Quest [Seasonal Quest] Blood in the water (Closed)

[Anomaly]

10th of Summer, 522 AV

At first, everyone thought the sickness spreading through the tent city was just the result of people over indulging. That this was just the result of people enjoying their freedom a bit too much, but then the children started getting sick. It spread like a wildfire from there. Consuming the residents almost over night, and leaving most bedridden. Those that could walk went to find help in the city only to be received far more coldly than they anticipated. The people that went north were told that there was nothing that the Night Eyes could do to help. When they tried to skirt past on up towards the Daggerhands they were flat out chased out out onto the outskirts of Sunberth. The few who went to the Sun’s Birth never came back, but this morning their bodies were seen floating in the river.

It made it abundantly clear to the residents of the tent city that no help would be coming from the rest of Sunberth which honestly didn’t come as much of a surprise. The relationship between those that lived on the outskirts and those that lived in the city proper had always been a strain one. Once it was clear that the illness had not made it into the city, quite a few gangs banded together to make sure it didn’t. In response, those who were healthy enough in the tent city to still get around got together every able body they could, and stormed the south west watch tower shortly after midday. They have sense entered the old mining tunnels that run beneath Sun’s Birth leaving many to believe they they intend on finding a way into the city to steal supplies, or cause havoc. This has lead many gangs to pull back on their presence in the streets to watch the tunnels below carefully for any sign of this rogue mob. So far, no one has reported seeing them, but the atmosphere in the city is tense with anticipation.

* * * * *

That tension was little felt at a business like Brega’s however where the alcohol was still flowing and the place was packed with customers. Situated on the other side of the city, what was happening with the tent city was far from the minds of most everyone there. After all there was still a bit of revelry to be had by the patrons of the establishment who were bent on extending the festivities for as long as they possibly could. Brega certainly wasn’t going to argue about all of the extra coin coming into her establishment but as a result she hired a few more guards while keeping the ones she already had on for longer shifts than normal. She needed people who were used to the work, and could handle breaking up a drunken brawl which happened more often over the last few days.

There was something she hadn’t anticipated however that didn’t have anything to do with the turmoil in the tent city or the increasing rowdiness of her patrons. Someone had left a letter in her office. Well, not a letter really. A blank slip of paper with a few muddy copper mizas folded up inside that slipped out onto her desk as she carefully opened up the note. Disappointed, confused, and slightly perturbed, Brega spread the word amongst her guards to come see her if they spotted anyone acting unusually in the brothel. Then she locked herself up in her office and didn’t come out for another bell.

Meanwhile on the main floor of Brega’s establishment business was as hectic as ever with so many people coming and going it was hard to keep track of who was doing what, or whom for that matter. It seemed as if there was some sort of scuffle every bell or two, and more of than a few people had to be thrown out as the afternoon dipped into evening. When Brega finally came out of her office she was spitting fire mad. After ordering her thugs to remove anyone who wasn’t in a private room, she left the establishment herself without so much as another word. There was quite a bit of protest from the patrons at this action as quite a few fought to stay in, but Brega chose her guards well. A few of them smartly went about rounding up the rowdier patrons, while letting the quiet ones at the bar finish their drinks before leaving of their own free will. When it was all said and done, this left a handful of patrons on the main floor and a few upstairs that still needed to be cleared out though the guards weren’t lifting a finger yet to do anything about it. Most of them had their hands full containing the small crowd that had formed outside that hadn’t decided yet what it was going to do with itself.

One of the men still left at the bar was clearly not from around these parts. He wore a long cloak, that was a deep shade of forest green and underneath it he was wearing studded leather armor. While he didn’t wear a weapon openly, one didn’t get the sense that he was unarmed. He was far too comfortable sitting with his back to the rest of the brothel, and seemed unusually occupied with his drink. Elsewhere in the brothel, a man left a private room and stopped to stare down the staircase that lead to the main floor. He was wearing a simple white tabard with a chain mail shirt over it. He had short red hair that was closely cropped to his head, and a clean face. The man also stood about a head taller than the guard that approached him, topping out around six feet and seven inches.

“I’m looking for someone. A wiry girl with short brown hair. I was told she worked here.” He said loudly enough that his deep voice carried throughout the brothel.

[Bronwen]

Bronwen's gaze followed a very irate Brega as she stormed out the front entrance.

For the last three summers that Bron had worked at the brothel, she had never seen the Mistress in such a state. For the most part, Brega was a level-headed woman, but something with a mighty big stinger had burrowed its way beneath the old whore's bonnet, and Bron wasn't about to start asking questions. Instead, the guard turned and began ushering the closest patrons out the door.

For the most part, the men, and sometimes women, that frequented the establishment weren't of the trouble-making type, and Bron didn't have much trouble marching them out. Though, a few got a sharp poke in the back by her staff for mouthing off.

Bronwen was rather forcibly encouraging one of these mouthy fellows out the door with a not so gentle shove when another tried to push his way in. He made it past her but didn't get far before the Syliran rotated her quarterstaff in a half-circle, aiming to take out the trespasser's legs at knee level. The man's back hit the floor with a loud thump. Bron shoved a boot in his belly for her trouble, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and hauled the dumbass out the door.

Shaking her head irritably, Bron turned to see a fellow guard, Hadrian, grinning at her, and she did the first, most adult thing that popped into her head. Bron stuck her tongue out at him.

"How many are left downstairs?" Bron asked.

Hadrian motioned over his shoulder with a thumb, "One at the bar, and he doesn't look in any hurry to leave."

Bron sighed, "Okay, I'll get him. You see if there's anymore not in a room."

The other guard nodded, tuned, and headed for the stairs. Bron followed but bypassed the stairs for the bar. She took one look at the man who bellied up to the bar, with his heavy cloak and seemingly defensive posture, and slid her hand down the staff's leather grip to its middle, giving her a better defensive hold on her weapon.

"Sir," she called, "finish up that last-"

The sound of a man's deep voice came barrelling down the staircase like a thunderclap, neatly interrupting Bron's friendly enough invitation for the bar patron to petch off. She frowned, eyes never leaving the green-cloaked man. Something in the other male's voice had the guard's hackles shooting skyward. She listened for Hadrian's reply.

"You need to be a bit more specific, sir. There's a lot of them around," she heard Hadrian say, and when the other man didn't reply, Bron's frown deepened.

She backed up several paces and leaned slightly backward to peer up the stairs. When she saw the man, or more so, the big man's size and his not-so-friendly demeanor, Bron straightened. Green cloak was forgotten.

"Better to come back tomorrow," Bron said and fought not to narrow her eyes challengingly when her gaze connected with the red-haired man's eyes, "Brega's ordered everyone out, including you."

When the giant man deigned not to reply, Bron added, "You can walk down those stairs," she motioned to the stack of stairs laid out before the stranger's feet with her staff, "or I can pull you down them. Either way, it's time to leave."

[Anomaly]

The man smiled as his eyes settled on Bronwen. “That’s quite the talk coming from a little lady with a staff.” He said, and glanced over at Hadrian who moved to grab him by the elbow. “Touch me with those paws, and you’ll be losing them.”

Hadrian hesitated mid-stride and his hand went to his side where it grasped the hilt of his blade. “Alright, that’s enough big talk out of you sir, and that little lady will put you on your ass.”

The man hesitated for a long moment then started down the stairs, chuckling to himself as he went. His eyes were glued to Bronwen, studying her features as the other man at the bar got up, and dusted the sawdust off of the front of his leather jerkin. Something gleamed briefly in his breast pocket before he pulled the cloak tight around himself. He took a long look at Bron who was watching the stairs, shook his head slightly then walked out of the brothel as the other man reached the landing.

“You look familiar. You ever been to Morianders? I mean the real Morianders.” The man said playfully as he pulled something from his belt pouch. A small glass vial about halfway full of a fine light blue powder. He raised it to the light, and shook it a bit. “Do you mind? I’d like not to leave this shite hole completely sober.”

Hadrian prodded him in the back. “You can do that shite outside. Move along sir.”

The man’s smiled widened, and somewhat heedless of spilling any he unstoppered the vial, pouring out a little across the top of his palm as he walked with deliberate slowness out of the brothel. Just before the door, he raised his hand to his nose and took a stiff snort, smearing some of the blue powder across the underside of his nose. Then he rubbed at it vigorously by pitching his nostrils with two fingers.

“Ahh.. Much better. See ya girls.” The man said as he stepped outside, and quickly moved past the crowd. Hadrian exchanged a look with Bronwen, eyebrow raised.

“That guy was an asshole.” Hadrian finally said with a laugh, breaking the silence as he gave the main room a quick look over. “I’m going to make sure there isn’t anyone still upstairs, but I think you should wait down here for a while till that crowd clears.” Then he was off, clomping up the steps to give the upper floors another look. The wood creaked ominously, the sound continuing throughout the brothel as Bron could hear every step he took upstairs. Hadrian.. didn’t waste anytime checking in on the girls. As much as he liked to stay and look, even chat one up, hanging out around the upper levels of Brega’s never sat right with him. Buildings in Sunberth weren’t meant to be this high, and when a strong enough wind came along it felt as if the whole establishment was going to tilt over on its side.

Fortunately there were no strong winds today. Just the odd scattered shower here and there which made sure the days stayed pretty humid. He still didn’t waste his time up there, coming back down the stairs as soon as he possibly could. Just as some of the other guards were streaming in through the front door, the crowd having finally been dispersed. Hadrian set about paying everyone for their nights work while they took a free drink at the bar, and one by one they all filtered out until it was just Hadrian, Bronwen, and another man named Stiegl. Stiegl was a bald, squat heavyset man with a long scar running down the back of his scalp, and a harelip that caused him to lisp when he talked. So he usually didn’t talk much, just watched people with those ice blue eyes of his that seemed to bulge out of his fat head when he got frustrated, which was often.

“Stiegl, do you mind walking with us a ways after we close up? We had a couple of strange fellows in the tavern just before things quieted down outside, and I just want to make sure they aren’t still lurking around outside.” Hadrian said, finishing his pint of beer and collecting Stiegl’s tankard as he gave him a firm nod. After setting them aside, he closed up as Stiegl walked outside, and eventually Hadrian followed, shutting the door behind them. Then he locked the door figuring he’d be back before Brega got back. If he wasn’t then one of the girls could do it for him.

Hadrian turned back to Bronwen and Stiegl with a slight smile on his face. “Well Bron, I don’t see our friends out here but they could be loitering nearby. Do you want us to walk you anywhere?” He said as he patted his pockets, found a small wooden pipe and proceeded to tamp a pinch of tobacco in it while Stiegl walked around squinting at the darkness. He had one hand on the crude short sword at his side as he did so, but when he didn’t see anything, he relaxed somewhat as he turned back towards the other two. Somewhere down the muddy lane, a woman screamed.

* * * * *

Not that far away, the people of the castle commons were seemingly unperturbed by what was happening in the southwest portion of the city. Business was carrying on much like it usually did, and another day drew to an end the streets slowly emptied until the only ones left outside where those who didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. The old and infirm mixed with destitute drug addicts who would filter into the commons at night, hopping for a handout or maybe an easy mark that was drunk after a night full of carousing. The later sort kept to the shadows, the little slip of spaces between buildings that could barely be called alleys. The former clustered near the well lit entrances of taverns, the butchery, and really any shop that still looked like it might have people inside. A few even loitered outside of the Knight’s Armory, hearing the clang of metal and hoping that whoever was working inside would be generous when they came out.

This lot however was not old, or infirm. Quite the opposite actually. They were young boys. Two couldn’t have been older than eight, and the other looked around fifteen. Dark haired, dark eyed with hollow expressions on each of their faces as they waited outside staring in through the front window. One of the younger boys picked up a rock and tossed it at the building.

Twap.

The other younger boy joined him.

Twap. Twap.

The door swung open and a burly Isur charged outside wielding an iron fire poker. Of course the children scattered, taking off every which way down the lane. Karos chased one of the younger boys for a bit, but stopped before he got out of sight of the doorway to his small shop. He had lived her long enough to become well acquainted with their tricks and muttering curses under his breath, stalked his way back into the shop, slamming the door behind him.

“Wren! You finished yet? I’m about to turn in for the night.” Karos bellowed, and walked over to the counter to lean against it for a moment. Between the drunken revelers breaking one of his windows last week, and those petching kids, the Isur felt worn thin. It didn’t help that Lawrence had taken Nathaniel on an errand a few days ago leaving Karos and Wrenlo to run the shop by themselves. They certainly had enough work to keep them busy on a normal day, but with that trouble brewing in the southern section of the city, the Sun’s Birth were being a lot more demanding than usual. Karos had been up for two days straight, and he was starting to feel the fatigue keenly in his bones.

He waited a little longer for Wrenlo, and then wrapped his knuckles loudly against the counter. “You’ve got about fifteen chimes. Then I’m going to lock up the shop, and you’ll have to spend the night in that workshop.” Karos groused as he took a seat behind the counter. Leaning back in the wooden chair, he closed his eyes for what was only supposed to be a moment but fell asleep before he knew it.

As Wrenlo came out of the workshop he would hear loud, heavy snoring from behind the counter but that wasn’t what grabbed his attention. There was a man standing just inside the front door. He had short, greasy black hair that was plastered to the side of his head, and a familiar twisting grin that Wren almost might recognize though it had been years since they had last seen each other.

“Wren!” Nate said, smiling crookedly. “You don’t write, you don’t visit. Honestly I’m hurt.” The man said as he walked over to clap Wrenlo on the shoulder. “How you been anyways?”

Karos smacked his lips, but his eyes remained firmly closed as he continued to snore. Nate gave him a nervous look but relaxed when he looked back at Wrenlo.

“Anyways, I came to ask you for a favor. Its nothing really. I found a strange bit of metal that’s worth a pretty miza, but I need help digging it out. I was going to cut you and Karos in, but..” Nate gave a long look over at Karos then shrugged with a another little twist of a grin. “So what do you say old friend? You want to make an extra few mizas tonight?”

oocSo because this is just the introduction to a very long seasonal quest, I'm going to keep this moving along. If you want to join this thread, shoot me a pm and I'll tie you into the introduction thread. I've also got plot points that you can incorporate into threads that you can run on your own. Just pm me, and I'll get you set up.

[Bronwen]

The unveiled threat the redheaded stranger directed at Hadrian had Bronwen's grip tightening around the leather shaft of her quarterstaff with a shrill sound of protest.

"You so much as try, and you would die before your stroke fell." Bron snarled, watching the strange man watch her as he slowly descended the stairs.

Movement from the bar caught Bron's attention, but it wasn't until Hadrian had passed her that she let her gaze stray back to Green Cloak. Honestly, she had all but forgotten about the patron. The man pulled his cloak around himself as if he was about to step out into a blizzard and not a hot and humid evening. The guard frowned suspiciously at the stranger's back and was about to set off to follow the man, but the redhead spoke up. Bron turned her frown on him.

"I don't know any Morianders, real or otherwise," Bron replied, observing the tall man closely as one of his hands slipped into a pocket. The guard's eyes locked on the small vile he produced and, despite not knowing what the blue powder was that it contained, the sight of it had the addict in Bron licking her lips. She was vaguely aware that Hadrian, bless him, was still diligent in nudging the subordinate closer to the exit, but Bron was too busy reminiscing, watching the big man lay a path of the blue stuff over his hand and readily inhale it.

It wasn't exactly that Bron wanted a line for herself -gods only knew that that particular itch never fully got scratched, no matter how long Bron stayed sober- it was more the way the man was making a show of hitting the drug. The first thing that came to mind was hook, line, and sinker. He was baiting her, or possibly Hadrian; that much was clear for anyone familiar with Sunberth's drug dealers. Bron, however, wanted to know why.

"Yeah, he was definitely an arsehole," Bron responded distractedly, and she remained distracted for the next half bell. The rapid-fire shots of whiskey Hadrian gave her only made the distractions worse.

That redheaded guy had bored a hole straight into the guard's thoughts and wouldn't leave, just as he had wanted, no doubt. So, after the first perimeter walk with Hadrian and Stiegl, Bron had already decided to try and find the ginger and follow him for a while. Just to, you know, see what his deal was. And, maybe, what that blue stuff was.

Gods, Ves was going to strangle her.

"Naw, no escort needed," Bron said, finally turning to her associates and finding that something had spooked Stiegl, and the big guard had paced several steps away, hand at the ready to draw his weapon. When a woman's shrill scream rent the air, all three of Brega's guards exchanged long glances. Come a night where some damsel didn't empty her lungs on the steamy night air, and then Bronwen will think something amiss.

"Well then," Bron said into the silence following the scream, "think I'll make one more perimeter check then bed down in my room for the night."

She didn't wait for Hadrian to answer before she rounded the side of Brega's and took off at a sprint once out of eyeshot of the other guards. Bron had seen the tall redhead turn onto a side street, and she intended to follow the mysterious man.

As soon as the man's form disappeared around the corner, Bron sprinted the distance from the back of Brega's to the corner of the street, jumping muddy hills and vile puddles in an attempt to remain undetected. Pressing her back against the broken bricks of the only remaining upright wall of a building, Bron counted to ten, then peeked around the corner and was startled so severely she nearly fell to her arse when she came nose to nose with a toothless grin surrounded by a filthy, silver bearded face. The feeble older man reached for Bron with foul-smelling hands. She ducked to the side, giving the vagrant a slightly gentle shove in the opposite direction, and grimaced when he assplanted with a splat in a mound of what she hoped -for his sake- was mud.

"Sorry," Bron whispered distractedly in the vague direction of the dirty old man while her grey eyes continued to track Red's progress down the mud-covered street. Just before the man turned to go down an alleyway, Bron started walking at a sedate pace, opposite his side of the road, her steps cautious so as not to go down in the mud.

When Red diverted into the alley, Bron crossed the street and slid up against another building, taking a tick to study the eye level Daggerhand symbol someone had scrawled onto the wood and that someone else had attempted to cover over.

Several feet into the mouth of the passageway, Red stepped over something that Bron took as a body, pausing long enough to replenish whatever high that blue powder induced. But, when he moved on, and she came to the same spot, Bron noticed it was a thin metal wire running from wall to wall across the alley, not a vagrant sprawled across the ground. She, too, stepped over it with a foreboding sigh and continued trailing her quarry out of the alley.

With nothing but the river ahead, Bron watched as the stranger threw up a hand, hailing a nearby ferry, and commenced patting at her pockets and cursing when she realized her coin pouch was back at Brega's. With no coin to pay the Svefra to cross the river, Bron's trail abruptly ended, and she could only watch as the man boarded a small boat and started gliding across the water to the other side.

Frustrated, the guard sent a rock splashing into a large mudpuddle with the toe of a boot, sighed angrily, then turned to head back the way she had come.

[Wrenlo Gravence]

He was much too distracted to yell across the room to Karos, he had busy hands engraving the finishing touches of a detailed pommel to a brand new sword he’d spent the last two days working with. Working in the Knight’s Armory over the span of four turnings, the man had a hard time letting go of the finer details. It wasn’t a matter if the buyers’ from Sun’s Birth cared; Wrenlo cared.

In his left hand he was using a thin cast iron rod that was heated on the very tip. Dragging the tip elegantly over the egg shaped pommel and holding for a few ticks to deepen the threaded lines that connected to the handle. Karos bellowed at him again from the front counter, threatening another fifteen chimes. Wrenlo’s eyes felt like they where going cross at this point, barely enough candle light to keep going in the dark of night. He fiddled with the sword for a moment, twirling it in his hand to take view of the end design before standing up and pacing to the shelf of finished stock and stored it there, ready for pick up.

The forge was cold now and Wrenlo took the last few chimes to clean up space, organize his work station and grabbed up his things, including the leftover stale bread from his lunch. Candles where blown out and he was ready to go. “You’d be pleased ya old grump,” He snickered, pausing before the doorway out to the front room of shop and collected his battleaxe from where it was leaning against the wall. He tossed it over his shoulder, one hand countering the weight and continued out of the dark room. “Five chimes is all it to-“

Karos’ snores where vibrating through the front room as Wrenlo paused between the counter and the door of the workshop, a silhouette of a man braced the entry of the store. He was gangly with grease-slicked hair and the toothy smile was familiar. Unease and caution where driving Wrenlo’s nerves now, and he pivoted side to the unconscious Isur when Nate came close and slapped a hand on his shoulder. He gripped tightly to his axe. “I could say the same old friend. We’re neighbors, when are you inviting me out for drinks?” He mused in a dry tone, not amused at all. Nate had no reason to be here after hours, and whatever reasons he carried where more likely bad terms. But he’d entertain the idea. Wrenlo took an idling glance around the shop, stopping to gaze at sleeping Karos before meeting his gaze with Nate. “It’s a little late to be asking for favors from your favorite Weaponsmith, isn’t it?” Head cocked sideways and a sly sinister grin stretched across his face, corners twitching while blue eyes peered into Nate’s. He lowered his axe from its position against his shoulder and dropped the head on the floor, hoping the loud thump would get a waking rise from Karos. He didn’t look back to check, keeping his attention on Nate he used the long handle like a staff to lean on, forearm topped the end of the handle. “Must be a pretty bit of rock for you to come around here. Why do you need my help?” He knew Nate carried a beautiful piece of work under his shirt, a notorious blade of Karos’ making and this petching slimeball didn’t deserve to carry it on his hip. Wrenlo had the winding idea he might be able to butcher him up enough and take it off his body if he didn’t leave this space soon.

[Anomaly]

There wasn’t even a creak, a footstep, or any hint that someone had been behind her. Yet when Bronwen turned around she practically ran into the man. He was tall. Not as tall as her, but enough so they didn’t have any trouble looking eye to eye. His eyes were calm and collected. His expression flat as he grabbed her by the wrists, and blocked the knee that was inevitably headed for his groin.

“Bron! Bronwen! Quit it and I’ll let you go.” The man said, eventually letting go when he got tired of struggling with her in the side alley. Then he reached up, and pulled back the hood of his dark green cloak revealing the rough, plain features of a man she did not recognize. He looked similar to the man at the bar but his head was recently shaved to the scalp, and his large nose was crooked like it had been broken in the past.

“Matrim sent me.” He clarified a moment later, looking briefly over his shoulder down the alleyway before extending a hand towards Bronwen to help her up. “He’s staying nearby actually. He wants to see you.” A faint splashing noise further down the bend had him looking back over his shoulder again, and this time when he looked at Bron he appeared a bit more anxious, agitated even. His hand strayed to the hilt of the longsword on his belt as he looked past Bronwen to squint into the growing darkness of the night.

“I would have came a lot sooner but that PLACE you were in is being watched, and Matrim doesn’t want any of us attracting their attention if we can help it. Why were you following that man anyway?” The man asked, before shaking his head. “You know what, nevermind. We don’t have much time for questions. We need to get across the river and to your father before anyone spots us. I’ve got a boat waiting for us nearby. My name is Kylan by the way.” He said, walking past her to the mouth of the alley where he looked out onto the street both ways before looking back at her.

Then he stepped back into the alley hastily and pressed his back to the rough wooden planks of the house that made up part of the alleyway they were standing in. Digging around the neckline of his armor, he produced a necklace with a silver medallion and handed it to Bronwen. On its face was etched a familiar pattern of an oak that she would recognize. The oak itself was etched into the silver but the stars to the left and right of the tree were studded with yellow garnets that glittered in the moonlight.

“In case we get separated. You’ll need this to get past the perimeter your father has set up. After we get past the river we will be heading north towards the homesteads. Matrim has commandeered a cottage there and has people watching all of the paths up to it. If you just head in that general direction they’ll find you.” Kylan said quickly, taking a quick peak out in the street again before gesturing for Bronwen to follow him.

He hurried across the narrow lane towards the riverbank on the other side as a cloud passed in front of the moon, briefly making the shadows deeper along the section of street they would cross. To the left and right further on down the lane small dung fires were being kept stoked by small crowds of people that looked almost oblivious to their surroundings, their expressions vacant as they clustered around the light. It was hard to tell what exactly they were cooking over the rancid odor of the fire, but whatever it was it had all of them transfixed.

Not that Kylan seemed to take much comfort in this. Spies were everywhere in this city, especially in gang territory and so close to one of the Daggerhand’s most lucrative establishments. The less time in the street they spent the better, although he knew already that they were just going to find more spies on the other side. Spies that were supposed to be bought and paid for, though he didn’t trust them for a heartbeat. Kylan kept low with his cloak pulled up to obscure the full set of leather armor he wore. As they picked their careful way down the riverbank and came around a house that had been raised slightly on stilts, they came into view of a Casinor moored just off to the side.

“Go on, get aboard.” Kylan called quietly back to Bronwen as he ducked underneath the house to retrieve a small wooden trunk. From it he produced a compound long bow, and a quiver that he quickly loaded with arrows before tossing the trunk back under the house and joining her right alongside the Casinor. A rope ladder was quietly lowered down to them, then raised once they had climbed up. On board was a small crew of three svefra. Two men and one woman. The men wore only breeches on this sweltering night while the woman wore that along with a sash that covered a breast. Tucked into her sash were several long daggers, and like the men she had a longer blade on her hip though it was hard to tell what kind in the darkness.

Kylan gave her a slight nod and the woman made a gesture which sent the men about the ship, unfurling the sail as the woman steered them out into the broader section of the river. They passed mostly quietly through the shallows and it was only when they were past the middle stretch of the river that Kylan turned to Bronwen.

“How have you been holding up anyways? We’ve all been wondering what happened to you.” Kylan whispered.



* * * * *



Nate’s expression changed suddenly as the grin fell from his face. “Oh come on, don’t be like that ole friend.” The man said, glancing out the window briefly as he licked his lips. He looked over at Karos and seemed to draw some confidence from the sleeping Isur. “Listen because we’re friends, I’ll tell it to you straight. Karos, he ain’t waking up anytime soon. I could push him out of that chair and he would still be asleep. When I do something, I make sure I fix it up right and proper you hear.” Nate said, his sudden change in tone as jarring as it was abrupt. It was like the friendliness had been leeched out, and left only cold steel beneath.

He wasn’t glancing about anymore. He was looking straight at Wrenlo and then he slowly smiled. “Who do you think got you this job? Him?” Nate asked, jerking a thumb at Karon. “No sir. You see, we had to pull a few strings to get Karos to take you on. Provide certain incentives, because thats how we prefer to do our business. We could have done that with you, still could in fact but that doesn’t work if we can’t trust one another. So what do you say buddy. Can we trust you?”

As Nate was saying this, there was a creak from behind as the door to the workshop swung open. There, silhouetted in the light still coming off the forge was a man with a crossbow pointed right at Wrenlo.

“Careful now. My associate has been reprimanded for.. Misfiring in the past. He’s a bit jumpy you see, so don’t do anything that might spook him.” Nate laughed, a bitter cackle as he hopped onto the counter. “Now, here is how it is going to go. You’re going to mix this powder into the forge and you’re not going to tell Karos, or Lawrence, or Nathanial a petching thing about it. We’ll know if you do, and well.. Even if you find a new place to shack up we’ll find that too. You do this little favor for us and the slate is clean. You won’t see my face again if you don’t want to, but if you’re looking to make a little extra miza on the side then come to the tower. My employers will have plenty of work for you there.”

As he spoke he produced a small canvas bag that was almost completely full of a grayish powder. He set this bag on the counter and patted it with his fingertips. “We’re going to want to see you do it by the way. You understand why.” Nate drawled, gesturing over at the bag before he waved at someone through the window. Three boys walked in through the front door carrying clubs that looked a little too big for them. Nate looked from the boys then over at Wrenlo with a smile, and then laughed.

“Oh these aren’t for you. Well they could be, but ah, its none of your business anyways.” Nate said with a dismissive wave, and the boys separated to start scouring the shop. They didn’t loot anything which was surprising, but they definitely did appear to be looking for something in particular as they knocked on the walls and floors with their clubs. Then one of the boys spooked a brat that came scampering out from under the counter only to be promptly clubbed by one of the boys and stuffed into a large bag that the oldest boy produced. They proceeded to do this throughout the entire shop as Nate tapped his foot on the side of the counter, watching Wrenlo carefully.

“We always have a choice Wren. May I call you Wren? Bah, well anyways, choices yeah? Sometimes the consequences of those choices are more palatable than others. It just depends on what you are willing to do.” Nate said, looking casually over at Karos whom was still deeply asleep in his chair. “I hope you make the right one Wrenlo. Otherwise this gets real messy.”

[Dalavesta Stalinsa]

Dalavesta Stalinsa

The Summer had started with such promise, filled with celebration and the ferreting away of miza that had been saved towards the surprise she hoped to unveil perhaps another season hence, but had then turned sour very quickly. Bron didn’t stay every night, she had her own place at Brega’s and though that caused Ves to pout to herself in the lantern light of her tent when alone, she knew that it made her lover’s work, and thus life, easier. Brega could be a spiteful bitch and any inkling that one of her guards was perhaps slipping away too often would lead to the inevitable paranoia about working both sides of her rivalry with Ruby…it just wasn’t worth it.

Still, that didn’t stop Ves wishing that her partner were with her as she helped to carry what felt like the hundredth deadweight body of the sick towards the area that had mysteriously been set up for tending to those who were infected with…whatever it was ripping through the Tent City. Ripping was the right word too, in their fevered reaction more than a few had collapsed their own tent upon them or torn their clothing off before collapsing into a muddy puddle whilst trying to cool off. Her arms burned and sweat ran down her back as she ran stubbornly towards their destination, dragging the other end of the makeshift stretcher across the ground in her wake – hands had diminished quickly as more had been taken with the sickness.

“Another one?” came the matter-of-fact question from one of the new tabard wearing strangers – they reminded her of the Knights, but they didn’t act like any Knight she knew. Nor did they wear the insignia she knew altogether too well. They were a mystery to her.

“Sure, another score or more still littering the ground. Can’t keep doing this” she panted, dragging in breaths as the patient she had brought was levered up and onto some blankets upon the floor and the stretcher was passed back to her.

“Fine, let them die. They will. This place doesn’t care about them, why should you?”

Ves growled at the repeated received wisdom, not for the first time feeling her hackles rise before stubbornly swallowing her would-be sarcastic reply. Instead she pulled out her hip flask, getting yet another raised eye from the medicine man stranger, and swallowed a mouthful of fire with a sigh before slipping it back into place. Then she set her jaw and grabbed the stretcher with a sense of dramatic bitterness. She was angry – and it wasn’t even with the strangers, at least they were trying, whoever they were. No, her anger was with the city, and those who ‘ran’ it. Bastards had sealed themselves up, or rather sealed the Tent City away. They had all been left to die. No one expected them to survive, this medical intervention was seen as an impending failure.

“Just…shut up and get them better” she half-snapped as the beginnings of a headache began to throb at her temples, turning away with a flick of her hand and stepping put from under the makeshift awning.

Natural law…survival of the fittest…bollocks! Survival of the ones with the petching walls! she breathed out hard through her nostrils, a harsh and vexed sound.

“Where are the heroes now, eh? Tyveth…Yahal…how many bells spent reading about you? Praying? Trying to be dutiful…I might have failed…but how is any of this right? Tent City was for those who had less than the rest…now they’re the one’s to die for the rest…how is that fair? Is Sunberth devoid of even your presences?” she sighed, wiping away the sweat from, her brow and tugging her armour and clothing back into place.

Her legs ached abominably, they had since the confrontations that took place before the partitions had been set up around the Tent City, and in the tunnels below. She had tried to help force a way through, but she had failed in that too. She had got a good number of scrapes and bruises for her trouble before they had been pushed back, the more incensed running headlong into a suicidal venture into the tunnels. She looked around, the next victim of the sickness not difficult to find. She groaned and set herself up holding the now empty stretcher – more a few branches tied together just well enough to suit the purpose – and stubbornly pushed onwards and began the ran towards the target, legs burning and feet hitting the muddy ground leadenly, no real technique, just raw momentum and stubborn pride.

Words - 762

[Bronwen]

At the sound of her name, Bronwen's fight slowly ebbed, but it left her altogether at the sound of her father's name.

"He's here? In Sunberth?" she asked, frowning at the man's unease and watchful demeanor. When the man's hand strayed to his weapon, Bron tensed, pulling her quarterstaff from where it hung between her backpack and shoulder.

"Brega's? Brega's is being watched?" Bron scowled, "Their attention? Whose attention?" she shook her head, feigning confusion, "I wasn't following-" she began, but the lie died on her lips when Kylan's attention diverted outside the alleyway. The man acted like a mouse caught in a roomful of hungry cats, and his nervousness was contagious.

Bron took the proffered necklace, studying the silver medallion closely, before slipping it over her head with a nod of acknowledgment and trailing after the...Knight? Was Kylan a Knight? Bron had no clue, but she trusted the stranger and followed him out onto the street for whatever reason.

Everywhere Kylan's anxious gaze pointed, Bron's eyes quickly chased until her gaze was darting about as if she actually had a real clue about what she was looking for. Once on the riverbank, though, she had to concentrate on staying on her feet and not tripping, and her eyes remained on the path ahead. This was why Bronwen failed to notice the Casinor awaiting their arrival.

Through her surprised gawking, she was ordered to board the boat. Swinging her gaze back to Kylan, watching him pull a bow and a quiver he filled with arrows from a hidden stash beneath a house, Bron again wondered just how smart she was by taking this man at his word. Shaking her head in apparent acceptance of her own foolishness, Bron stepped toward the boat just as a latter was lowered down over its side.

Taking in a great sigh, she hesitantly boarded the vessel and took the nearest open spot to lean her rump against the railing, eyeing the three armed Svefras warily, who soon scattered. The boat pulled away from the shore shortly after, and Bronwen lost herself in thought as the quiet sounds of the river and the boat cutting through its currents somewhat lulled her nerves.

Her father was here? In Sunberth?

The thought alone had her teeth clamping down anxiously on her bottom lip. The last time Bron had seen Captain Matrim Druva had been during a rather heated argument. Ser Mat wanted Bron to return to Syliras with him, and Bron passionately refused. She had snuck off from her father's watchful eyes and had hidden away in a half-standing building during the night, and there she had stayed until her father and his Knights had no choice but to return to Syliras without her. Not a fortnight later, Bron had fallen into Sunberth's clutches. That had been exactly three summers ago.

Bron always wondered if Matrim had left behind someone to find her, but if he had, no one made themselves known of it. Now, though, she realized that he had kept tabs on her. Her father knew where she worked, after all, and Bron wondered with not a little bit of trepidation if the protective man also knew of her other...addictive habits and the constant battle she waged against them.

As if reading her mind, Kylan spoke up, and Bron had to stop the snort of derision she nearly gave hearing the man's words.

"You can see I'm fine," she said, even as she wondered if Kylan could see how very not fine she actually was.

After a while of silence, Bron glanced at Kylan, "What's going on," she asked, "why is my father here, and why all the secrecy and caution?" Kylan didn't answer or couldn't, and so Bron kept the rest of her questions to herself.

Soon enough, too soon for Bronwen, the Casinor reached the far side of the river, and the ladder was thrown over the side. Kylan and Bron disembarked, tuned right, and trekked slightly northeast. The sky had darkened, casting the land before them into shadow with what little moonlight slipped between the clouds. Bron's unease grew, and her silence was more a condition than a choice.

Bronwen Druva was scared.

She was scared of what her father knew of her time in Sunberth and what he would do with that knowledge. A high ranked man in The Order with a dust addict, and worse, for a daughter? Would he be ashamed? Shun her? And what of Samantha, her missing sister? Had there been word? Had they found her? Was this the cause of her father's impromptu visit? Did he come to tell her that Sam was dead?

Bronwen's heart jumped and started pounding so hard in her chest that she let out a little gasp, her steps faltering. Kylan called out to her, clearly out of concern, but Bron could only shake her head. She couldn't do this. She didn't want to see her father. Not now. Not without Ves. Not without a hit of dust.

The sight of an old wooden house that looked as if a good strong breeze would have it shifting sideways, looming up in the distance had Bron spinning around, and taking two steps that would have ended in a sprint back toward the river, had it not been for the tip of a sword that pressed against her belly. She followed the blade's shaft to a hand, then an arm, and finally up to a cloaked face.

"State your business," a firm male's voice demanded from within the hooded darkness. Bron could do little more than gawk wordlessly at the man. Behind her, Kylan must have said or done something, for the sword fell away, and the hooded figure gave one firm nod of his cloaked head, then stepped back into the shadows.

Kylan pulled gently at Bron's arm, and she turned back to face him, jerking away from his hold, her mouth opening to spew some nonsense about how she didn't have to do a petching thing she didn't want to do when a voice...his voice called out from behind the young Knight, sounding oh so very displeased.

"Bronwen?"

Bron's eyes landed on her father just as a cloud drifted away from the moon, spilling enough light to illuminate the big man's features like some divine being. Bron could do nothing but stare into the so familiar storm-colored eyes of the man she loved more than any other, as shame for what his daughter had become engulfed her. Finally, Bron looked away, fear, humiliation, anger, all warring for dominance of her features.

Her father again called her name, and its softness made her gaze lift. Bron watched warily as her father took a slow step toward her. When a slow smile crossed the big man's lips and his arms opened, Bronwen Druva charged across the distance that separated her from her father and threw herself into his embrace. Matrim's large hand closed over the back of his daughter's head as her arms went around his waist. Bron buried her face in his chest and clung to him as he whispered soft reassurance into her hair.

[Wrenlo Gravence]

He was righteously petched, and far beyond. Wrenlo’s idea of making it out of this scenario where deep in the mind of a deadman, maybe two counting Karos, if he did not do what he was told now. Three ratball children where now boasting about the shop with clubs in their hands and Wrenlo held his tongue with a stinging bite even though his cold eyes could kill in any given moment. Time was running thin the more he eyeballed the gray powder on the counter. “I need to know what the material is and the product you want me to conduct.” He lifted off from his lean on the axe, his arm giving a slow reach for the bag to inspect while eyeing the man with the arrow pointed at his head. “I can’t just throw anything into the forge without an understanding of the material, by all means.” Wrenlo was reluctant in his tone but all the same he had to be willing to work with his harasser. He gave a good shake of the bag, then pinched a bit of the dust between his fingers, inspecting the quality. “Favor for a favor, my friend. I’ll do what I can as long as you’re paying me. Give your word, and I’ll give my time.” Wrenlo nodded towards the door of the back room for Nate to follow as he pivoted to walk back into his workspace with axe back over his shoulder, giving a hard shove to one of the dirty ratboys for not paying attention and blocking the doorway on his way through.

[Anomaly]

Bronwen


Kylan gave her an incredulous look. “What do you mean? This place reeks of Daggerhands, and Brega’s is one of their establishments.” Kylan scoffed, returning to look both ways down the street before hurriedly gesturing her across. He didn’t know what to think yet of this girl that was supposedly Ser Matrim’s daughter. It didn’t make sense that she would be found in such an establishment, much less working in one. All he knew is that he wanted them across the river as soon as possible.

As the Casinor pushed off quietly from the muddy shore, Kylan watched the far bank quietly as if it was a snake that was going to bite them, though he said not a word until they were almost halfway to the other side. Reflexively, Kylan scowled at the way Bronwen chose to answer him. It was evasive, and dodged the thrust of his question quiet neatly. Little more than a lie in his heart. He looked away out onto the water, not able to look at her anymore. To think he had stayed in this filthy city for so long for this.

“Have you not heard about what has been happening in the city?” Kylan asked in a terse whisper, gripping the railing. “What do you think the story would be if everyone found out we were here around the same time a mysterious illness breaks out in the tent city. I’ve heard enough about Sunberthian Justice to not want to chance it.” When he looked back at Bronwen his eyes were hard, and it took a considerable effort to keep his face composed.

“Enough gab, your father will explain what he feels the need to.” Kylan added as the Casinor slowly pulled up along the bank and a plank was lowered down to the shore. Kylan lead the way, though he didn’t let Bronwen stray to far from his side. He hadn’t come all of this way just to lose her now, and he had an inkling she might try to bolt. It didn’t take them very long either to navigate past the slumped rows of tenements until they hung a right through a stand of trees, trapezing through the bush until they came into view of a stretch of open land and not much farther on a dilapidated cottage that has seen better days.

Bronwen would notice that there were no fires, not even a torch to disrupt the moonlit stillness. It was dark. Really dark, and only by the grace of the full face of Leth was she able to make out anything in the gloom. Fortunately the perimeter had been expecting her, or rather Kylan to arrive back any moment so they let her through without much fuss where she was quickly reunited with her father.

Unfortunately, there was little time for reunions as Bron would see within the cottage men were busy getting everything packed and ready for travel. They were almost done too, loading the equipment on the few horses they had at their disposal. It was not a particularly large group by any means. Five men and two women. Barely a scouting party, and certainly nothing like the retinue a Captain could command.

“Bronwen Druva..” Ser Matrim said slowly in a low voice as he took a deep breath. “We have much to discuss, but not yet, not here. We have to get going. I will explain everything to you soon.” He said, holding her for a moment longer before pulling away. Ser Matrim was dressed in full plate, and as he walked out of the cottage someone brought his horse around. Turning towards Bron, he hesitated before mounting. “You should have known I wouldn’t let you go so easily.” Ser Matrim said as he pulled himself up into the saddle. “I’ve got business to take care of first, but we will see each other again before first light. Don’t give these men any trouble Bronwen Druva.” Then he was riding away, joined by two men and one woman on horseback.

Kylan was standing to the side speaking with the two remaining knights who were garbed similarly to him in plain leather with dark colored cloaks. Noticeably Sir Matrim took all of the horses with him, leaving them on foot in the clearing. All three turned to Bronwen as Ser Matrim rode off.

“We better start walking now if we are to make it at the appointed hour.” Kylan said as she drew closer, then in barely more than a whisper. “Listen its important that we don’t use your given name from here on out. If you must respond your name is Hannah, got it?” Then turning towards the other two he gestured for them to all get moving. They were headed back across the clearing towards those slumped houses beside the river, but instead they skirted across to the right this time. Ahead an eerie almost unnatural glow blossomed into view, growing larger as the smell of it grew stronger. It was the slag heaps, one of which was a perpetually burning symbol of what the city had become. They filled the air with the cloying smell of molten asphalt that developed an astringent chemical taste at the back of the throat the longer one took in the fumes.

The three knights accompanying her did the best they could to cover their mouths with rags soaked in garlic and onions yet it did little to cover the odor coming off the heaps. Still Kylan offered Bronwen his after a time as they drew closer to the burning heap until finally stopping by a squat stone tower. It was ruinously old, but surprisingly still standing after all of this time. The wind often wailed as it blew through the cracks in the stone so it was fortunate that tonight the weather was somewhat becalmed. Kylan walked up to the door as they approached and gave it a swift three raps with the back of his knuckles. Then he looked back at their group, nodding slightly.

“Remember Hannah.” He said quietly before the door opened.

* * * * *

Wrenlo



“Thattaboy! I knew he’d come around. Didn’t I tell you?” Nate said, clapping his hands together as he eyed them all and slid off the counter. “Now this powder ain’t going to do nothing harmful to you’re precious forge. Petch it might even help it. No, this stuff is going to make your next few products better than ever. Petch, Karos will be so impressed he might even give you a promotion. It won’t last long though. A few days at most, but enough to give you a taste, and if you like it well enough well you know exactly who to come to for more product aye?” Nate said, clapping Wrenlo on the shoulder as he pressed the sack of powder into his hands.

“Now run along and get this done. I wasn’t pulling your leg about that ore neither. I need your hand and we’ve got precious little dark left as it is.” Nate said, giving Wrenlo a little nudge in the right direction. He seemed to chuckle at Wrenlo’s little interaction with the street rat while his companion remained quietly to the side, crossbow still leveled without a hint of a tremor in the hands that held it. Nate lingered just outside of the room the forge was located, looking in on Wrenlo to make sure he did just as they asked him to and when he returned with an empty back he would gesture Wrenlo back into the front room.

“Alright. Children. Scram. We’ve got an errand to run.” Nate said, walking over to grab a ring of keys off of Karos before joining Wrenlo and the other man at the door. “Follow close now Wrenlo. My friend here won’t take kindly to you straggling. We wouldn’t want you getting lost after all.” Nate said with a slight twist to his smile as he walked out the front door, lingering just outside till Wrenlo and the other man were through. Then he locked it behind them, and slid the key ring back under the door with a reasonably strong push.

“Don’t want those gutter rats slipping back in. If you asked me, I don’t trust them as far as you can throw them, but they’re useful from time to time.” Nate said idly with a shrug as he lead them away from the shop and down towards the river. Then instead of trying to make the crossing to the Sunset Quarter he walked them along it for several chimes as they passed through the Castle commons and into the Seaside Market. The change was subtle at first as the old, haphazardly cut stone buildings gave way to the wooden houses that lined the river, most of which were raised on stilts. Compared to what it was during the day, this area was practically dead quite with only a few people still milling about, mostly trying to get their fix one way or another.

Nate ignored them all as he crossed from narrow street to narrow street, keeping a steady pace as he moved them towards the western bend of the river where it split briefly before rejoining the sea. There several Casinors were moored in the middle, the sounds of laughter and festivities being had drifting across the water to plainly reach their ears.

“Hey. One of you lazy blue eyes want to make some coin. I need to get across pronto.” Nate called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. The Casinor nearest them has four people on board, one of which whom had been playing a flute that stopped abruptly when Nate called out. Then to a man they lined up on the railing of the casinor and flipped Nate off before taking a piss in the water. Nate rolled his eyes and flipped them off in return before turning on his heel to continue leading them further up the river this time.

“Petching shitehead Svefra, good for nothing, I” Nate grumbled under his breath, becoming slowly more indiscernible as the stream of curses wore on. As they walked along, when he finally managed to regain some composure he turned back toward the man and Wrenlo. “That’s alright, we’ll make the passage further up the river, no problem.”

Just as he said that a casinor pulled alongside them, out pacing them on the river as someone shouted. “Hey catch!” As they all looked over, a rope suddenly fell around Nates shoulders. Before he could even register what was happening, the rope pulled taut and he was suddenly dragged down the muddy riverbank and into the water where he quickly disappeared to the loud cheers of the Svefra aboard the casinor. Ticks later, Nate was being dragged up the side of the casinor, sputtering and cursing with the rope looped under one arm and over the other. One of his shoulders was unnaturally bent around, and he squealed in pain whenever he bumped against the side of the casinor as he was roughly pulled up onto the deck.

Grabbing Wrenlo’s elbow, the man yanked him away from the river bank then turned them around to walk in the opposite direction. “New plan, you’re coming with me.”

Behind them Nate started to scream.

* * * * *

Dalavesta



The second rally was much smaller and far more pitiful than the first. It was composed of those who could barely stand, or those too young or old to have gone with those whom had gone charging down into the tunnels. An scattered through this tattered crowd were the few smart healthy ones that had chosen to remain behind. The one’s who didn’t want to throw their lives away chasing chances in the tunnels or throwing themselves against the thugs that waited for them in the city. One of these people had decided upon a different plan, and had chosen now as the time to gather what strength remained in the Tent City as the bell approached.

“I know we haven’t had much in common save for living in this shite hole, but we’ve always stood together against those that live within. We’ve never called no gang boss and I reckon we’re more Sunberthian than any one of them living under the yoke in that city. Look how they scramble now to keep us free men and women out. As if they didn’t instigate this sickness themselves. They despise us because we remind them about how free they really aren’t anymore, but we aren’t going to let them keep us down with this sickness are we?” The man asked, and got in response a smattering of half hearted agreements from the assembled group. A big man, thicker than he was tall with a shaved head and wearing a thick dark brown hide that covered most of his chest. His clothes underneath were a simple gray shirt and trousers, while for a weapon he was wielding a thick wooden club that he occasionally used to punctuate what he was saying by banging it on the ground.

“So I heres got a plan. Just before dawn, we’re going to strike, and we’re going to strike hard. We’re going to get out into that city and get the supplies we need for our people. Then we’re going to find the people responsible for this, and we’re going to treat them to a bit of Tent City Justice. Make no mistake, this isn’t some incidental illness creeping through our encampment. This was done on purpose and I plan on finding out just who was responsible even if we have to burn half of the city down to do it.” The man yelled, shaking his club in the air. This time he got a few more yells of exultation from the small crowd as their hands went up.

“If you want to make sure you and yours get what they need, then you better join me now before they find someone to seal us in here for good you hear!?” Again scattered shouts of agreement as the man stepped down and another took his place. This man didn’t pay the next speaker much mind, as he never had paid much attention to those who would rather wait for things to settle down. He wanted to act now, and those who felt the same slowly peeled off from the crowd to follow him. An where he was leading them was a small cluster of tents on the northwestern portion of the tent city where a few similarly minded individuals still standing were waiting for him to come back. When everyone had filtered in, he got on top of a small wooden stool to address them all.

“Alright, which one of yous is good in a fight? If you can’t fight, that’s alright. You can help haul the supplies back when it comes time to do that. We’re going to be leaving in the next bell or two so be quick about it. I don’t got time to waste on layabouts.” The man growled, gesturing for people to approach him one at a time. He kept his questions simple and quick to move the group along as swiftly as possible.

“You any good at fighting?” If the answer was yes he gestured them over to form a group to his left. If the answer was no, he gestured to his right. As time wore on there were unfortunately more rights than lefts, but the man didn’t let the disappointment show on his face. He remained hard eyed and confident as he addressed each and every volunteer until finally the whole camp was segregated between the two groups.

“Alright, do what you need to in order to get your affairs in order. In one bell we’re making our move.” The man said before disappearing in a large tent behind him, leaving the two groups relatively unattended for the moment. A few filtered off to wander back in the city but most stayed where they were, murmuring quietly with one another about what they thought was going to happen in a bell. The nervousness in the gathering was palpable but it was better than remaining here where it was only a matter of time before they all caught this mysterious illness.