit apologetic, more impatient. He did, for the sake of courtesy, or to simply hurry things up a bit, offer the girl a hand to pull her up onto the horse, though she would need to do some of the climbing herself in the process.

Once Mercy was seated, the sellsword flicked the reins, giving a kick of his heels. The stallion was not used to carrying more than one passenger at any given time, and it whinnied in protest, hooves turning and kicking on the grass, before the sellsword gave it a shout of encouragement and kicked in his heels again. The horse lurched forward, hooves kicking up dirt and grass, breaking from trot into canter, its movements clumsy at first but eventually finding ground, moving in a steady lope along the road toward whichever destination the healer would guide them.
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Re: House Call

Postby girl » Fri Sep 19, 2014 3:10 am

Serrus' displeasure at seeing only the physician awaiting his arrival is palpable. She keeps her calm, affecting a bit of haughtiness in her reply, chin lifting a degree or two. Her words and voice are level as she responds: “Yes, it's just me. I only know what others have told me. I'm just going to make an assessment, first—I probably will not even need this bag, “ The physician hefts the bag for emphasis, showing it off like a prize before she lets it drop down once again, the bottom resting on the tops of her boots.

She looks down when he mentions the demonic influence. The woman had been reading a lot about the topic and its similarities to what Noura had to deal with. So much so that she, too, questioned her particular usefulness if the malady is spiritual rather than physical. But Jule had issued a demand, and she planned on following through with it, if for no other reason than employment security. The physician endures Serrus' disapproval by looking down at her skirt-covered knees.

Eventually Serrus apparently tires of railing on about the physician's inadequacy and he barks a command. Eager to go, and not at all eager to actually go on foot, her attention snaps up at his demand. She accepts his hand tightly and makes use of his knee and the pommel and the stairs in her endeavors to be seated upon the horse. This motion isn't quite as deft and graceful as she'd like—there are skirts in the way, and a particular lack of ability and familiarity weighing against her.

Once the girl was up on the horse, her discomfort makes itself known in the way her arms wrap around the sellsword, despite the uncomfortable bulk of his armor. She clasps him like a fantastical mix of python and piranha, sans the teeth.

The horse's initial annoyance at his extra rider aside, the trip is without incident. She prefaces her explanation of her diagnostics with her little story about how she met Noura, and how the girl was not exactly thrilled at having been appointed a personal physician. And then she explains to Serrus, in vague detail (owing to the fact that everything thus far has been an exercise in the theoretical) how she intends to suss out whether or not she is inhabited by another spirit or whether this affliction is one of the mind.

They travel to Noura's cave. The physician was much better at giving and following directions than explaining herself to the sellsword, and the journey is much more brief than she'd expected, thanks to the horse.
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Re: House Call

Postby Serrus » Fri Sep 19, 2014 2:59 pm

He'd been this way before, two months ago. As the two made their way through the southeastern road towards the forest, the sellsword became familiar of the route. For a time he wondered if they might wander elsewhere, that it was a nagging sensation in the back of his mind and that they were heading out to some estate, farmhouse or even some wildling outcrop in thicket of trees. But when he was directed off the track through the waist-high grasslands toward the silver lake, the nagging in his gut hardened.

So they weren't out for a hunt or a fish. Wynsee was seeing the girl in her own home. Thoughts came, nagging thoughts of a dim moon upon pale waters,with beasts bigger than men and horse numbering in the scores surrounding him and stallion, all bent on his painful demise. A word came to his mind, but he couldn't quite recollect it. So we're here again. Back where I never wanted to be.

The grass hardened into moist reeds and wetlands as they drew closer to the lake. The ground became softer, clay to wet grass, wet grass to muck. Once or twice the sellsword found himself kicking his heels again, giving his horse a shout of encouragement to keep the rouncey going. Summer had taken its time to dry out the ground a little, but it was still hard going, the rouncey nickering and biting at its bit, uncomfortable and tense, knowing the things that might or might not be waiting for them.

Rounding past some scrub and moss-ridden trees, they finally arrived before the mouth and opening to the cave, dark and not particularly homely looking. With a grunt, the sellsword swung off the saddle, barking an 'off' to the healer -- the horse was already tired enough and he didn't want to break the animal -- they might find themselves in need of it if things turned to pot, as they had done the last time he'd found the wildling girl and the seamstress in this neck of the woods.

He landed on marshy ground, boots squelching in thick mud. Standing by his stallion, he glanced about to the lake and marshes. Frogs were quieting their song, and the warm golden rays of the dawn sun, high above the horion and trees at this point, brought on birdsong and the loud hiss of insects. Flies and gnats already began to bite at horse, man and woman with a hunger, though there was a notable lack of them this time of the year -- an irritance, but tolerable. Serrus glanced over to Mercy, and to the muck below them.

"Well, one things' fer bloody sure. washer woman's gonna be 'avin' a bloody fit when she sees t'state' o'them clothes," he comments, offhanded as usual. "Blood 'n guts is one thing but this? Ye got nowt in them kitchens that'll scrub this shit off."

A hand turned to reach to the stallion's flank, and a leather sheet was pulled back to reveal a steel-prodded crossbow slung over the hindquarters. He eyed it for a time before dismissing it with a huff, tossing the leather sheet back and leading the horse towards the cave, tethering it to a nearby tree. The stallion watched them, ears flicking as the sellsword began to walk away, and it gave a low-bellied nicker followed by a short huff, ears swivelling, front hoof scraping at the soft muck. Something was clearly bothering it, and it wasn't the gnats.

"Yeah..." Serrus said to the horse. "I know. We'll be out soon." He lowered a hand to the pommel of his hand-and-a-half-sabre, loosening the blade in the scabbard and drawing it out a few inches.

"Watch yourself in them caves," he cautioned the healer, voice gruff. "Lis'en up. We may 'ave ourselves more t'worry about than 'jus' some wildlin' girl an' 'er other demon 'alf 'ere in these marshes. If I say we 'ave t'go, then we go, because woman, if you bloody well don't come when I say, I'll fuckin' well leave you behind without nary a thought. S' long as we're clear on that, y'can do all your 'ealin stuff an' I"ll jus' watch over, pretty 'as y'please."

With those stipulations made, the sellsword moved forward toward the mouth of the cave with cautious steps, eyes sharp and alert, slowing to let his eyes become adjusted to the dark.
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Re: House Call

Postby Guppy » Sat Sep 20, 2014 2:58 am

The swamp was a deep and dreary place. The humidity from decomposing plants was stifling. The air pressed against one's flesh like a wet blanket and it left lungs unsatisfied, wanting. Despite the elevation of the sun in the sky, the foliage above them hardly afforded any light at all. They were left in relative shade, only small, tentative beams braving the flora.

As the approached the squat, foreboding cave, the insects continued to find unprotected skin, but the other animals eventually quieted. It was as if they held even their breaths as the two humans advanced. They would notice that even the exuberant plants had the good sense not to come too close. There was a neat half-circle of bare ground leading into that gaping maw. Etched into jagged lines in the underlying stone were clawed marks of a massive beast.

The cave was a leering mouth that seemed to gather shadow to it. No light seemed enough to break its hold. An unnatural chill seeped into their bones as if they would never be warm again. Just inside hung all manner of pelts and dried plants. A forgotten deer skull lay staring at them with blank eyes, slightly askew. Another, human this time, laughed silently, runes carved and painted carved into bone with crude tools.

The smell of burning, rotten wood permeated the air and smoke escaped from a small crevice on top of the stone prison. Something else - the scent of cooking meat drifted from further in. They had interrupted breakfast, it seemed. Suddenly, they both likely had an uneasy feeling of intrusion. Runes, brilliant crimson, flashed above them at that exact instant and there was a scrape of boot against cave. They had stumbled into her notice.

The hesitant voice that called to them was a young woman's, one that seemed barely old enough to be away from protective parents, and the thin note of uncertainty in it was possibly enough to give them pause. "H -- Hello..? Is that you, Gloria?" Because, honestly, who else would brave danger to find her? She could count her friends on one hand.

Still, despite outward appearances, Noura had stood toe to toe against a half-orc and lived to tell the tale. She was not defenseless and it would serve them well to be wary.
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Re: House Call

Postby girl » Mon Sep 22, 2014 1:35 am

The abrupt command to dismount comes with a sharp flash of anxiety. She stares down over the side of the horse at the absolutely treacherous muck beneath, before looking down at the already-dismounted sellsword. He doesn't offer his hand, and so she clutches at the saddle and begins to shift her position. One leg swings over the back of the horse with not a single ounce of grace, until both legs are on the same side. Slowly, carefully, and with great teeth-clenching effort, she lowers herself to the slippery ground blow. Her heel catches on a particularly wet streak of mud and she nearly goes down, but a small amount of flailing and a hastily thought prayer seem to keep her on her feet.

She swears under her breath when she's caught herself, and looks up at Serrus. “You don't know that woman—she's a miracle worker. Plus she charges based on the complication of the cleaning. She loves me,” The words are intoned through still-gritted teeth as she attempts to maneuver herself towards a small stand of grass and rocks. She perches atop a flatter rock and watches the man communicate with his equine companion, before turning her gaze towards that ominous cave mouth that awaits them.

“I'll be careful. And listen. Promise,” there's a slight edge to those words, betraying the fact that she has no small amount of apprehension rolling around behind those dark eyes.

Serrus moves towards the cave, and she follows a few steps behind, intent on having a head-start should things turn sour and she need to flee. She wasn't exactly known for her athletic prowess, after all. She lingers near the mouth of the cave, not fully intent on intruding if this were Noura's actual home.

A hand lifts to the healer's mouth and she calls out gently, “Sera Noura? It is Mercy, from the Remedium. We've spoken before,” as if the fact that they are almost acquainted will make the young woman more happy to see them.
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Re: House Call

Postby Serrus » Tue Sep 23, 2014 3:05 am

“Sera Noura? It is Mercy, from the Remedium. We've spoken before,” the healer called out into the darkness. Serrus followed beside her, looking nonplussed about the spooky cave and its surrounds, his eye more keen for dangerous beasties that might be skulking about in the dark. Not short of the banter though, he quickly remarks in kind.

"Aye, we're t'local lords an' ladies, come t'collect due rent an' make a cave inspection o'this here premises," he calls out before more brazenly steps inside, not perhaps as polite as Mercy, dark brown eyes looking about through the dim gloom for signs of movement. As his eyes adjust, he notes the dim amber light of a campfire, and what looks like a runic skull sitting on high.

"Place is in a bit of a shambles, if'n y'ask me," Serrus says to Mercy, before turning to lean against the arched wall of rock, folding his arms against his chest, one leg propped up as he looks to the entrance. "Go on then, luv. Off ye go with all that healin' stuff. I'll jus' sit back 'ere an' do sweet bloody fuck all in t'meantime, less them wilding girl's moss-faced neighbours show up lookin' to start some bloody row."

He keeps in a good position so that he can see both, but not so much as he would meddle or perhaps put the wildling girl on edge, though she hardly was the skittish sort, according to most sources.
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