Questing the Quarry

[Acteon]

((OOC NOTE: All of the posts below occurred BEFORE A Winter Night.))


It had been near three months since Acteon and his steed, Venatici, had arrived in Myrkentown from parts unknown. His stay had lasted longer than he thought it would. But he was a hunter and, for better or worse, he had quarry in mind.

Venatici’s hooves carried the pair down the dirt road between Fyeden and the North Passage Down. They were heading back to Myrkentown. The hunter and his steed had stayed the previous two nights in the stable of the Feller family. Russel Feller, his wife, Dara, and their newborn son, Vincent, had been extremely hospitable to Acteon and his horse.

Acteon had noticed that while there was always an underlying layer of fear and skepticism that seemed to hold the hearts of the people of Myrken Wood, in all, they were actually quite friendly. Apparently the constant hardship and terror only served to strengthen the people’s bonds to one another and their sense of community.

So, when the hunter had knocked upon their door Friday evening, Russel Feller had spoken to him through the closed door and even once he did open it, the man carried a rather serious-looking lumber axe. But before too long and despite being a stranger to them, Acteon had found himself sitting at their table, sharing carrot soup with the Feller family with the promise of having a bed in the stable for the evening. The conversation had been light and pleasant; Dara had shared how the meal was her mother’s recipe; Russel spoke of the weather and the lumber trade in Fyeden. The conversation had gone on into the late evening with promise of more conversation on the morrow.

Taking advantage of the gap in the weather the next day and in return for the meals and lodging, Acteon had spent most of the following morning helping Feller patch the thatching of the family's home. The two men spoke idly about a great many things, but mainly of the crazy phenomena that seemed to consistently plague this part of the world. It wasn’t until after they had finished lunch and they had taken up hammers and saws to work on a half-finished hen house that Acteon brought up one such phenomenon--the Baie.

Russel’s mood had changed in a flash. He grew distant and his answers to Acteon’s questions became short and uninformative rather than conversational. It was almost an half an hour before the man had apologized. As the two men rested, Feller had wiped his forehead and explained that the Baie was a sensitive subject with their family because the beast had killed Dara’s parents four years prior. Feller had explained how the deed was done and that the monster had taken Dara’s mother’s eyes with him and then burned their bodies. Acteon had expressed his most sincere condolences and then the conversation moved on to more pleasant topics.

The rest of the day and night had passed with more conversation of varying topics, but the Baie did not resurface. After breakfast Sunday morning, Acteon had bid his farewell to the Fellers and taken his leave.

And so, here they were, horse and rider, moving slowly down the muddy cart road toward the North Passage Down and then to Myrkentown beyond. Another lead followed with little information gleaned. So far, the quest seemed fruitless, but time would tell and persistence would deliver--it always did.

[Acteon]

Acteon stared at the decapitated, eyeless pig’s head. Flies buzzed around the week-old skull, moving from ears to snout to empty sockets to the tongue that flopped out of the side of its mouth. The head sat atop a pole at shoulder height. The pole was placed at the most easterly point of the parcel of land that made up the Malone farm. Apparently there were three other poles featuring the eyeless heads of livestock at the three other corners of the farm.

These mutilated heads were offerings. Gifts from the Malone family. They were gifts for The Baie.

This was not the first time Acteon had come across these types of sacrificial offerings. Alrick Malone was actually the third farmer Acteon had met in recent weeks who did such things and did so openly and without shame.

Alrick Malone was a man in his thirties and had taken over these lands when his parents passed away over 10 years before. He was married and had four children--all boys. Alrick had told Acteon that the farmers had heard of the secret Order that worshipped the Baie but that they had nothing to do with that. He and his family never wished harm upon other people; they were simple farmers, trying to eek life from the land in a region that was so often burdened by failed crop, inclement weather, and general hardship.

The farmer went on to explain that the Malones didn’t worship the Baie as their God, but rather just one of many gods that controlled and influenced the day-to-day lives of man. The Baie was a God of Suffering, Pain, Wickedness, and Death and just as the farmers must encourage the Gods of Fertility to bless their fields, so to must they satisfy the destructive appetites of gods like the Baie, so that they do not bring blight to their crops or plague and death to their family.

These types of sacrifices were defensive and protective, hardly worshipping, and Acteon understood it...for what it was worth. Would it help him get any closer to what he was looking for? Likely not. But clearly there was much more to the Baie in the psyche of the Myrken Wood people than originally met the eye.

[Acteon]

Acteon woke early on Saturday. He wanted to get to the Myrkentown market before the mad rush of the mid-morning patrons. So when the yet unseen sun had just started to paint the eastern horizon pink, Acteon had already saddled Venatici and was heading toward the heart of the town.

As he got closer to the square, he climbed down from Venatici’s back; the shear number of carts and vendors that already crowded the streets made it difficult to pass by, so he found it easier to lead the horse, rather than try to maneuver her through the throngs while riding. And as he moved closer and closer to the stalls, Acteon kept making eye contact with the people who moved about him. He bade them ‘good morning’ and asked one question and one question only, “Have you seen Reisender Kaufmann?â€

[Acteon]

Saturday had come and gone without a trace of Reisender Kaufmann. The market had provided little more than stale information. The freshest of the leads was the one involving the Bloated Boar. So, naturally, that den of villainy was where Acteon went that night.

Fortunately, he had survived the evening. In the four hours that he had tried to sit back and be inconspicuous, he had been approached by three different men at three different times all spouting insults for no apparent reason. Acteon had been labeled an animal rapist, a gong farmer, a honey bucket, and a man who lied with other men; anything they could say to get the hunter to tilt. And what was their reason for wishing to fight him? Acteon had no idea, but he did not rise from his chair. And each time the men would wander off to fight someone else. And each time, they were successful in picking that fight, though they weren’t all successful in winning those fights. It was all a bit sad. And, despite his having survived the night at the Boar, he was still no closer to finding Reisender Kaufmann.

On Sunday morning Acteon woke ealy again. He enjoyed it. He found it to be the best time to be in the woods, right when daylife begins to wake. But today he was not heading to the woods, rather back to Myrkentown. Although the market would again be busy, he was not going there. Today was a religious day for the followers of the One God and a great many people would be heading to the chapels. From what Acteon had heard of Reisender Kaufmann, the man would certainly never miss such an opportunity.

So, horse and rider repeated the prior day’s march to Myrkentown and then wove the crooked maze of streets until they came to the square in front of the Chapel of St. Iona. The doors of the large church stood open and people were already wandering into and out of the great structure. A number of vendor stands peppered the square, though far from the massive collective in the market square.

Acteon’s eyes moved from person to person, looking for Reisender Kaufmann. Of course, Acteon didn’t know exactly what the man looked like, since the two men had never met, but Acteon had a description of Reisender and the large backpack that he seemed to have on his person at all times.

Acteon leaned against a wall, holding Venatici’s reins, waiting. He idly stroked his horse’s neck. The hunter leaned close to her face and put his bearded cheek to her jaw. He started to quietly whisper to the horse when the great bell of Iona rang a solitary gong, announcing that mass time drew near. The sound was startling at first and it made Venatici toss her head in surprise for a moment. But as the tone from the bell started to fade and Acteon had calmed Venatici, he spotted a man rounding the corner of the chapel. The man had shoulder length, strawberry-blond hair, a slender frame, and a brown bag over his shoulder. He fit the description perfectly. There was only one detail to check, but he would need to be closer. Regardless, Acteon was pretty sure that this man was Reisender Kaufmann.

The huntmaster crossed the square with his steed in tow. He was half way across the expanse when he heard the man shout, “Religious relics! Amulets! Holy artifacts! Charms of good fortune!â€

[Acteon]

When entering Myrkentown from the south, one is presented with many roads to choose from. These roads, like most in Myrkentown, are circuitous and often confusing to newcomers. Acteon had spent quite a bit of time strolling the roads of Myrkentown with Venatici. He had learned the roads well in the months since his arrival. So, when Reisender told Acteon to meet him at Lovesealed Alley, he knew where that was.

Lovesealed Alley was one of the five roads which converged at a rather bothersome intersection known as the Five Sisters. The alley was a dirt track, not wide enough for two men to walk side-by-side. The narrow path dead-ended into the wall of a building, constructed to connect two homes on either side of the alley, clearly without regard to the fact that they sealed the alley, preventing through traffic.

It was at the corner of Lovesealed and the Five Sisters that Acteon now stood with his horse, Venatici, at his side, waiting for the ginger-haired merchant to appear. The hunter watched the comings and goings of the passersby--the chambermaids fetching water from the communal well at the center of the Five Sisters, the carters encouraging horses to navigate the roads toward wherever their business took them, and the travelers who always paused at the intersection, unsure which of the roads will take them toward their futures.

Acteon could not see the sun from where he stood with his horse, but he watched the wedge of light cast from the west upon the ground. It moved like a sundial’s shadow, until it succumbed to the growing shadows of nightfall. When the sky ceased to cling to the last remnants of the day’s sun and was replaced with a canopy stars, Acteon sighed and looked at his horse.

“Well, Venatici, it would appear the man is not coming. Must have scared him off by mentioning...you know who.â€

[Acteon]

But the following day’s trip to Foggy Bottom was not to be.

The hunter and his steed arrived at the Broken Dagger just after sundown. After caring for his horse and leaving her to her stable for the night, Acteon crossed the grounds and entered the Dagger.

It was here that he ran into Quincy. She said that she had been looking for him and that in the early morrow they would ride to the cave where the Order performed their rituals. They would leave before daybreak and they wished him to come along.

Acteon could think of nothing better. So, after Quincy promised to knock on his door when they were ready to depart, Acteon raced to his room to begin his preparations. The trip to Foggy Bottom would have to wait. He had a lot to do in order to get ready for the trek. After all, who knew what could happen on such A Winter Night?