Following the fire, the group finalized their plans to depart and travel once Cyrus proved to be in good health. The scholar is obviously insistent on moving beforehand, claiming he was getting well quite quickly as it is. Therese and Alfyn end up being his hardest obstacles as they guard him vigilantly. Ophilia is thus allowed to focus a bit on nursing H'aanit's wounds, which have healed nicely for her to move about easily. The manor of Yvon's birth has been reduced to a blackened pile of charred wood and ash. People are slowly working on clearing it out, but they are in no hurry. The land would likely remain vacant, perhaps turned into some communal garden now that the strange place is gone.
"Think they'll find anything?" Alfyn stretches a bit as he glances at the manor district on his walk around town with Therion the next morning, "The folks here, I mean?"
Therion neglects to mention the nice sum he's already swiped from less than attentive townsfolk, "... Maybe. Who cares."
Alfyn pouts a bit at the thief's nonchalant attitude, "Therion! Something really bad could be happening!"
"Uh huh... Not any of our business. We're leaving soon, remember?"
"After what Cy said... Think about it!" Alfyn folds his arms and frowns, "Those crystals were being made by some guy up in Quarrycrest. The headmaster Ivan guy was in Atlasdam... and then they came all the way down here! That's, like, stuff all across Orsterra!"
"And? Your point?" Therion arches his eyebrow, "The guy was rich and whatever. It's nothing weird."
"I dunno, Therion. I feel like it's all something really big that we might find out... Something that could be really bad. And we're the only ones who know even about this!"
"Now you're sounding as crazy as Sadiq was," Therion brushes him off.
"Therion! I'm serious!" Alfyn bonks Therion on the shoulder childishly.
The thief says nothing. He refused to entertain the notion of some grand scheme... because it was too damn much to deal with as it is. These dragonstones are dragging him from one end of the continent to the next with no real damn clue about where even one is, and he has to find three. Throwing in these weirdoes they meet that send shivers down his back is bad enough as it is. His gut is already yanking him at Alfyn's words. Maybe something is going on... but he sure as hell didn't want or ask to be caught up in it.
He glances furtively at the apothecary who now seems convinced enough to be in deep ponderance about his little hypothesis. The thief flicks him on the forehead.
"Awp!" Alfyn flinches, "What the heck, Therion?"
"You had a fly on your face," Therion mutters.
"Oh, really? Gee, thanks!" The apothecary grins obliviously.
To be honest... he would prefer this goodie-two-shoes also keep his nose out of things like that. He's just going to get hurt.
The thief is surprised once again at his own thoughts. He cares for this apothecary.
"Hm?" Alfyn glances as Therion looks away, drawing his scarf closer about his face, "You cold, Therion?"
"No, dumbass," Therion says curtly as he focuses on looking for fat pockets to pilfer. That'll take his mind off anything.
…
"Hello, H'aanit?"
To the huntress' surprise, the face of Natalia pokes into her room. Ophilia looks up from the basin where she is washing some cloth. Alfyn is conducting a checkup on Cyrus in the other room.
"Natalia... Thou art here," H'aanit sits up with little effort from the bed.
"Oh, thank the gods... I heard today from Potts that a group of out-of-towners ran into the inn at the dead of the night looking like a warband from the fields the other night. I feared for the worst..." Natalia looks the huntress over, "You look alright, though, so that's good..."
"Mm..." H'aanit looks to Ophilia still in the room and gestures towards her, "Ah, this ist Ophilia. She be'en a cleric that hath for me caren."
"Ohh, nice to meet you!" Natalia smiles to the cleric warmly.
"O-oh, yes, a pleasure," Ophilia curtsies a little, "You are... Natalia?"
"Yes, a friend of H'aanit's mentor, Z'aanta," Natalia chuckles, "I didn't expect to see H'aanit here in Stonegard at his heels... nor to hear of something like a ruckus. I hope none of your other companions are hurt?"
"Oh, thank you for your concern... We have an excellent apothecary with us so … the Flame guides us well!"
"Did you find Z'aanta in the end?" Natalia looks to H'aanit hopefully, "Is he..."
"..." H'aanit blinks softly and shakes her head, "I hath... a letter from him found."
"Oh? But..." Natalia blinks and looks about the room, "Where is Hägen?"
Ophilia can see that H'aanit is trying to hide the horrible truth of Z'aanta's fate from Natalia... but the huntress isn't very good at this.
"Hägen hath stayed with Z'aanta... for he... weren turned to stone," The huntress relents with difficulty.
Natalia's eyes widen, her shoulders slack. For a second, her face is nothing but incomprehension. The words wouldn't really make sense to anyone the first time uttered, least of all to someone unversed in arcana.
"Turned to... stone? But... how?"
"I cannen not be sure. But his letter hath tolde me to finde lady Grotoff... I hopeth to finden answers there..." H'aanit says with her head slightly bowed.
"..." Natalia goes to sit down on a spare chair in the room. She looks like the world just got yanked out from under her feet, "I... I can't believe it... so you... found a statue of him in the Spectrewood?"
The huntress nods. Ophilia hesitantly slips out of the room to leave the two women alone, no matter how much she wanted to pat H'aanit on the shoulder...
"...Grotoff... I... Are you sure this woman will be able to help?" Natalia asks after a long silence between her and H'aanit.
"... I believeth it," The huntress says in affirmation. It was partially for herself.
"Z'aanta is a good man... I … He's lucky to have an apprentice like you, H'aanit..." Natalia says softly, "I really hope that you... can find what you need to save him. I... it would be terrible if..."
She doesn't finish. H'aanit nods.
"... Aye. I willen see'n this through... on mine pride as a hunter of Darkwood."
The widow manages a weak smile, "I wish you the best of luck, then..."
…
Cyrus is thoroughly shocked when he makes a visit to Dominic's house before departure with Alfyn, Therion, and Therese... only to find that the scholar was found dead in his home.
"How did this happen?" Cyrus almost exclaims. He had just spoken to the man a few days ago.
"Nothing's clear as of yet..." The town watch that cordoned off the house keeps a tight perimeter, "But it looked like something had slashed out the old man's throat. We think it might be a violent burglar..."
"Gee whiz..." Alfyn runs a hand through his hair, "That's awful."
Therion slips to the side a little. The house is closely squished between two others, so a side window is pretty much inaccessible. There is only a negligible gap.
"I simple... cannot believe this..." Cyrus slumps down on a nearby bench after the city watch shooes them away. Therese gently rubs his back.
"Professor, who was this man?"
"Dominic was... a translator..." Cyrus sighs, "He was the one that translated the tome for Yvon... that he has passed so soon after my entry... I fear it may not have been a simple coincidence..."
"What're you saying, Cy?" Alfyn folds his arms. Therion rolls his eye, "It wasn't your fault!"
"I wonder if my appearance in this place may have triggered it though..." Cyrus sighs, "But... I suppose it doesn't do me any good to wonder on this... I would like to examine the crime scene myself... but I gave Dominic my word that, on my pride as a scholar, that I would solve the horrid secrets surrounding the tome. The man is gone... but I wish to finish this last promise to him."
Therese nods with slight admiration. The scholar was definitely saddened by the event... but he wasn't letting it get him down. He has determination in his eyes that only make him even more handsome in her eyes.
Therion can swear the student is only a little away from drooling over her professor.
...
A lot of preparation on Tressa's end goes into securing transportation for their large party to get down from the Highlands. It's not cheap to get a good cart and ass that can actually climb down and maneuver these rocky cliffs and such. Also, ratkin are ever an annoyance on the roads. This was a cost also that they had prior to supplies.
"Oh boy..." Tressa sighs miserably as she counts her funds. She still actually has quite a nice sum.
"You still got it, Tress!" Alfyn says that.
"That's not the point!" Tressa pouts, "We practically got scalped!"
"Well, uhm, we'll be well prepared for the road at least!" Ophilia says optimistically, "And we aren't entirely penniless, so... we should be happy for that!"
Primrose rolls her eyes at the cleric on the side. She looks over her meager belongings. She'd gotten her dress washed and her sandals reinforced for the rocky trek should their ride break down. Her share of foodstuffs and water remains with Alfyn. Simeon had also gotten a wash after that hectic night. He carries little more than his satchel with writing materials and some bare necessities. Such is the life of a traveling writer these days.
Tressa still obviously has the largest amount of goods, even with all she may have sold, bartered, or dropped over their trip. It really is a marvel how her smaller figure carries something almost as large as she.
Olberic, in contrast, restocked only his bare provisions after having his coat and armor cleaned by the local tailor shop and armory. He had his sword looked over with a smith, but he insisted on buying a whetstone for the road. He was used to this kind of discipline from his years in the army. They would usually have to care for their own weapons on long, grueling campaigns without knowing when their next line of supplies may come.
H'aanit flexes her arm a bit and lightly presses at her own side. Satisfied, she rotates her other shoulder. It doesn't hurt anymore. She throws on her fur cape and straps on her other weapons. Since she had largely been bedridden a bit in Stonegard, she occupied herself when awake with upkeeping her own weapons. Made with old techniques of Darkwood, these weapons weren't able to be examined by just some run-of-the-mill smithy. Ophilia helped when she could with gathering materials the huntress asked for, though they were hardly the easiest to find.
Cyrus pulls out a spare outfit from his valise, as all his old clothes were destroyed following his monstrous metamorphosis. He had packed exactly one extra set of his shirt, pants, vest, and professor's robes. Everything else in his valise, namely the excess of books, spills out as he clumsily unpacks.
"Professor, you really didn't pack more clothing?" Therese looks at him apprehensively, "H-how long is your sabbatical to even be?"
"Oh, it's an indefinite leave," Cyrus says nonchalantly as he pulls on his shirt, "I had intended to return once I found the grimoire!"
"And you packed like this?" Tressa sighs, "Geez, you can't even read all this over ten rides across the Middlesea!"
"On the contrary, I have a very high reading and comprehension speed-"
"Let's just help the professor pack before we're stuck here until tomorrow," Primrose interrupts and helps pick up the fallen volumes with a sigh.
"All I'm saying is," Tressa lectures as she helps too, "You can't plan a trip across the continent without a decent wardrobe set! Worst comes to worst, when you're out of money, you can at least sell the clothes off your back and not be caught naked."
"Sell my personally tailored professor-issued robes? Never!" Cyrus is aghast at the idea.
"Wait, if ya had clothes, wouldn't ya sell those instead of the ones off your back?" Alfyn points out.
"Well, normally, yeah. But there's something to be said here about emotional value!" Tressa lectures with a smug grin, "Any dolt can figure out how to sell clothes... but if you act like it's your last, you can drive yourself a lot further and also get any bleeding hearts to shell out some more leaves!"
"You mean lying about your belongings?" Ophilia frowns as she draws her cloak about herself. She furtively slips her gloves on over her white-streaked fingers. The lanthorn with the holy flame sways slightly by her side, tied securely to her belt.
"Tressa, it seems you've picked up a bad habit from Ali, wouldn't you say?" Primrose chuckles as she puts back the last of the books into Cyrus' valise.
"Uh- no!" Tressa says indignantly, realizing how she sounded, "I... I was just saying how some people rely on that kinda stuff! But I don't! I'm a better merchant than that!"
Therion scoffs and rolls his eyes. He had spent a bit of coin to buy some more daggers and a new sword when he failed to swipe it. Luckily, he didn't push his luck so much that he got thrown out of town. The shopkeepers are a bit more wary than the normal pedestrian. As he pulls up his boots, he feels for Natalie's amulet in the wrappings before standing.
"Alright then," Cyrus clears his throat, "Shall we be off?"
…
The enlarged party of ten boards the large, covered wagon that Tressa had managed to procure. With their size, they require a two-ass squad to draw the carriage, which Tressa grumbles about as she counts her money. Unfortunately, the carriage is still quite small, since a larger one would be impractical for the mountain roads, not to mention rather dangerous. So, some of them will have to be on foot. The merchant bemoans the loss.
"... That's almost all my earnings from Quarrycrest...!" She pouts as she feels her pockets lighten, "And we can't even all ride, phooey!"
"Thanks, Tress!" Alfyn smiles obliviously.
"I do have some leaves to compensate your share a little," Olberic offers the merchant.
"Nah, whatever... I guess I'll just have to earn it all back! That's the grind!" Tressa sighs, showing some admirable grit in her words.
"I'm sure you'll be rolling in leaves again in no time," Primrose chuckles as she sits down in the wagon next to Simeon. The playwright drapes his arm over her shoulder, and she leans contentedly on him.
"We can take shifts," Ophilia smiles as they all get either settled or stand beside the carriage, "H'aanit, you should sit!"
"Nay," H'aanit surprises the cleric by sweeping the girl off her feet in her arms and placing her on the wagon, "Thou hath watcheth me enough. Tis now I watchen."
"You're still healing!" Ophilia pouts at having been handled so easily, "And I can walk!"
Olberic looks out to the familiar mountainous scenery and glimpses some hawks. It's a good sign.
"It certainly feels different after days in bed to finally step out..." Cyrus stretches in the open mountain air, "Therese, you aren't cold are you, my dear?"
Therese shakes her head despite her hands tucked in her armpits of her thin dress. Tressa rolls her eyes and pulls out a spare blanket for her to wrap up in the wagon. Therese feels plenty warm as Cyrus sits in with them, right next to her.
Therion scoffs, choosing to walk since Simeon is sitting in the wagon. He passes a glance at the asses, which don't seem the most comfortable with Linde prowling around.
Nonetheless, the asses begin to move, and the party soon hits the road. Stonegard, with its tiered mountain community, grows smaller as they go. They pass some other traffic of traders and caravans of scholars coming to and fro.
"I wonder if many of these people share the same path as us," Ophilia looks around and waves here and there at fellow passing travelers.
"Where's the way to Goldshore from here again?" Alfyn asks as he holds his map sideways.
"We simply need to reach the trails to descend to the north and then the familiar route through the south of the Coastlands," Olberic points out, "Similar to how we first went to Rippletide and then came back from there."
"You're not very good at directions, are ya, Alf?" Tressa snickers.
"Oh yeah? You know your way everywhere, Tress?" Alfyn looks to the merchant with a grin showing challenge.
"I can read a map right at least!"
"Cartography is a wonderful skill. Navigation relies partially on understanding the intent behind a map as well as simply how to read it, you see..." Cyrus begins to ramble.
H'aanit smiles on the side at the rowdy group as she strides alongside the carriage.
"...Things seem a bit back to normal," Olberic says quietly at her side, "I hadn't seen you smile for the last few days."
"A lot hath … passed," The huntress sighs, "But weren I alone, twould have been far greater a burden."
"Aye. The hardships of anything are much more bearable with good allies," The warrior smiles.
…
Passing back down along the paths, the party sees the familiar road sign for the temple of Brand nearby. Having some downtime now, the scholar is eager to follow up on this. Upon searching the vicinity of the space, they find that the entrance to the shrine is actually situated under the ledge, built into the mountain wall. With H'aanit's help, they manage to pin down a rope to scale down. Olberic, H'aanit, Linde, and Alfyn go down with Cyrus, leaving the others to watch the cart.
"Don't ogle too long! Time is money!" Tressa grumbles, "I'm not afraid to fine you if you make us wait till night!"
"Be careful, professor!" Therese calls out worriedly.
"Don't worry, I'll keep a good eye on him!" Alfyn grins and gives a thumbs up.
The shrine of the Thunderblade is decrepit but less natural looking than H'aanit recalled about the shrine of Aelfric that she and Ophilia had wandered into during the storm back up north. There are stone columns and steps with tiles outlining the sacred space. It's not too deep nor big. Growth from moss and viny lichens decorate the abandoned walls.
At the main altar, there is an empty slot on a stone table that has been cracked. The slot is flat and wide.
"Hmm..." Cyrus looks appraisingly at the walls that have been worn smooth, "There don't seem to be many carvings or paintings decorating this place... Interesting. I suppose this must have been a very minor shrine."
"The temples for Brand back in Hornburg were rather ascetic," Olberic walks up to the cracked altar, "There would always be this slot here... warriors going to war would insert their blades to receive the god's blessing before battle."
"Ahh, so perhaps this was merely a stop before the battlefield...!" Cyrus says with interest.
"Say, Ol'Berg, you wanna try that?" Alfyn looks to the warrior at the altar.
"..." Olberic draws his blade, holding it solemnly before him before inserting it into the slot with ceremonial gesture. It is a familiar motion from a memory of long ago, with many battles.
After a few seconds of nothing happening, Olberic pulls out the blade and holds it before him in a posture of gratitude to the god. Then, he sheathes his blade wordlessly.
"... it doth appearen nothing else be here," H'aanit remarks, breaking the silence.
"Ah, well, this was quite interesting nonetheless!" Cyrus chuckles, "A nice stopover, for sure... but I suppose we cannot keep Tressa waiting!"
…
The path down back to the Coastlands isn't so unbearable but not without its own problems. The sloped paths obviously make it all too easy for the wagon to accelerate and fly when hitting some bumpy road. Precarious turns require some finesse to properly turn about and follow the trails down. It takes them about two days on foot to reach the edge of the Coastlands, traveling as fast as they can afford to. Along the way, Therion keeps an eye out for suspicious caravans carrying what could be stolen cargo. Primrose keeps watch for any travelers that mention anything about shady dealings. There doesn't seem to be as much traffic along the way though, as it trickles around here. While Stonegard is well renowned for its product, people are much more comfortable having its materials delivered than going there themselves. After fighting a band of ratkin, the party can tell why people wouldn't want to risk this trip too often.
"Nnn... Good ol' Coastlands...!" Tressa stretches as night falls and they finally reach where the beaches begin by the inner sea's edge, "If we push hard, we'll be in Goldshore in two days at most!"
"The beasts aren tired," H'aanit brings the asses some water, which they slowly drink, "We cannen not pushen them too hard."
It is already night now. It seems to be a clear evening, with the moon reflecting brilliantly on the nearby waves and a myriad of stars peeping about the midnight blue cloth.
"My word, the stars out here are brilliant!" Cyrus looks up in awe, "I hadn't taken much note of them until now!"
"That's probably a lot of things for you," Therion scoffs behind the scholar's back as he helps Olberic set up a large fire.
"Hey, Lia, could we try using your staff to get some of those coconuts?" Alfyn points at some nearby palm trees, "They oughta have some juice!"
"I don't really think I should use my staff for that..." Ophilia says apprehensively.
A dagger soundly cuts through the treetop. Three coconuts drop onto the sand. The dagger arcs back to its owner and Primrose catches it smoothly, "There we go."
"Gee, thanks!"
Therese sits near where Cyrus is blabbering about astrological history and constellations as a use of navigation. To her surprise, Simeon comes over to listen as well.
"... example, Draefendi's bolt and her bow are present on different nights," Cyrus drones on, twirling a finger about, "The most common form of this change is at the end of the seasons, when the shadow of Galdera is said to chase all the stars off the sky, supposedly what happened back during his Usurping. However, they return when his shadow is banished."
"..." Therion makes a slight movement and grabs his dagger under his cloak. Olberic similarly stands and eyes their surroundings. Linde growls, her tail erect. H'aanit's eyes flicker about the periphery of the firelight. Primrose glances out to the darkness.
Someone approaches. The keenest of battle senses in the party prepare to strike. They all hear something like coughing, and then a timid male voice.
"Excuse me...?"
At the edge of their little campsite, they see a man and woman emerge from the shadows. The two of them are dressed decently, though the woman seems rather sickly in the fire light. The man has a white shirt loosely open about his tubby stomach and the woman is in a dress with a loose shawl about her shoulders.
"... Can we help you?" Olberic doesn't draw his weapon just yet seeing these unarmed folks.
"Uh, would we be able to share your fire for tonight? I'm afraid my wife's caught a bit of a chill," The man scratches his balding head under his hat, "We came all the way from Goldshore, you see..."
"Oh, sure! Lemme have a look at 'er if ya don't mind! I'm an apothecary!" Alfyn immediately offers. The couple nods and gratefully sits down by the friendly apothecary.
Therion sighs as he strikes another bit of ignition, and the fire flares a bit. He winces and stokes the embers with his sword. Olberic keeps a wary eye on the couple but resumes helping the thief.
"Thank you muchly," The man sighs and rubs his wife's back as she coughs a little, "The sea air these days seems a bit more moist. Prone to fevers and what not."
"Moist?" Alfyn raises an eyebrow in interest, "I heard some people were getting sick over in Goldshore... Is it got to do with that?"
"Aye, tis a rash of fevers," The wife coughs a little, "Tis not uncommon for a seasonal spell... but tis worse than usual... Younger babes can barely move and that's what's most worrisome..."
"That is horrible!" Ophilia gasps, "Has the church at Goldshore said anything? Surely, they must be looking into aid..."
"Father Donovan has been very stressed with the whole thing, running the church day and night to provide the healing services... But the magic can only do so much, as you know, sister," The husband sighs, "So me and my wife are making the trip to the Highlands. The air there is crisper and ought to help a bit while we take a few days..."
"Be'en there no medicine men in Goldshore?" H'aanit brings over some fish she caught with Linde and begins to clean them.
"Apothecaries there be but they can be so expensive, you know? Uh, they also didn't always have what was needed either, so a lotta them just can't do anything..."
"That's a fair issue..." Alfyn sighs with a frown, "Gotta have lotsa good materials to make a good cure..."
"You be an apothecary, yeah?" The man looks at Alfyn's bag, "Lookin' to make your fortune, are ya?"
"Nope!" Alfyn says with candid bluntness, "I just wanna help where I can."
Therion drags a hand down his face. Tressa rolls her eyes. That heart of gold is too much.
"Uhh... right. Anyways, you better go with plenty o' stock. Goldshore has those rich folks that'll buy ya all outta stock if they can," The man sighs. Ophilia offers him and his wife some water, which they take gratefully, "Thanks muchly, sister."
"Why are you on foot, if I might ask," Primrose smiles sweetly, legs crossed before the fire, "It seems mighty dangerous for you two to go it alone, and with your wife sick nonetheless..."
"Ah, we had a carriage, but it broke down a bit back there. The seaworn roads be choppier than they used to be, you see..." The wife clears her throat and sniffles loudly, "The wheels wouldn't take it, I'm afraid... but it was an old carriage, too..."
"The ass ran away," The husband adds, "Not sure if it'll come back since it was a bit spooked..."
"Spookedeth? What hath it heard?" H'aanit raises an eyebrow.
"I'unno. Roads these days can be more dangerous at night... The coastlands used to be quiet when the sun went down! Birdians here are diurnal," The wife sighs, clutching her shawl to her chest, "It's a shame. Drives away the tourists we used to get year-round. We run a guesthouse, you see."
"Tourists, huh?" Tressa hums a bit, "Yeah, we get 'em a lot still... though more traders and overseas business than actual tourists. Coastlands, gotta love it."
"Well, Goldshore isn't known to have a bustling marketplace or trade center like Grandport or Rippletide," Cyrus points out as they wait for the fish to cook, "You see, the draw of Goldshore lies in one, its namesake sands which glitter like gold, and the presence of the Cathedral, which is a notable architectural marvel. As a result of its calmer atmosphere compared to the more city-like port towns in the Coastlands, many upper-class nobles prefer to have their summer homes there, which further boosts its prestige as a place for relaxation."
"Yes, even in the stories about Goldshore... it is largely a highlight of its natural beauties as an allure," Simeon muses, a hand raking down Primrose's ponytail.
"However! The biodiversity of the area is also extremely interesting!" Cyrus doesn't switch out of scholar mode and points a finger about, "Generally, coastal areas are homes to various grottoes and eroded rock formations that form many caves, even those underwater!"
"Oh, right, we read about this for, erm..." Therese scratches her head, "How some pirates were using these hidden caves to hide their treasures..."
"Indeed, you are correct, my dear," Cyrus smiles, "However, these unique and natural formations also house a rich body of fearsome monsters as well as less formidable flora and fauna. For example, certain types of fungus are known to grow only in that area due to the damp air and salinity also infused in it so close to the ocean."
"Wow, that's fascinatin' stuff!" Alfyn listens avidly in contrast to just about everyone else.
They crack open the coconuts and roast the fish for a decent meal on the road, sharing what they have with the two strangers, who are apparently named Burt and Eleanor. After a nice meal, Tressa stretches contentedly. Cyrus interrupts her calm by starting a lecture about the local piscine species upon looking at the bones discarded from their meal.
"Riiiight, well I'm hitting the hay on my own!" Tressa grumbles and crawls into her sleeping bag, "We gotta get going tomorrow if we wanna reach Goldshore real quick."
"Tressa's right..." Ophilia sighs, "We have been pushing ourselves to get going a bit..."
"Very well, I will keep watch," Olberic nods. He glances sideways at the thief who shows no signs of laying down for the night either.
"Therese, you may have my coat. It won't do for you to catch a chill by the sea. Temperatures near water have drastic drops at night," Cyrus takes off his scholar coat like a gentleman and drapes it across her shoulders. The student blushes intensely and her mouth seems to want to say something... but she holds back.
…
Obviously Therion didn't trust two strangers to go to sleep. He keeps a vigilant eye about their camp, appearing rather grumpy to the warrior who is also accustomed to lesser amounts of sleep. Olberic observes the thief's shifty position and sighs. The couple had fallen asleep leaning against a log set up by the fire. A salty night breeze blows by, teasing their flame.
"You know your way with a blade," Olberic says quietly as he pokes the flames with a spare stick.
Therion says nothing, merely grunting in acknowledgement of the compliment. While the warrior didn't read dangerous to him, he did rub him the wrong way for sure, considering how he was so averse to him and the dancer. He didn't like those noble types that liked to talk about lofty things like what a person should and shouldn't do. Those people were the same ones who looked at him with scorn for most of his life. Those people didn't know squat.
"Do many thieves use blades like you?"
Therion drags a hand down his face. The warrior is a helpless and artless idiot trying to make a conversation.
"What the fuck are you asking like that for," Therion gives him a look of annoyance and hisses, "Are you people all trying to get me arrested?"
"Lady Primrose refers to your profession rather liberally, as I recall," Olberic shrugs a little, "It seems you haven't been totally discreet about it."
The thief scoffs, "You haven't seen me doing anything, have you. You're just relying on what she sees."
"You both share a similar... aura. The two of you … I will say, commit unsavory business, no?" Olberic crinkles his brow a little, "It is not my position to judge, even if I may have personal reservations against it."
Therion raises his eyebrow. He's glad that the warrior didn't go off on some tirade, at least. But the comparison leaves him a little sour, "I'm not like her, just saying."
"Hm?" The warrior's grey eyes glance over to him curiously.
The thief doesn't bother to elaborate, instead looking towards the flames dancing before them. The warrior takes a long glance at him before also looking into the flame.
"I can see you have your differences... But I also feel you are similar... In fact..." Olberic scratches where the scar on his brow is, "Something tells me we also have something in common."
"... Oh yeah?" Therion glances to him, not buying that.
Olberic nods, "The distrust in your eyes... I remember feeling something similar after I was betrayed by one I thought my brother in arms."
Therion's eye widens briefly. He refocuses on the fire, not letting it show. He shouldn't be surprised. The warrior is someone who's fought wars after all. But that he still holds fast to something like conviction and right and wrong... the difference between them is still far too vast.
"... Whatever," The thief mutters.
…
In the morning, Alfyn is pretty happy to wake up to the squawking of gulls and not the screeches of sea birdians attacking their encampment. The couple that stayed overnight thanks them for their hospitality and continues on their way. To Tressa's horror, Alfyn offers them one of their steeds. To her relief, the couple decline politely, saying their destination won't be too far.
"You dolt!" Tressa berates Alfyn after the couple leaves, "I paid for these mounts and it was good money!"
"Ya can't be thinking on money all the time, Tress!" Alfyn chuckles good-naturedly, "Some people need the stuff more than we do!"
"Well, shall we be going then?" Simeon asks as he stands and stretches, eliciting a series of cracks through his stiff body, "Oh my, it's true what they say about sleeping on the roads..."
"I find it is good to stretch before and after... particularly in early morning," Olberic surveys his belongings one last time before throwing his satchel over his shoulder, ready to go.
"Ah, I would like to try that, honestly... But I do hate to forego rest..." Ophilia yawns.
"Thou ought sleepen more and worryen less," H'aanit goes to usher Ophilia back onto the wagon. Linde follows with a catty grin.
"Well, Goldshore can't be much further, according to what the helpful couple said last night..." Cyrus stands and dusts the sand out of his coat and pants, "Therese, my dear, are you alright? I'm sure this is much less than the luxury holdings you are used to..."
"Oh no, it was quite surprisingly comfortable!" Therese says quickly. She had been able to lean on the professor the whole night. And it wasn't so bad once she got to wash the taste of morning out of her mouth.
Therion wordlessly does a minor check up on his stuff, as does Primrose.
"Alright, let's go then!" Alfyn points dramatically.
…
Goldshore is not a typical port town. For one, it lacks a dedicated pier for ships unlike Rippletide. As the name suggests, the emphasis is directed towards the golden, glittering sands that line its scenic beaches. There may have once been efforts to build more shipyards here, but the appeal of using this place as a residential and resort spot was opposed to that. The erection of a Cathedral of the Flame in town only further established its appeal in beauty that people did not want a mercantilist touch to taint. And so, that is Goldshore.
Idyllic gulls lounge about near the waters, strutting for clams and other mollusks just under the wet sand bar. The waves lap at the sand, and it glitters in the sun from a distance, like piles of golden dust. The name is very apt.
Apart from that, there are people milling about the stone infrastructure that was built to support more sturdy housing, unlike the wooden piers of Rippletide. While there are still uses of wooden constructs to be seen, a lot of the main city is lain with stone and stretches over a small divide along the archipelago where the Coastlands becomes a series of key islands. Palm trees grow in sparse numbers along the shores, away from the cityscape.
The cityscape of Goldshore speaks of the wealth of the clientele who frequent this area more than actual locals. Reddish rooftops make for aesthetically pleasing palettes with the stone color of greys against the backdrop of blue-green waves. The main square and where most locals are situated faces the open sea, protected by an elevation difference in stone for when the tides roll in. North from the main square, one crosses the stone bridge to the manor district, which is built on a hillier island. At the top is the cathedral, surrounded by the summer houses of nobles and housing for the rich who fancy a night or two without going to the laymen's inn.
"Hellooooo Goldshore!" Alfyn shouts so all of the city can hear him, much to Therion's chagrin.
"Alfyn sure is excited," Ophilia chuckles.
"You should be too, shouldn't you?" Tressa glances to the cleric, "This is a stop for you, right?"
"Ah, yes!"
"My, the city by the sea!" Simeon rubs his chin, "The name simply doesn't do it justice. Why, I feel a bit of a limerick coming on... 'They call this a mere city by the sea-'"
"It has it's practical roots, actually, which are quite interesting," Cyrus interrupts for once, "You see, the city's utility at first when settled was quite unclear. It was the furthest settled into the open global oceans off Orsterra's main circle of lands, prior to the establishment of Grandport! There was much debate about what the city would be used for by local governance, and so many different functions were suggested, but not many really succeeded in proving to last long, from resort to merchant traveling stops. So, a generalized moniker was-"
"Oh gods, get me away from these chatterboxes..." Therion grumbles as he walks on ahead.
The party sets up at the local inn. H'aanit notes that there seems to be a bit of a scent through the town. It's a mélange of herbal scents, like someone mixing a variety of perfumes.
"Pray tell thee," She looks to the innkeeper, "Why doth there smellen of so much grasses about?"
"Oh, uh," The thin reed of an innkeeper pulls nervously at his collar, "Well, there is just a bit of a bug going around many people are trying whatever home remedies they got, haha... But don't worry, it's nothing dangerous haha! Please do enjoy your stay!"
"Quite a desperate sale," Primrose snickers.
"Hehehe, all the easier for me to get a bargain!" Tressa chuckles as she counts how much she saved from haggling with the inn rooms prices. She got three rooms here for the price of two back in Stonegard, much to her glee.
"The couple we met last night had mentioned a decrease in traffic to this area, so it seems to be true..." Therese is in their room as they decided rooming arrangements, "I do hope they reached their destination safely."
"They seemed confident even without a horse, so I'm sure they'll be fine," Primrose shrugs.
They all eventually decide how the rooms will be arranged. Primrose, Tressa, and Therese will be in one room. Ophilia, H'aanit, and Linde have a smaller room to themselves. That leaves all the men; Olberic, Cyrus, Therion, Alfyn, and Simeon, cooped up in another room.
"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to room with me in the smaller room? The sister and H'aanit can go with Tressa then," Primrose offers Simeon.
"Oh no, that would be, ahem... a bit inappropriate, I daresay," Simeon pulls at his cravat a little awkwardly with an apologetic smile, "Thank you for the gracious offer."
"We'll take care o' him, Prim!" Alfyn grins as he loops an arm around Simeon's shoulders, "Don't you worry!"
"Yeah, you better behave, Alf," Tressa smirks cheekily, "And the grumpy one, too!"
Therion scoffs and finds his usual corner to sit in.
"Professor, I insist you have one of the beds," Olberic says firmly, "You still have only just recovered a few days ago from a rather harrowing experience."
"Ol'Berg's right! The hard floor won't do it for ya!" Alfyn says with an affirmative nod.
"Oh my, you make it sound like I could be elderly!" Cyrus exclaims, much to the amusement of the others.
Ophilia chuckles as she and H'aanit go to their room. This room has only one bed and is smaller than the other two. But they both seem comfortable with this by now, having shared a bed before. Linde pounces on the bed first and curls up like nobody's business.
H'aanit sighs, "Linde, taken mind not to rompen about the sands. Tis willen itch under thin pelt."
"Haha, has that happened before?" Ophilia chuckles as she sits on the bedside and scratches Linde between the ears.
"Nay, we haven not been to these coasts 'ere these last months... But she doth haven habit at times to doen so in pine needles and dirt. Tis difficult to cleaneth," H'aanit puts down her quiver and bow by the bed before taking off her cape.
"Ah, let me check your wounds by the way," Ophilia looks over to her, "Now that we're not on the road, Alfyn can look you over more thoroughly."
"Thou canst doen so, nay?" H'aanit tilts her head, "Asideth, it doth not hurten so much these days of late."
"Still, we need to be careful," Ophilia frowns as she stands to remove the front of H'aanit's shirt, "These last few battles... I was so worried about you all... and the injuries were hardly light."
"...Thine healing doth helpen immensely," H'aanit smiles softly and lightly pats Ophilia on the shoulder, helping the cleric take off her cloak, "Aren thou not heated? Tis warmer here."
"Oh, it's actually not that bad! The sea breeze is quite nice!"
Tressa meanwhile of course has her handy bedroll, so the beds go to Primrose and Therese. The dancer makes sure the door to their room is closed before looking at the royal relative, "So, dearie, I hear you were a student of the professor's back at the academy?"
"Huh? Oh, yes, I am... I mean, I hope to still be... after all this..." Therese lowers her gaze a little. The shyness in her eyes mixed with something like sorrow or guilt is not lost on the perceptive dancer.
"... You like him a lot, don't you?" Primrose gives a coy smile as she walks over, "You can talk to us. We're all women here."
"Huh?" Tressa glances over, "What are we talking about?"
"I-I uh," Therese stares as the dancer looks at her knowingly. She feels exposed under that gaze, "Um..."
"Oh, look at how red you are...!" Primrose giggles, "You really must like him a lot."
"Uhm, I... I..." Therese can't seem to muster any words of defense. She averts her eyes, flushed, "...Yes."
"Well, at least you admit it," Primrose chuckles gently and caresses the girl's cheek, "What is it though? Did you get rejected by him?"
"Huh?" Therese blinks.
"Wait, are talking about boys and love and whatever?" Tressa raises her eyebrow, "The stupid gossip stuff?"
"It's far from stupid, Tressa," Primrose laughs airily, "Matters of the heart are very important, but it takes a delicate hand to understand... one which I find men tend to lack."
"Yeah, well, that stuff is just bad for business... unless you're one of those matchmaker people. Shady industry for sure, but they work!" Tressa folds her arms, "Otherwise... I dunno, it's not really anything I find interesting."
"I figured as much for you, Tressa," Primrose giggles, "You're pure business."
"That's right!" Tressa says proudly.
"But that was why you couldn't beat Ali at sales at first," Primrose points out, "You have to understand that not everyone sees things from the viewpoint of business logic and price. There are factors of the individual that make them want things."
"W-well you don't have to tell me twice! Things like freshness and availability!" Tressa says obliviously, "Try selling generic fish in Rippletide and then you'd see! People have tastes for the fresh stuff and the rare bits!"
"But they also have their own individual tastes. If you grew up eating snapper and have a fond memory of your mother cooking it for you, you would prefer it over other fish even if it weren't the economic choice, you see," Primrose smiles softly, "You still have a lot to learn about what people think they want and need."
"Mgrgrgrgr!" Tressa folds her arms and huffs.
"And you, my dear," Primrose refocuses on Therese, "You have something you want to tell the professor... be it an apology or confession."
Therese sighs at last, "... You're not wrong... I … do wish to apologize for what I did."
Primrose nods, listening intently.
"I had already told Sir Olberic of this, but... the reason the professor is on this entire sabbatical is due to my petty jealousy. The professor knows this, too..." Therese knits her fingers together, "I... have yet to properly address it with him after everything."
"Olberic?" Primrose raises an eyebrow, "That man is noble, no doubt, but he is a mere bumbling babe in these sort of matters."
"Eh, I mean, he was very kind and patient..."
"But without good insight, no?" Primrose sighs, "Listening is one thing, but actual advice and experience would do you better."
"A-are you offering?" Therese tilts her head.
"Why yes, dear," Primrose smiles, "I can't leave such a conundrum undone! And frankly, neither can you. You best resolve what you need to tell Cyrus before you both part ways again. And he is a dense man, so you will need to be forward about it."
"Denser than a winter jacket, that professor!" Tressa sighs and stands, patting herself down after setting up her bed roll, "But I'm off to see if I can't get a lesson now that we have some downtime. You two enjoy your boy talk!"
Therese sighs after the merchant leaves, "T-thank you for your suggestion, Miss, uh, Primrose... but I just don't think I can do that so simply... Not when I'm so guilty..."
"Guilt will only fester and gnaw so long as it is left to boil and simmer," The dancer leans back a bit on her arms, "You had best let it out. Tell him how you feel. If you are sorry, he deserves an apology at least, does he not?"
Therese clenches her skirts and slowly nods.
"Good. If he rejects your apology, then you know he's not quite the man you want. And if you truly are sorry, I think even his dense brain will understand... he's not a bad man after all, to say the least," The dancer smiles slightly and pats Therese on the head, "Chin up. When an opportunity presents itself, you best not let it slip away."
The student looks up at the dancer's eyes and timidly nods, "... Thank you..."
…
Alfyn cannot be expected to sit around while there's doctor's work to be done. So, like the good apothecary he is, he strikes out at once after settling in the inn. Outdoors, he takes in the salty sea breeze once more before looking with glee at the golden sands bordering the glimmering waterfront. He stretches and gives his cheeks a good slap before walking out onto the streets. It's not so busy, but also not so quiet. They had arrived at Goldshore at around later noon or so. There are still sellers and pedestrians about, as well as an occasional mule or hand-drawn wagon. The open beach area before the main street has people milling about an open marketplace. While nowhere near as fast-paced as Quarrycrest or exotic as Sunshade, it's still a new thing to a country boy like Alfyn.
"Oh wow, look at that!" Alfyn takes a gander at some seller with long strips of laver for sale, "That's the thickest seaweed I've ever seen!"
"Ah, good eye!" The seller chuckles and holds up a long length of the wavey plant, "Very delicious and healthy! Women can't get enough of this stuff! Also, the slime is great for cooking! Adds thickness to just about anything liquid you want! Only 15 leaves! A bargain!"
"They got any uses for medicine though?" Alfyn tilts his head.
"Medicine? Ah, you're an apothecary!" The seller notices his satchel, "In that case, you'd be wanting our laver from overseas! Yes, this is known to be a great fortifier for the body, drunk daily!"
"Gee whiz, how much is it?"
"Oh, just a meager 50 leaves for amazing health benefits!"
Alfyn chuckles and politely excuses himself on account of not having the money for that kind of ingredient. Hands in his pockets, he wanders about, just taking in the local atmosphere. Pequod did say there was an illness going around, and the couple's story corroborated that... but it doesn't seem like a plague town just yet...
"Didja hear about old man Zeke?"
The apothecary glances over at some housewives shopping in their cliques and whispering rather loudly to gossip. They look well off.
"Aye, that old man makes the tenth this week, don't it? How horrible..."
"Something about chills and a fever that just are too much... it's soon to spread like wildfire."
"Don't say that or you'll invite it!"
They ruffle their feathers.
"On the other hand... I did hear of some apothecaries that came to town recently."
"Ugh, vultures to carrion, that lot. Why couldn't they be here before an opportunity to scrounge for coin?"
"Better than the Church, I'd think. At least they have something."
"Well, you can't blame Father Donovan! The man isn't as young as he used to be!"
Alfyn rubs his chin and ignores the fact that he's stopped entirely in his tracks listening to those women. Some people give him a stink eye as they walk around him, not that he notices.
"Some of these traveling doctors are quite reputable, I might say!" One woman fans herself, "One of them, you know, she cured little Timmy of that horrid fever in a mere night!"
Alfyn is about to walk over and ask them out of curiosity about these apothecaries.
"Ow!"
"Watch it, girl!"
He turns his head to the sound of distress and sees a small girl with reddish brown hair on the cobbled ground. She looks like she fell. Whoever yelled at her is gone now, probably back to walking among the people here. The girl picks herself up on her knees and sniffles.
"Hey, you alright?" Alfyn approaches with a friendly grin and kneels down by her, "That looked like abad fall."
"Unh, my knee..." She whimpers and looks to him with big eyes trying not to cry. She points to her exposed knee, which has been skinned on the rocks.
"Yeowch... well, don't worry, I got just the thing..."
"Oy, move to the side, ya lug!" Some rude people threaten to trample them underfoot.
Alfyn helps the girl limp to the side of the marketplace, to the wall overlooking the beach. She sits down on the edge as he brings out some simple herbs to reduce inflammation and help with healing the skin.
"Mind if I cool it down?" Alfyn says with a grin, "It's gotta sting a bit, but it'll be quick!"
She looks to him curiously, not that scared of the stranger, and nods. He concentrates his gate magic in his fingers as he holds a dock leaf in his hand. He presses the leaf with his cold touch on her scrape. She shivers a little and then blinks.
"It doesn't hurt anymore!" She exclaims.
"Haha, good, good!" Alfyn chuckles and takes out some bandaging to hold the cooling leaf in place on her knee, "There we go, good as new!"
"Wow..." She stands and is amazed, "Thanks, mister! You must be one of those, uh, uhm... those pock-a-berries!"
"Haha, apothecary, yep!" Alfyn grins, "You heard about us?"
"Mm! Lots of them pass by town... but they all cost money..." She gasps, "Oh no, how much do I have to pay you?"
"Wha- no, no, nothing!" Alfyn says assuredly, "I don't charge, honest!"
"Ehh... you're really nice," She tilts her head as she stares, "... Could you help my sister?"
"Huh? Your sister?"
"Mm. I'm Ellen. My sister's name is Flynn! She's been sick for a while now... People around town are all saying people are sick... But Mommy doesn't have the money to pay for the pock-a-berries..." Ellen pouts and clutches her little pouch.
"... Yeah, what's an apothecary for? I'm here to help out with the whole fever shebang. Let's give your sister a look-see, eh?" Alfyn winks, "She'll be better in no time!"
"Really? Thanks!" Ellen gives a bubbly smile and goes to pull his hand along as she leads him to her house, "What's your name, mister?"
"Alfyn!"
…
Ophilia, H'aanit, Linde, Cyrus, and Therese make their way to the city cathedral. Cyrus haad been too restless to lay down at the inn and insisted he come to get a look-see at the second of the famed cathedrals. Therese naturally followed.
"Yes, this is indeed exquisite..." Cyrus rubs his chin as they approach the grand structure, "Notice how the arches are slightly narrower and more angular in comparison to the Cathedral of Flamesgrace? The design is not to open wide spaces, but to create many of them, which is a large contrast in how light and ventilation would-"
Linde growls at the scholar to cut him off and Therese chuckles.
"Professor, I haven't been to Flamesgrace..."
"Ah, forgive me. I was simply thinking of when we were there last," Cyrus sighs, "It feels like a while ago... and yet also was not so."
"Mm..." Ophilia smiles a little at the thought of home. She hoped Lianna and the archbishop were well and said a small prayer in her heart as they passed into the main hall.
Within the entry vestibule, there are some people talking in low voices. Some of them appear dressed as nobles, like the sort to live in the fancier houses they passed by here. This is the manor district after all. Therese tries not to let her worn dress bother her. It had been cleaned, but it was a delicate material that gets damaged easily when not handled by royal washers. Luckily, it's not like people recognize who she is.
The main hall inside is empty, as there is no mass being held at the moment. Similar to the Flamesgrace cathedral, the main hall is a wide and spacious place for gathering, with many pews lined in rows facing the main altar with the pulpit before it. Much of the rear walls showcase the wider arches with gothic decoration, allowing plenty of sunlight to filter in from the rear. It really helps one focus on the stained glass set there.
Cyrus babbles on in an indoor voice after being hushed by a local priest. Ophilia hurriedly apologizes on his behalf.
"Why, you must be Sister Ophilia...!" The priest gazes at the lanthorn that Ophilia never let out of her sight, "We were told you would be coming to bring the flame as part of the Kindling... but we had no idea t'would be so soon!"
"Ah, well, thank the Flame!" Ophilia chuckles, "Pray tell, where is Father Donovan? I believe he is the head bishop here, to lead the event?"
"Ah, right this way."
Ophilia excuses herself as she is led away by the priest, leaving the others to peruse the cathedral public areas at their leisure under the eye of the other church workers.
"Ah, what a beautiful piece of art, this entire place is...!" Cyrus rubs his chin as he and Therese walk towards the quiet west wing. The end of the hall opens to a small alcove where one can gaze out towards the waters of east Middlesea.
"Indeed..." Therese sighs as she and Cyrus stand side by side. The gulls squawk here as well, and she finds herself unable to look at the professor's face properly. And, to think, she had stared so often at that handsome face and gotten so little study done before... Now she can't without a stab of that guilt.
"Guilt will only fester and gnaw so long as it is left to boil and simmer," Primrose had told her.
The two of them are alone here. She decides to take this chance.
"Uhm... professor...?" She asks meekly, still not looking at him, "I wanted... to apologize."
Cyrus glances to her with minimal surprise, and then he looks out to the sea, "... There is no need."
"H-how is there not?" She asks a bit forcefully, "I-I disseminated those awful rumors... and dragged you out here... and even then... you had to sacrifice yourself to save me from the headmaster! I... I caused all of that with my petty feelings!"
The words are pouring out with emotion. She is trying not to be too loud. All that does is make a knot in her chest that forces tears to her eyes.
"Professor Albright, I'm so sorry... for everything... I..." She hurriedly wipes her eyes, "I don't deserve to be your student... I can't even stand myself right now..."
"..." Cyrus sighs, "However misplaced your intentions were... I have reason to believe you also saved me, Therese."
"...huh?" She blinks.
"As a teacher of course, I cannot condone what you did. However, when I was absolutely sure I would be killed as a monster... it was the memories and thoughts of you that allowed me to retain a clear mind," Cyrus looks to her now, "And I also must apologize..."
"Y-you do...?" She turns to him reluctantly, now at least able to look at his lips.
"I had been ignorant of your feelings. Clearly, that you were driven so far as to go across the continent to look for me..."
Therese's heart is thumping hard now. Could it be? The realization of her feelings?
"Professor..."
"You are far more driven a student than I had given you credit for!"
The sheer density of that statement squashes the mood like a brick.
"... d-driven...?"
"Yes. You came looking for me in pursuit of your own knowledge and opportunities of learning! I didn't think my neglect could cause such a spiral... Surely, I have a ways to go in being a professor..." Cyrus sighs, "Thank you for helping me realize that. Now I know I must strive ever harder to teach you and everyone else!"
The fact that anything romantic flew over his head entirely makes Therese want to fall onto the floor. He hasn't changed from when he reacted in the same dense way back in Atlasdam. She holds herself upright though and finds a small puff of air escape her lips. It's exasperated amusement.
"Pft..."
"And that's why you needn't apologize, my dear," Cyrus looks back to the sea horizon, "I will return in due time to the Academy and a better teacher when I do."
"... Alright, professor..." Therese finds herself give a light laugh and smile. Residual tears in her eyes appear to be from laughter now.
Of course, she should have expected such a response from him. He is just that sort of a man. The same, dense, avid professor... who she fell for in the first place.
She wouldn't change a thing.
With a warmer smile, she looks up to his eyes and curls a lock of hair behind her ear, "I'll be waiting... No, we'll all be waiting."
Cyrus sheepishly scratches his cheek, "I hope you needn't see any more bloodshed … You must have been scared."
"A-a little..." Therese sighs, "I thought I would never see you again."
"Well, you needn't fear. I swear, as your teacher... no, as a man," Cyrus faces her and places a hand dramatically on his chest, "That I will return posthaste once my search for the grimoire is over and classes shall resume as they were."
Therese blushes and nods avidly, happier than she can say.