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"They say that we owe them our lives,
They say that we owe them our gratitude!
They take from us what we hold most precious and dear,
And then they take the very blood from our veins!
Look at these creatures, these maleficar, our so-called betters!
So fat! So soft! So idle! So decadent!
They take our homes and sell our children!
They take our blood and sell our souls!
They saw that we owe them! OWE THEM?
THE ONLY THING WE OWE THEM
IS THE TASTE OF OUR BITTER STEEL!
TO ARMS! TO ARMS, MY FELLOW MAN! TO ARMS!"
- Andraste Augusta, Port Denerinium, Fyreldina, Southern Tevinter Imperium, -180 Ancient
Author's Note: And we're off on the second part of Act I: Across The Face Of The World, where we visit the Frostbacks between Haven and the Avaar Basin, to a town only seen in paper media; Edgehall.
The Navy gave us this delightful term for a vessels' first trip. Welcome, dear reader, to…
ARC II: MAIDEN VOYAGE
Nanton, Edgehall Bannorn, Edgehall Arling, Drakonis 6, Kingsday, 9:27 Dragon
There was no two ways about it; it was bloody cold in the Frostbacks.
Marian Amelia Hawke huffed as her oxen-led wagon passed by a small thorpe called Nanton to the left of the ice-and-snow-covered dirt road in use by the Dryden Brothers Merchant Company, the fifteen-summers young woman looking over to the circle of buildings that sat by the roadside, perhaps numbering ten or a dozen. It didn't even have a full wooden palisade around it! Just some semi-circular wall made of logs laid one over the other perhaps twice the height of a man, leaving easy access to the road to Edgehall. For the life of her, Marian couldn't figure out if it were a farming community or not with no real creek or any apparent crops to be seen. Like the other little thorpes and hamlets they had passed since entering the Arling of Edgehall, the community was a small, insular one that hugged the road going from Edgehall to Jalmar's Ford, a small mountain community all by its lonesome.
Her boots crunched with every footstep in the ice-encrusted snow. The flakes falling from the sky was all the encouragement necessary to keep trudging on.
The company of drovers had been traveling from Jalmar's Ford for many hours now, having left as early as possible to make the long leg that was the road to Edgehall. At just around thirty leagues in distance, Papa had stated that they would likely be traveling from sunrise to sunset to make the journey without camping out in the Frostbacks during early spring; no one wanted that. It was bitterly cold during sunlight hours; Maker forbid how much colder it would be during night! Marian only needed to raise her wool-covered head to see the barely-visible sun behind a thick blanket of clouds responsible for dumping snow on them to know that nightfall would be coming soon, and it was absolute folly to travel at night with any kind of four-legged animal.
Her chevalier boots continued to crunch with every footstep she made towards the mountainous pass towards Edgehall, trudging through a light covering of snow and brittle ice upon the dirt road. There was also the sound of the oxen hoofing through the same obstacle, their breaths coming out as plumbs of steamy smoke from their dripping muzzles as Marian frowned at the sight. She moved over closer to one of the castrated bulls to take a look at its snout to see how much lather there was or was it merely dripping snowmelt from their breath. An inspection along the jowls showed a little lather accumulating at the sides of the mouth, but it wasn't much and it wasn't dripping. The oxen were pushing hard (well, pulling hard) but they hadn't pushed themselves too much. Yet.
"We be gettin' a lil' bit lathered, nunkle." Marian called out to Tobias macConnell, who was fighting through the same elements as she as the lead of Team Four. The feedbags that were normally available for the beasts-of-burden had been taken off for safety reasons; water and food would freeze within the bags and icy melt would actually lather the oxen up even more, forcing their bodies to warm up anything they ate. And cow tongue could be damaged by ice. Marian went to the next oxen up to see much the same thing, only a little bit of thick whitish drool forming at the bottom lip, barely spilling over. The older man had moved over to look at the other side's oxen as Marian went to the lead oxen, seeing a fair bit more lather on the lead; not unusual, considering. But it was a worrisome sight. "How many more leagues t' Edgehall?"
"Five, more or less." macConnell replied, finishing his inspection of the oxen on his side. His ice-encrusted bearded face might have covered his expression, but it didn't disguise the look in his eyes. He looked back to the wagon where Broderick FitzHugh was now riding in the back with the equipment, having slipped and twisted his ankle fierce a few candles prior on some ice. They all had some close calls and slips, but the copper-haired man had gone down hard on a patch of ice covered in snow, forcing both Tobias and Marian to help him into the wagon to make the trip to Edgehall by nightfall. Brock was hardly the only member of the company who had suffered. With him was Çâléaňé, the brindle Mabari pup wrapped in wool and no doubt huddling with the man for warmth. A full-grown Mabari warhound could likely weather the cold well, but she was but a pup. Hawke and macConnell took turns checking on them, knowing that sitting wasn't keeping them any warmer, even with a tarp over the wagons and their loads.
How the bloody blazes did people even live up here? Marian couldn't even imagine.
Marian knew they must have been a sight, wrapped in wool and furs to stave off the freezing weather. Their bovine steeds had been draped with large blankets and wool lashed around the legs to keep them from going lame, and the oxens' human counterparts were similarly garbed. The young woman was utterly grateful for her chevalier boots, the well-stitched footwear being waterproof and preventing the snow from getting into her socks and feet. Her legs, too, were bound with wool, going all the way up into her kilt while she wore a cloak made of elk hide lined with wool and cotton, the hood pulled low over her face to keep her head warm. A wool scarf had be wound around her face to keep her cheeks and neck warm, but it kept falling with her movement, forcing her to pull it up with a gloved hand every so often.
It was just downright bloody cold, no two ways about it.
The snow kept falling in fat flakes as trees and road were blanketed in white, fresh snow covering everything. Marian could only tell where the road was due to the break in the trees and bushes where it existed, not to mention it appeared to be the only leveled ground due to generations of feet, hooves, and wheels pounding it flat. She was grateful that the Dryden Brothers Merchant Company had men who had made this journey many times over, men who knew what roads to take and which turns to use to get to their destination better. True, much of their travels would be on the Old Imperial Highway… but not all of it. Marian wouldn't have known which route to take to get to Edgehall from Jalmar's Ford with the winding Hjordis River, the growing hills and mountains of the Frostback Mountains, the many woods and copses surrounding them, and the several twists and turns the route seemed to take along with branched paths heading in different directions.
Despite being a tracker and a hunter, the young woman knew she would have easily gotten lost on the way to Edgehall, especially in this weather.
The hunter pulled up her scarf once more to keep her face warm as her boots continued to crunch through the fresh snow and the older, harden snow underneath as she kept an eye both on the surrounding environs as well as her team of oxen. It would be hard to imagine anyone daft enough to attempt anything so mad in this weather, but fools succeeded against those who thought such things. It was a pity her bow was fully unstrung and wrapped in wool in the wagon, the cold likely to snap the string and warp the wood. Even if that were the case, Marian wasn't sure if her nearly-frozen fingers would be able to hold the line or if her wool-covered hands would make a hash of it. Also, the snow was heavy enough to reduce seeing that far off anyhow. For now, she carried Brock's spear in her hand.
The company continued to trudge through the snow, the sky continuing to layer more flakes upon everything as the twenty-man company continued westing through the Arling and Bannorn of Edgehall, the path winding around growing hills and burgeoning mountains. Even through the heavy snowfall Hawke could see the massive ridgeline that was the Frostbacks, a towering line of mountains that seemingly scraped the sky from northing to southing, gigantic and imposing. It made her think of the Alamarri God Korth Mountain-Father, said to dwell in the highest peaks of the Frostbacks. Seeing the towering heights of the snowcapped mountains where even the the clouds seemed to shroud the tops, Marian could see why her ancestors thought the Frostbacks would be where the ancient gods lived.
The path wound around burgeoning hills and outcropping of rocks that seemed to jut out of the land as the company continued to march through the snow, everything covered in white. The wind was thankfully cooperative, a bare breeze that didn't feel like the cold was cutting through wool and cloth to seen shivers to a man's flesh and soul as the young woman stuck her left hand under her armpit to return some sensation to her fingers, gritting at the frosty air. The chill had seeped into her skin and she could feel herself shivering despite that she was walking and all the wool she was wearing. Maker they couldn't get to Edgehall fast enough.
The snowfall lessened slightly as the Dryden Brothers Merchant Company continued their travels through the snow and ice as the sun began to touch the peaks of the Frostback Mountains, perhaps a candles' worth of sunlight left. Marian was beginning to worry that they wouldn't make it in time and either be forced to continue through dusk, or worse, make a hasty camp in the frigid weather. With how cold it was, the continuing snowfall, and even the slight breeze, camping out in the open wasn't not a prospect anyone would be looking forward to. A night out in the open such as this was just asking for frostbite or never waking up at all.
Despite the snow, the deepening night, and the ice that seemed to crust even her eyes, Marian could swear that she something considered a light up ahead between the glooming peaks of mountains.
"Nunkle, is that…?" The young woman asked as she walked by the oxen, having checked on them, wincing at what she had seen before looking ahead.
"Aye, that be it, lass." Tobias macConnell replied, his tone just as hopeful as hers.
"That'd be Edgehall."
Edgehall, the City of Chasms, Drakonis 6, Kingsday, 9:27 Dragon
"Oy! Thank th' Maker!"
Dusk had fallen, but Marian Hawke was less worried about it now now that the Dryden Brothers Merchant Company was fully ensconced within a large barn set upon the Chantry grounds of Our Lady of Eternal Light in the City of Chasms. The barn was more of a large stable where stalls lined the walls of the timber building, its log walls caulked with mud, grass, gravel, and what even appeared to be animal fat mixed into the daub to create insulation from the weather. There were a few horses already stabled within the barn as well as a couple over animals; a few asses, two mules, and three Frostback cows.
And brazers with lit coals for warmth. Blessed, blessed warmth.
Thirty-six oxen, twenty men (well, nineteen and a woman), and six covered wagons was a bit much for the barn, but everything was brought in and the giant wooden doors closed to keep out the cold. Most everyone was taking advantage of the four iron brazers set in the middle of the barn, pulling off wool gloves and holding hands to the delicious warmth coming from the glowing coals. Marian helped Broderick FitzHugh from the back of the wagon, the man trying to limp his way over to the brazers with his arm over the huntress's shoulder while Çâléaňé pattered next to Hawke, the poor pup looking miserable and cold. The Mabari slid by everyone and promptly took the head of the lists by plopping right next to one of the brazers, closer than everyone else as Marian helped her wagon-mate get closer.
"Take off yer gloves and sit on your rump, Brock. We need t' look at yer foot." Marian ordered a man who had seen at least ten summers more than she, no compunctions about doing so. It said much that FitzHugh did so without complaint; that was a worry. Like any red-blooded Ferelden man, Brock was about as proud and as stubborn as a mule, whinging over splinters and brushing off real wounds. Like any man, if it didn't hit them between the legs or mess with their beard, they would just tough it out. Marian swore that if a man wasn't thinking with the hair on his jowls or that grew on his chest, then he was thinking with the thing in between his legs.
Brock wasn't complaining about being ordered about by a woman; that meant it was likely serious.
As the copper-haired man took off his gloves, sticking his hands towards the brazer while sitting perpendicular to it, Hawke fumbled with his boots. Her fingers were still a bit stiffened and cold from the weather outside as she undid the buckles and straps to Brock's pigskin riding boots, pulling out each strap and unwrapping the wool that partially covered the boots and his legs for warmth. Marian pulled off his left boot along with his wool stocking with ease, knowing it wasn't the foot in question. The left foot seemed fine, if a bit pale from the cold.
"This one is gowin' t' hurt, man." Hawke told him as she undid the wool on FitzHugh's right leg and gently undid the straps on his boot, the man already wincing.
"Get it bloody well over wit', lassie." He was already gritting his stained teeth in anticipation as Marian loosened Brock's right boot as much as she could, and with a quick apology, pulled it off quickly, sending the man cursing up a storm; man could put a sailor to shame with that language! His face was red and his knuckles white from gripping his kilt while Marian rolled the stocking off his foot to survey the damage.
"Bride an' Maker, man! Ye be howlin' o'er… this?" Brock's ankle was puffy and swollen, but not discolored with bruises, the flesh thankfully not looking akin to an eggplant. The coppery-haired man looked down at his own foot. "Looks like ye twisted it good, but it dinna look broken. Let me get a good feel." She placed her hand over the swollen part gently, grasping it. "Wiggle 'em toes like a lil' boy." Brock grimaced a bit as all his toes moved, moving up and down normally. Marian didn't feel anything odd under the flesh, just that it was warmer than usual and swollen. Probably twisted, but nothing broken. She'd taken him to a bonesetter in the morn to be sure, but it looked like a bad twist. "Okay, think e'erythin's where it should be, dinna feel anythin' broken. I'll put some snow onnit an' wrap it t' keep th' swellin' down, an' inna morn we'll visit a bonesetter t' be safe. Dinna want ye walkin' on a broken foot by accident an' all."
"Ugh, more snow." The man groused, making Marian chuckle at that. He wasn't wrong; she had her fill, too! "…lass?" He seemed a bit embarrassed about something. "T-thank ye."
"O' course! It's not like I want t'be doin' all yer chores, after all!" Marian smiled and playfully slapped Brock's knee, making the man shake his head and chuckle. "I'll go grab some snow and somethin' t'wrap yer ankle wit', ye big softie."
Sleep wasn't difficult to find that night as Marian bundled both herself and Çâléaňé in her bedroll, the fur interior doing wonders along with the brazers inside the barn structure. Despite having to actually sleep on a barn floor with its hay threshes as well as the various animals stabled within, the young woman soon found slumber as she bundled herself near a coal-and-wood burning brazer, falling into a peaceful, dreamless sleep with her Mabari pup in her arms. Only once or twice did she groggily wake up to see one of the men who was on the guard watch stoking the brazer, adding more wood or coal to keep the temperature up. It probably said much about her exhaustion when she could literally roll right over and go back to sleep without issue.
Morning came with the sound of bells as the Chantry of Our Lady of Eternal Light rang the coming of dawn, six bells echoing throughout the city of Edgehall. Marian woke up groggily and grumpy, her limbs still a bit stiff and sore from the jaunt in the snow and ice the day prior, most especially her legs. It said much that she, a seasoned hunter, felt tired from all the work done yesterday. The company still had to make the deliveries to the Chantry, which thankfully the chapel was close by, and the next two days would no doubt be focusing on care towards themselves and their oxen from the journey they had made. With the distance they made, the weather, the difficulty of the trek through snow and ice, not to mention much of it had been going on a steadily upward incline, the rest was necessary for their beasts-of-burden. Nobody wanted to lame up an ox.
Marian rose with the smell of breakfast and tea, the inside of the barn still cool but certainly warmer than it was outside. Gadden Lymanson, one of the men standing watch for Team Six, had let them know that it had stopped snowing but that it was still quite cold outside. The young woman got dressed with an addition of her wool cloak as she went and did the morning chores with the oxen, Tobias having done so the previous night as she tended to Brock. The pup was content to lay in her bedroll within the fur, Çâléaňé still too young to have grown enough fur to fight off the worst of winter. Marian coddled the Mabari a little bit to make sure she was fine, checking her paws and her tail for anything worrisome. Thankfully, the pup was just being a lazy bed hog.
Hawke began to work with the oxen, knowing yesterday had been a hard jaunt for them. She was meticulous with her menstruations, checking hooves and legs for any signs of lingering cold or muscle fatigue, any possible knobbed joints or angled limbs. When the legs seemed to be satisfactory with all six oxen, Marian went over their bodies and their fur, wiping them down and making sure there wasn't anything lingering from the harsh winter. Two of the oxen had some rub sores from the harnesses, which the young woman resolved to warm up some fat to dab upon to help coat it for protection. After seeing to the oxen and satisfied that they were at least tended to, Marian finished by draping them in wool horse blankets to help ward off the chill and keep them dry.
It was after that she finally got tea and breakfast.
"Ugh, yesterday was hard." Marian told her father as Malcolm Hawke sat next to her by the brazer, the young woman attacking her bowl of potato-and-leek chowder with gusto while sipping on some sunflower tea, sadly unsweetened. The young woman had rescued a stool, likely for a milkmaid for tending the cows, and her father had easily plopped upon the threshes of the barn. "I dinna t'ink its e'er gotten that cold in Lotherin'."
"When you were but a babe, before the twins were born, it got to be about that cold." The older man replied softly, looking… a bit forlorn. "There had been more than a few families that had lost livestock and family members due to it." Ah, Marian knew what saddened her father; he did in fact have the ability to help stave off such things in the form of magic. Unfortunately, if he had kept an ailing family warm or used his talents to help save a life… he would have been turned in for being an apostate. The archer didn't need to be told what would happen then.
There had been a woman a few harvests back that had helped a family who had come down with something, most likely the rattles. The same family that woman, that apostate, had helped through their illness had turned her into the Order of Mercy at Our Lady of Eternal Salvation, no doubt for the bounty the Chantry offered for escaped Circle mages and wandering apostates. The Templars had easily captured the woman and had paraded her right down the main boulevard of Lothering, trussing her hands to a crossbeam and dressing her in about the worst rags they could find.
Oh, the accusations that both Templar and folken leveled against her were rife as people threw vegetables and rocks at her as she was practically dragged through the town before being put on a boat that would supposedly take her to Caer Kinloch, the island fortress in Loch Calenhad that was the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. Marian remembered standing at the side of the boulevard with her arms around her younger sister Bethany, horrified to see the woman pelted with tomatoes, onions and stones, looking beaten and disheveled. That apostate had acted with honor and mercy… and had been repaid cruelly as the Hawke children watched on, none of them ever throwing anything.
That could be her father one day. That could be her dear sweet Bethany.
"Well," Marian through off that thought, "I'll be takin' Brock t' a bonesetter t' have 'is foot looked at. Think he twisted it fierce on th' ice yesterday." There had been a few slips and falls amongst the members of the company trudging through the snow. "When we makin' deliveries?"
"Twelve bells. When it's the warmest." Her Papa replied with a rueful grin. 'Warmest' didn't necessarily mean 'warm', but it was certainly better than trying to haul heavy barrels in a blizzard! "There will only be a few barrels involved, so not too many people will be needed. Talk to Levi and see if you can get both Brock and Hiram over to the healers. Hiram's favoring his left leg pretty good, and having them both healthy and at a good walking pace will certainly improve our speed when leaving."
"Shan't be a problem, Papa." No doubt it would likely still be rotten weather when the company left Edgehall, and everyone would want to make good time going back down to escape it.
Marian Hawke found herself walking through the town known as the City of Chasms. It was aptly named.
The young woman was currently leading two members of her company (along with her Mabari pup Çâléaňé who followed along) to a local bonesetter, Broderick FitzHugh and Hiram Madden. Broderick was limping along with the aid of a walking stick to help keep as much weight off his right foot, and Hiram, a part of the second wagon's team, had slipped and struck his left knee against something in the snow, probably a rock. Both Master Levi and Mikhael had blessed off on the visit knowing that they would be a little short-handed with the barrels, but the Dryden Brothers had said they would only be moving six, so only twelve people would be needed. With two of their drovers hurt, having them looked upon was better than not, after all.
What the young woman hadn't expected from Edgehall was that it was literally built into a cusp of mountains.
Edgehall was but a singular boulevard running through what appeared to be a valley in between the cusp of mountains, monstrous peaks on either side close enough to touch it seemed. Hawke had noted that with the exception of a few side alleys and streets that split from the main thoroughway, the city seemed to exist upon the boulevard on either side. Buildings were crammed against one another, crowding the rock-encrusted road that seemed barely big enough for a wagon to go down with just enough room for someone to walk by it. Like Redcliffe, the buildings seemed to be tall but narrow, perhaps going deeper from the street to make up for the lack of breadth. She also saw that the buildings were all made of rock; chiseled to shape, framed with logs, and caulked and daubed with mud. The roofs were made out of timber logs, cut and sawn into beams, set upon the stone walls, and then covered with mud as well. The young woman could only imagine that it was a necessary with the bitter weather she was experiencing in the City of Chasms, trying to imagine worse.
And then there were the people of Edgehall themselves.
Like the drovers had on their trek west, the Edgehallers were bundled in wool and furs, almost completely covered in the warmest apparel possible. Wool and fur leggings were wrapped around legs, even feet!, while it seemed everyone also wore wool and fur coats along with hoods over their heads. Knitting was no doubt a popular profession as Marian saw wool mittens, wool scarves, wool stockings for people to wear on their heads, and wool face coverings as well. It seemed that the most one saw of a man or a woman was their face, and sometimes just the eyes, scarves pulled up to cover the mouth and nose to fight off the bitter winter chill.
Maker, Marian was thankful she had listened to her Papa about packing extra woolens for the trip!
The young woman tread upon the ice-encrusted gravel boulevard with Brock and Hiram slowly following her as they left the walled compound of the Chantry proper, Çâléaňé bounding alongside her with enthusiasm. Like in Redcliffe, many of the buildings that were shoppes and stores had signs hanging from above their doors to indicate what they were both with words and carved pictures to attract business, many of the topped with snow. Marian noted that most had their windows shuttered to keep the cold and wind out, the wood caulked with mud to provide insulation. No doubt with the winters in the Frostbacks it was a necessity.
Hawke passed by a few of the narrow buildings, seeing a few businesses ahead of her, signs indicating a tanner, a weaver, a leatherworker, and a tailor for the first few shoppes. By the looks of the people around her, she would guess that mining and milling would be much of the town's prosperity as she spied a few larger buildings that indicated assessing and smelting, no doubt miners who dug for ore looking to be paid for their efforts. A coaler had a good several people standing outside its door, either to sell or buy, and right next to it was a small foundry to smelt raw ore into something more thrifty. Edgehall seemed to lack Redcliffe's openness and variety as several more businesses seemed to be of the same variety; leatherwork, mining, and wool-working.
After going through about a third of the town, barely half-a-league, Marian found herself reaching to the small plaza-like area that was the main market of Edgehall, it seemed. It was a small square where the center was bereft of anything except open space where the only real major intersection existed for the City of Chasms. Perhaps a dozen and a half businesses ran around the square's perimeter where the boulevard and the intersecting street met, a couple dozen people moving through the square either for the shoppes or to move through the square itself.
Hawke noted a few hand carts that were loaded with small logs, coal, raw oar, or even what appeared to be cut stone within the market square. She also noted that every one of the carts had elves pushing or pulling the conveyances instead of humans, poor-looking folken who seemed in dire need of warmer clothes, more clothes, and more food. The sight of it disgusted her; elves were easily shorter and slighter than their human cousins, yet were doing harder manual work than the taller folken were. She had to bite her tongue at the sight; this wasn't the Lothering Bannorn, where Bann Binet Ouvrard didn't enforce the forest folken to live in an alienage or dress in rags and scraps. That didn't seem to hold true in the City of Chasms.
After looking through the market square and its available shoppes, Marian finally found one that seemed to be the most likely possibility, a sign hanging above a door that denoted what looked to be an apothecary. The young woman led the two drovers to the shoppe and opened the door to find a small shoppe that had what appeared to be herbs and remedies for ailments and injuries, from elfroot to feverfew to willoweed. Most of the plants were cut and dried, hanging upside down from the rafters of the shoppe, while several were bundled and tied together, wrapped in cloth and laying on their side on shelves. It was clearly a remedy shop, but at the very least the owner might know who to go to. Or even perhaps have someone on-hand who employed the same function.
"Allo? Gov'ner?" Marian called out as she looked around the shoppe, not seeing anyone immediately manning it, frowning. It was getting to be near midday, and despite the cold it seemed that the other shoppes in the square were open, or at least having people moving in and out of them. "Allo!"
"Oi! Be out in just a mite!" Came the sound of what might have been a grumpy old man, and the young woman found herself looking at an emerging figure from the back of the store to see… a man with many summers on her own father wearing robes that… Maker's Breath, is this codger a mage!?, Marian thought to herself as she found herself looking at a velvet cloak the color of plums and a vest the color of grass. He had a rather wild shock of white hair flowing from his head and a snowy beard to make a dwarf proud, growing down to mid-chest. If he weren't a mage, Marian would eat one of her own boots! "Welcome t'the Brewers' Cauldron, mussus. How can I help ye?" Hawke must have had a look of apprehension on her face that the old man noted. "Not fr'm around here, are ye?"
"Nay, serah. Lothering." The young woman supplied, trying to remember her manners. "We're part o' a merchant company an' came inna late last light fr'm Redcliffe an' Jalmar's Ford. Weather was down right rotten, an' I'm afraid two of me travelin' mates slipped an' fell onna th' way here t'Edgehall. I was lookin' f'r a bonesetter, but…" Despite what her father and sister were, Marian had never ever ever asked this question before. "Ye be a mage?" There was more curiosity than nervousness or animosity in her tone.
"That I am, lass." The old man replied with a smile. "Minin' town such as this gets more than its' fair share o' injuries an' illnesses. The Arl wanted his miners looked after, an' th' men get a properly trained healer t'mend their wounds." This was nothing like what her father told her about the Gallows! Perhaps… different Circle, different ideas? The young woman knew better than to start asking questions that suggested she would know more than she should, though. That was what might clue the Order of Mercy in on certain things… like magical family members. "These th' men that got slipped up onna th' ice an' snow?" The mage looked at Brock and Hiram, who looked perhaps a bit uncomfortable at the thought of a mage healing them.
"Aye, that they are." Marian hadn't been expecting a mage to be available, not out in the open! Certainly not running a shop! "I, ah, waddn't expectin' a Circle mage t'be tendin' t' wounds." She looked over to the other drovers. "Wot ye lads want? A few days wit' a wrap wit' poultices an' tonics? Or…" She waived over to the elderly man in a robe.
"Tonic." Brock replied quickly, looking a little pale at the thought of magic. "No offense, gov'ner. Jus'… not comfortable wit' it." That was probably the most non-offensive thing that had ever come out of Broderick FitzHugh's mouth, but as far as opinions went, it wasn't bad at all. The elderly man nodded just the same.
"Tonic f'r me as well." Hiram replied, a little gruffly. "Save th' good stuff f'r th' men o' th' mines." Serah Madden was even less likely to be kind on that opinion, by the sound of it, but at least had the manners to turn down the mage politely. No matter what people thought about magic in general, it was probably also true that most were unfailingly kind to their faces, rather worried about potential consequences from someone who could potentially conjure fire.
"Right. Well, I've got wraps an' bandages f'r such a thing, so if I can have ye men show me where it hurts, I can get t' work wit' me hands and supplies." The elderly man gestured towards the counter where a pillow had been resting upon portion of it. Ah, that was where the mage examined people for hurts. "Legs?"
"Right foot f'r that one," Marian pointed at Brock, "an' left knee f'r that one," as she pointed at Hiram. "Dinna know if it's twisted or not f'r th' foot. Dinna feel a break when I had 'im take off 'is boot an' checked. Me Mum's th' midwife an' bonesetter back home where smashed fingers an' toes f'r th' dockworkers is generally what we see."
"Mistress Hawke does do good work, that she does." Hiram huffed out as he grudgingly got upon the counter to have his knee looked at. "Helped delivered two o'me boys, knows how t'splint an' stitch well." The drover looked at bit uncomfortable hiking up his skirt to undo the wool wrapped around his leg to keep warm, and Marian thought it was because he wasn't comfortable with a mage about until he looked at her in a significant manner. Ah, Hawke realized as she turned her back so he could have some dignity. Honestly, she had been washing the twins since they were babes, and Carver thought baths were akin to the plague! Plus she helped Mum with some of her trade, so Marian was well aware of all the dangling bits and pieces. Still, he was being proper, and the young woman respected that. She spent that time fussing over her Mabari pup Çâléaňé, who was laying near the small coal fire of the shoppe, obviously relishing the warmth of the fire as Hawke played with the pup's floppy silky ears, the Mabari panting and preening over the attention as the mage went over Hiram Madden's knee, making him lift it and lower it, turning his foot one way and then the other, and finally pointing toes upward and downward while having his wizened fingers upon the knee in question.
"Not broken, merely strained an' swollen." The elderly man replied with a sniff as he went over to a cupboard to grab what appeared to be linen cloth that was long but narrow along with a small cloth bag. "Stay off th' leg as much as ye can today an' tonight. Wrap this," the mage indicated the linen, "in this poultice of grounded elfroot stems, peppermint root, an' crushed fennel seed soaked in olive oil this afternoon an' this evening. This will help reduce th' swellin'. Now this," the elderly mage walked over to another cabinet where small glass vials were stored, rummaging through it before pulling out a small stoppered glass jar about half th' size of an apple, "will help with th' discomfort. It's a mixture of eucalypsis root, powdered sarsaparilla leaves, an' hemp oil. Add this t'some tea an' make sure t'take it after eatin' unless ye want t'clutch at yer belly f'r a mark or two. Have 'im take it wit' e'ey meal for th' next few days so he can go 'bout 'is business without makin' it worse. If ye be travelin' in th' next few days…"
"We will." Marian piped up, still scratching at Çâléaňé, who was having her belly played with.
"…then wrap it f'r the journey but take it off f'r the evenin'. Should be right in five days, but if not? Find another apothocary an' let 'em know what was used." The mage finished as he handed the supplies to Marian, who slid the items into her kilts' leather sporran. "Alright, lad. Easy off th' counter an' it be yer turn next." Brock was reluctant to get on the counter, but a glare from Hawke had him up on the wooden bar as she turned her head to let him undo his wool wrapping while Hiram put his back on.
"Well, as th' lass said, ye dinna break it, which is good." The mage stated after going through much of the same routine with the ginger-haired man as he had with Hiram. Marian found herself watching as the elderly man's hands felt around the ankle as he had Brock move his foot up and down first, and then left and right, and then even rotating it. The drover guard grimaced with the movement as the mage's fingers felt around the joint for any pops, sharpness, or clicks. Then his thumbs went to one spot and pushed in, making FitzHugh yelp in pain and surprise. Even Hawke heard something click back into place.
"That should make walkin' a mite easier, now." The mage said, Brock still grimacing. "One o'yer foot bones was out o'sorts, so now it's inna alignment. The pain an' swelling should lessen by nightfall if ye wrap it an' put some snow on it t'ease th' swellin'. Wrap it snug tonight when ye sleep an' keep yer foot lifted a little. It'll be sore tomorrow, so give 'im a dose o'th' hemp oil tomorrow with breakfast an' tea t' help wit' th' discomfort. Ye chew?"
"Aye." Brock admitted rather reluctantly despite all the obvious signs.
"That'll help, too." The old man went and got another linen to wrap FitzHugh's ankle with, handing that to Marian as well. "Lass, make sure that they follow th' instructions I gave 'em an' they should be in fine order by tomorrow f'r this one, an' by mid-week f'r that one."
"Why ye tellin' her an' not us?" The ginger-haired man asked, a little admonished at the fact.
"Because women are generally smarter than men an' listen better, t'boot." The mage replied, giving Marian a wink. That just had the archer giggle.
Author's Notes: I base Edgehall off of the RW town known as Manitou Springs, Colorado, and I do very much mean on the very foothills of the Rocky Mountains and but a few miles from Pike's Peak. The town is 3/4 surrounded by 14,000 ft mountains, and going about a half a mile west of its downtown means you're going very uphill. Anyone who has ever lived in Colorado Springs has likely visited it and knows what I mean when I say someone scooped out a small spot for a town in the middle of mountains because it's built in a small valley and cut in the eastern Rockies. While you can 'see' this on the internet, there really isn't anything like standing in middle of a tourist trap and being surrounded by monstrous mountains, but the best view is from Cave of the Winds looking down upon the town where it looks like a river valley with buildings.
For the style of houses, I went with the RL house that Alone: Season 7's winner Roland Welker built (the guy who built a stone house to survive the arctic and shanked a muskox to death with a knife). I know when I first watched him build it, my first thought was what an idiot (goes to show what I know, since he survived 100 days in the north and won a cool million dollars). So the people of Edgehall basically have stone igloos and thanks to Roland, I have an idea on what's needed to make one and the difficulty of doing so.
Sadly, there isn't a whole great deal of literature on the hedge potions and medieval medicinal remedies on what was used, the amounts, the philosophies, but strangely enough some of them were actually as advertised. Feverfew and St. John's Wort were some of the bigger ones as teas and tincture for headaches and pains, but some natural remedies became modern medicine (such as the shitake mushroom being the basis for the first blood pressure medication and sadly, yes, the narcotics being based off the coca and poppy plant).