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Medicinal Herbs
It was a testament to the Heir's stubborn pride that despite the rubble and still recovering Hamlet that the quest board was still in operation. Teams didn't need to be sent on missions, like those poor fools to the Courtyard, who Vesli noted had yet to return, but could volunteer themselves for the pyre as it were. So far, the majority of the mercenaries had elected to remain within the Hamlet proper, rebuilding from the destruction. Vesli had badgered Face, hauled lumber, dragged stone, wash rinse and repeat. Despite this new routine, the man knew full well that it was merely a matter of time until the tentacles returned. Therefore, it was not overly surprising that as he passed by the quest board that Bird's messy scrawl caught his attention.
Inhale. Count to five. Exhale.
The man trudged over to the board, wondering what the Doctor had gotten them into. A faint smile found its way to Vesli's face. Medicine retrieval in the Weald. Those supplies would be sorely needed, considering the situation. It was also likely the only reason the Heir was not waiting for the team of newcomers to return from the Courtyard. Though if he was honest, Vesli couldn't bring himself to complain about this errand, even if they once more had to brave that diseased forest. They hadn't returned to that place since the incident with Rat, tendrils of fear curling around Vesli's spine at the thought.
Rir's bristling in his mind returned him to reality. The beast did not want to return to the Weald. Vesli reassured his mental roommate that this time would be different. They'd have Caillot, not some unknown with them. This at least soothed the creature into irritated grumbling. Well. Time to get packing and find his team.
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Caillot examined their inventory, "Bandages?"
"Check," Aela answered.
"Antivenoms?" Bird was the next to join the conversation, hovering over the packs.
"Just finished packing them Doctor," Vesli reassured. "Along with the food."
"Here's the torches to finish out the supplies," Aela plopped a pile of wood into a sack.
"Shall we then?" Vesli tied off the first sack, slinging it onto his back. "Those medicines won't retrieve themselves."
"Try not to catch rabies this time," Bird chirped next to him.
"I shall endeavor to not catch any more diseases from a plague infested forest," Vesli drawled in return.
"There's a sex joke in there somewhere," Aela grinned, causing the remaining trio to sigh in unison.
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"A team is off to retrieve the medicines you desired," the Caretaker came through the door to the study like a chill wind.
"Of course they are. I marked that quest as a high priority. It's only expected that my dear employees answer to my wishes," the Heir didn't deign to even look at the Caretaker's entrance.
"Speaking of the 'employees', that group you sent to the Courtyard will not be returning," the Caretaker eyed the glass in the Heir's hands.
"Fed the local wildlife, did they?" The question was a bored one.
"I'm sure they made an excellent meal."
"How disappointing," the Heir drawled before sighing, "I suppose we'll just have to send another group then. The next had better not feed that bloody reptile."
"I shall endeavor to recommend the next group carefully then," the Caretaker bowed, "Perhaps actually warning them of the crocodile this time."
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"Medicine located," Bird held up the vials to the light, examining their contents with the levels of intrigue only she seemed able to muster.
"That's great, Bird. But perhaps it can wait until we don't have these nice gentlemen attempting to kill us?" Vesli flicked his wrist to send his chain into the face of a red-wearing dagger bandit. Apparently, this route into the Weald had lead them into the parts were some of the tougher outlaws liked to lurk. Because retrieving medicine had to take them deeper into the woods. The Doctor looked up from her fixation on the bottles, just as Caillot's sky-ghost tentacles tossed one bandit into a tree to be gored by broken branches while Aela's glaive sliced into another.
"Could swear they were not there before," Bird muttered as she retrieved grenades from her belt.
"They just decided to join us," Vesli grunted, chains catching the legs of a bandit who was attempting to charge at Caillot, dragging him into the explosion of one of Bird's grenades.
"Such a shame they need to leave so soon," Caillot quipped, his usual refined and controlled tone tinged with the hint of levity from the banter.
"And here I was hoping to invite them for dinner!" Aela laughed as she spun with her glaive, cutting into a group of bandits like a small perverted whirlwind. Vesli supposed he should wonder about the fact they were all bantering while fighting and killing bandits. But he just decided to accept it, even if Rir was grumbling about not getting to come out and play.
The skirmish was thankfully a short one. Bird had kept the medicine vials safe, officially retrieving the last of the medicine which had been recorded to be lost in this area. "Only one more clearing near here," Bird stated, producing the map, "But no more records of lost medicine," she finished with a pout, her professional intrigue disappointed.
"It may be wise to check that last clearing anyway," Caillot mused, "There may be more medicine that wasn't on the records, or relics, or gold, or just about anything useful."
"I've still got energy to burn," Aela shrugged, "So, we might as well check it."
"Don't see why not," Bird folded up the map.
Vesli contemplated the idea of going forward. "There's a chance it'll be nothing, or nothing guarded by more of the things that live in the Weald," he warned the others, not wanting them to get their hopes up, "But then again, it might not. I'm willing to go since you are." Course decided, they once more resumed their trek through the dark winding path of the Weald, the path of the cursed woods winding through the trees like a serpent and Vesli had to force himself, and Rir, to not think that they were heading straight for the serpent's fangs. The wind's call sounded like the moaning of the dead, their skeletal bony fingers reaching out through the long sinewy branches of the trees to grab at their skin and their clothes. The crunch of dry leaves, constant under their boots, removed any chance at stealth and put Vesli on edge, his eyes flitting around for any hint of danger.
Then, out of the murky gloom, he spotted a faint light. Reacting instantly, he readied his chains, the others quickly preparing their own weapons, knowing his senses were far stronger than theirs and it was often that Vesli spotted enemies before they did. As silently and cautiously as they could the group approached the faint light, relaxing only slightly when they saw that it wasn't the torch of a bandit but a red orb, giving off a faint glow and pulsing like a heartbeat. The orb sat upon an ebony tentacle, the shaft stuck into the ground glinting with malicious intent in the torch light. "One of these again?" Vesli muttered, still on edge just being around it. Last time they found one, Bird had poked at the orb, which thankfully had resulted in nothing. When he turned to warn her not to try again he found that this time she was doing a much closer inspection than simple poking.
"This thing is writhing with vile Spirits," Aela scowled, his friend making small gestures and muttering what might have been prayers to her Spirits for protection.
"It is very dark," Caillot agreed as he joined Bird in examining the creation, "What would it be doing so far out in the Weald?"
"Have heard that these can be found almost all over the Hamlet," Bird spoke up, making a sketch of the statue in her journal along with writing in the notes and observations being made.
"There's something written on it," Vesli grunted, gesturing to a faint inscription while his eyes flitted around, not feeling comfortable with being so close to the artifact that was giving Rir chills.
Without hesitating, Bird leaned in to read it. "The sacrifice of fire is the gate to ruin; place a torch if you crave the void?"
"Well that's ominous and rather cryptic," Caillot frowned. The four stood around the sinister statue. "What do you believe it means?"
"You're the closest one to an expert on this sort of thing, Caillot," Vesli gave a clueless gesture.
"A problem for another time. The clearing should be just ahead," Bird gestured, finally drawing away from the cursed object as Vesli's blood pressure finally began to decrease.
"That's true. We can think about it once back within the Hamlet," Caillot conceded. He stepped without looking onto a branch. There was a loud SNAP! as it broke beneath him. Startled bats swarmed into the path.
"GAH!" Aela flailed at the sudden invasion. The torch the Hellion had been holding slipped out of her grasp. Vesli could see it in slow motion as the bats cleared. The torch fell, landing fire-end first into the red orb. A dead silence fell on the group as they stared at the pulsing crimson. For a moment nothing happened. They looked at each other, nearly sighing in relief… then the crimson orb winked out of existence and the Weald along with it.
Omake – Inspiring Tune
The Hamlet had always been dreary, one couldn't spend even a single day within its walls without learning that fact, but since the bandit attack things had become even more depressing than before. It wasn't a situation that Neot liked, it was a reminder to the Jester of the time he spent serving in the court of a cruel asshole, a time of almost constant misery and suffering.
Almost constant. The one thing about it that Neot had enjoyed was bringing a smile to the crowd's face, playing his music or telling his jokes and seeing the joy it brought others. Sadly, it was a rare sight to occur, happening only on occasion in the beginning thanks to the nature of the court in which he played and by the time of the assassination the joy in his crowd was a distant hazy memory.
Sitting on the roof of the barely rebuilt barrack building he slept in, Neot strummed the cords of his lute, dust falling from the strings that had gone so long without use. The sound was harsh and sporadic at first, the Jester having to tune the lute, coaxing and easing it back into use, assuring his old friend that its time in the forgotten dust was over. Lute tuned he began gently strumming out little notes, a stream of music that grew in volume and confidence as old habits and skills came back, the callouses on his fingers easily plucking at the cords.
Neot wasn't the strongest mercenary in the Hamlet, nor the fastest, the smartest, the bravest, the fiercest, or the most cunning. He knew his limitations, knew what he could and couldn't do. The Jester couldn't crush the skulls of his enemies with a single swing or shoot an arrow through the slit of a man's helmet. This though, this he could do.
As the music swelled so did his confidence in the art he had refused to touch since that night of blood and wine, the night he permanently left the court of his former employer. The song became clearer and clearer as he was lost to it, the song carrying through the streets as some stood to listen, some enjoyed it as they carried on, but many more came to the source, sitting and standing at the foot of his building to listen. A few even sang softly when they recognized the memories of the songs he played for them. It wasn't a smile, sometimes Neot wasn't sure anyone could smile in the Hamlet, but it was still worth the world to Neot, to know that once more he could be a spark of light in somewhere dark and dreary.
