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Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 10:17 pm


----
A Moment of Calm
----

with
Wickwright Finch and Hopkin (kotaline), and Coyotl and Lucky (Hedjrebl)

on
March 19th, 1411. The late morning air is cold as always, but the skies are remarkably clear.

in
Imisus, a few miles from the Shyregoedian border.

---------------------



The trick to leaving a place swiftly, Coyotl had learned long ago, was to leave the place. And swiftly. Too many people, whether victims of circumstance or criminals fleeing the scene of a crime or what-have-you, made the mistake of forgetting these two key points. They took too long gathering their things, they dawdled out of sentimentality, they lagged behind hoping things would change, and before they knew it, their chance had passed.

Coyotl had none of these problems. If there was one complimentary thing to be said about his thrifty lifestyle, it was that it made it incredibly easy to uproot himself. Exactly one hour after receiving a letter clutched in the beak of a crow, he'd left his flat for the last time, with all of his belongings either stuffed into the large traveler's rucksack at his side, or- literally- on his back.

The clay jar strapped to his shoulders, with a series of knotted ropes cleverly wound around its neck and bottom to keep it upright, was filled with water, and therefore quite heavy. It would have slowed him down considerably if he'd left Alciony on foot, which was precisely why he didn't.

Coyotl had been saving money for some time in the hopes of replacing his mattress, a particularly old and mealy cotton- and straw-filled hulk of a thing, but in light of recent events, he'd found that his priorities had shifted rather suddenly. That was why the bulk of that saved money had been spent on the quickest transport he could find out of town. He wasn't sure he'd ever ridden in a proper horse-drawn carriage before in his life- the mail-cart to Shyregoed the previous year, he'd decided, did not count- and for all he knew, he would never be able to afford to again. It was expensive, but worth the investment, as in a matter of days, they had covered a distance that likely would have taken him weeks to travel on foot.

He'd headed north out of a pure concern for time; had he attempted to go south to Auvinus, he most likely would have been held up by border-crossing bureaucracy for who-knew-how-long. Traveling north, he'd have a longer stretch of time before he would need to worry over such things, and that was more time spent moving, putting distance between himself and the place that had so recently been his home.

Unfortunately, the cold was something he would be forced to deal with, before he ever reached any border. Knowing this and having accepted it didn't lessen the sting of the wind on Coyotl's face, nor did it assuage the bitterness he felt at having to leave the comparative warmth of the carriage when it had gone as far as the fee he'd paid would take him. With only a few coins left in his pocket, on the outskirts of a tiny little speck of a town that only really served as a brief stopping-point for those entering or leaving Shyregoed by horse or caravan, he now stood alone, with only a ratty coat to protect him from the chill.

No, not alone.

There was a fallen log near the roadside that Coyotl took advantage of as an opportunity to rest his legs, and after he sat, he wormed his arms through the straps around his shoulders, trying as gently as possible to sling the clay vessel he carried off of his back-- he caught himself murmuring "sorry, sorry" as he heard the water sloshing within, and felt only slightly silly for having done so. The jar was corked while he carried it, so no liquid would spill out, but he didn't want the koi inside to be jostled around too much. That couldn't be good for it.

Setting the jar down on the ground in front of him, a knee on either side, he breathed a sigh at having rid himself of its weight. He uncorked it, and though the inside was dark, the light from outside was enough that he could see the fish within the cramped container, restless and certainly alive.

" 'Hoy in there," he muttered, cupping his hands around either side of the pot's wide neck. If he looked from the right angle, the water inside reflected the bright, cold blue of the sky above. Coyotl stayed that way for some time, staring down as if into a scrying bowl; the only stirring in the water came from the fish under the surface. Though to any passersby he probably would have looked stupid or slightly mad, leaning over a jar full of water and murmuring into it every so often, his concern was elsewhere.

He'd have to get moving again shortly, but for now, he needed a moment to calm his thoughts.
PostPosted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 11:49 pm


The tricky thing about truth, Wickwright considered as he sealed his letter with some candle wax, was what to include and what to omit.

His letter to O'Neill was not as truthful as he would like it to be, and that pained him. But the fact of the matter was that after their conversation, it was impossible for him to mention the contents of the letter he had received to the man he feared and respected as a leader. To tell him that someone, someone who Wickwright suspected belonged to the Cult from the mention of his religion and from the bird that carried the letter, wanted Hopkin would scupper any hope he had of winning the Society's approval of his Plague. The Jawbone Society was skittish and vulnerable right now. He understood the precarious position they were in, but if they knew about the letter that he had received, they would act too rashly and reject Hopkin at once at the Society meeting. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and Wickwright was sure that he could handle the letter-bearer. It was clear that though they knew a little too much about him for comfort, they hardly knew everything. They had made the mistake of assuming Hopkin didn't remember the contents of his book, something anyone who spent more than a day with Hopkin would realize was false, including Meschke, which ruled him out as an informant. And the way they had attempted to persuade him to give up Hopkin showed a basic misunderstanding of Finch man mentality, ruling out a converted member of the Society. "Perhaps Alae," he muttered to himself. "Heavens knows you were hardly quiet when we met her."

"How would she know that I'm a Jawbone Book though?" Hopkin asked worriedly, sitting cross-legged on Wickwright's desk. Wickwright rubbed his temples, shaking his head.

"Maybe not. Never mind the informant though, what's most important is being able to defend ourselves from whatever threats may arise. They've asked us to join, next time they may not be so cordial."

"I don't think they were cordial at all," Hopkin muttered timidly. The letter had hurt him more than Wickwright, who didn't take things as sincerely as his Plague did. Ever since the letter had spewed out its accusations, Hopkin had contrived to please Wickwright even harder, bringing him gifts and following him around like a second shadow. Wickwright's desk was littered in feathers and beetle wings and such that Hopkin had managed to find for him, and it was beginning to be more of a nuisance than it was worth.

"Let's hope they don't get any less cordial then," Wickwright amended.

"What will we do if they do?"

"We'll need more allies. Allies who will be able to handle the Cult."

"It's the Cult?" Hopkin asked, perplexed.

"Don't be daft, Hopkin, of course it is,"
snapped Wickwright, "Who else would threaten a Jawbone Man?"

"O-Of course it is, then." Hopkin agreed rapidly, eager to be in Wickwright's good graces. "Where will we find allies?"

"We're going to join a faction,"
pronounced Wickwright grimly, sweeping some of the feathers off the desk to write a second letter, "Or at least we will if we're able to contact them."

"Is he going to as well?" Hopkin enquired, looking out the shutters from the desk.

"Who?" Wickwright asked sharply, too preoccupied with the matter at hand to pay Hopkin much heed.

"The mailman."

Wickwright looked up suspiciously, but when he saw who Hopkin meant, his expression changed into an incredulous stare. He got up out of the desk, grabbing the book bag and putting Hopkin inside of it. Striding outside, he called out to the figure near the road, saying "Strewth, Coyotl, what are you doing so far from Imisus?" Not a crow, not an Obscuvian, not a stranger, but a friend, and one that Wickwright was only too glad to have run into.

kotaline
Vice Captain

Deathly Darling


Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 12:50 pm


The sound of a voice calling out to him made Coyotl give a seated half-jump and a yelp of surprise, nearly tipping the jar between his knees in the process. He'd been paying so little attention to the world around him that he hadn't even realized there was another person on the road until the man had greeted him. Staring with a bug-eyed expression plastered over his face, it took him a moment to even register the fact that he'd been addressed by name.

"...Oh."

He knew this man; Coyotl remembered making a number of deliveries for him in the past, usually just middle-manning a letter bound for somewhere outside his jurisdiction. An odd kind of fellow, but not unpleasantly so. He was one of those rare few people who managed to be clever without seeming self-congratulatory about it.

Now, it would be fantastic if he could remember the man's name...

"Oh," he repeated, snapping the fingers on his right hand once or twice, as if that would somehow jog his memory. Why did it have to be so difficult to place faces and names together? Miraculously, though, the finger-snapping seemed to actually help for once. "Fuhh... Fitch! Or Finch. Finch. Right? Right." Looking slightly sheepish, he rubbed his left palm before raising his hand again in greeting. " 'Lo there, Mr. Finch."

But a familiar face was definitely not something Coyotl had counted on seeing on the road. In fact, quite the opposite was true, since the crow's letter had made him effectually suspicious of almost everyone he had ever met. Whether this was warranted or reasonable was irrelevant. Once off on a jag of paranoia, it was incredibly difficult for him to stop, as his frazzled nerves could pick out dangers in something as innocuous as a bowl of soup if he was really properly spooked. Consequentially, rather than being relieved at meeting someone he recognized, a cluster of panicked little red flags went up in the forefront of his thoughts.

"Oh, uh, you know," he began, remembering that Wickwright had asked him a question. What was he doing so far from his home? He spidered his hands over the mouth of the jar, trying (and failing) to appear casual, his fingers drumming against each other nervously while he searched for an excuse.

"The mail, and all that." A pause; then he added, as if to clarify, "Letters."

Ironically, there was a note of truth to that explanation, though it sounded for all the world like a weak lie. "What brings you out this way, then?" he asked lamely, trying to divert the conversation away from himself. It was a rather transparent attempt.
PostPosted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 2:29 pm


"You got it eventually," Wickwright affirmed. "Finch will suffice though, or Wickwright if you prefer." Jawbone Men called each other exclusively by last name, and though some expected a 'Mister' or a 'Sir' from non-members, Wickwright was hardly so formal. What with the nature of his contribution, he could hardly afford to be standoffish, and even in his paranoid panic, his old habits were hard to break. Had Coyotl been an acknowledged Cultist, he would have been hard pressed not to say, 'Finch is fine.' He had been saying it for over 30 years, after all.

If a familiar face had been enough to briefly distract him from his situation though, Coyotl's standoffish tone was enough to bring him back to reality. Wickwright coughed, though Hopkin hadn't said anything, and put his hand more securely over his book bag. "Ah, yes, the letters. Busy with those recently? Times have been..."

Damnably difficult.

"Interesting." Running his hand through his hair when Coyotl echoed his own question, he considered what to say. He liked Coyotl well enough, the boy seemed like a decently trustworthy deliveryman, which was more than he had to say for some of the others he had to avail himself of in the past. But as to how far the boy could be trusted about this, well, that was a bird of a different colour. He didn't even know about Hopkin, as far as Wickwright knew, although he was fairly sure he had showed Coyotl the book before it was rui-plagued.

"I'm traveling back to Imisus, I came here to meet with a fellow Society member." he said, deciding to tell at least part of the truth. "You just came from there, perhaps you could enlighten me as to the situation? I've been hearing some dark rumours, I fear." He gestured to his wagon, adding, "But I forget my manners. Please, come into the warm."

In the bag, Hopkin watched through a hole he had managed to poke in one corner. It was far more difficult to see things inside the bag, though admittedly it was warmer and safer than Wickwright's hood. From the hole, he couldn't see much, but Coyotl seemed not quite so lovely as Dorian Arelgren and Dragomir Meschke, so Hopkin wasn't as regretful that his vision was blocked. And after the letter that Wickwright had received, Hopkin was glad to trade some of his vision for safety. Never had he been less disappointed to be put in the book bag, not after seeing that crow's beady eyes.

kotaline
Vice Captain

Deathly Darling


Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 5:25 pm


While Wickwright spoke, Coyotl made an attempt to calm down a bit, not wanting to seem suspicious himself. After all, acting shifty and evasive would only draw more attention to the clay jar he carried, and its contents. Only then did it occur to him to think: Had he ever actually told the older man about the koi? He couldn't recall ever having done so. After all, having a pet fish wasn't exactly the most interesting topic of conversation to most, so normally he simply neglected to mention it.

At this, his stiff posture relaxed a bit. Not that he had really thought that the crow had come from Finch, but, well, you just never knew, did you? The most unlikely people one could imagine sometimes had very unsavory associates. But having reassured himself that, at least, speaking with this particular person would be safe, Coyotl did his best to put aside any unwarranted suspicions. To be sure, there were a few, and all of them were equally ridiculous.

"About as busy as usual," he replied to Wickwright's question; then, a bit dryly, "with one of 'em especially." His grip on the mouth of the jar loosened, and he leaned his elbows on his knees, seeming content to just dangle his fingers over the lip of the clay pot. It was almost funny, he thought; letters had given him trouble in the past, but the ones that had had always been addressed to someone else. Never would he have thought that so much bad could come from a message sent to him.

When Wickwright mentioned that he was returning to Imisus, Coyotl's eyebrows shot up, and he seemed more than slightly taken aback. "You serious? No disrespect to you, but most are leavin' Imisus, not going back. 'Interesting times' and all, as you say." But he sat a bit straighter at the offer to enter the wagon, his earlier nervousness seemingly having dissipated. Being cautious was one thing, but Finch had definitely used the word 'warm', and being so far north, that was something worth taking a chance for, as far as Coyotl was concerned.

"I can tell you what I know," he said, standing and slinging his traveling bag up onto his shoulder once more, "but I don't think you'll like it much. Thank you for offering, it's colder'n a witch's teat out here," he added earnestly. Stooping, he corked the jar and hoisted it up, with one hand at its bottom and one hand around the neck; no point strapping it onto his back when he'd only be walking a short way.

It occurred to him then, just as he was entering the wagon, that a large jar of water would seem to be a bit of a strange thing to be lugging around, and hoped fervently that Wickwright wouldn't ask him to leave it outside. "Beg pardon," he offered, and tapped one hand against the jar a bit pointlessly, as if to signify what exactly he was begging pardon for. "Don't want it to freeze."

Hopefully that would cut it as far as explanations went, at least for the time being!
PostPosted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 9:42 pm


"That's good, that's good," Wickwright muttered absentmindedly. "I have a few letters keeping me occupied as well." Herding Coyotl inside with a suspicious look at the sky, he rummaged around and pulled out some dried meat and bread, offering some to his visitor. He cast a suspicious glance at the pot, but allowed it inside, shaking his head for a moment. This was Coyotl. He didn't know him well, but he knew him well enough to have serious difficulty suspecting him. Coyotl was a friend, or at least as friendly as a mailman could be.

As he sat down, Wickwright heard Hopkin repeating the phrase 'colder than a witch's teat' with some evident confusion inside of the bag and shook it slightly, coughing. That was a euphemism he didn't need Hopkin using regularly. Leaning on his desk, he pulled up a crate, which was as close to other chairs as the wagon got. "I know," he said finally, replying to Coyotl's comment about Imisus, "Or at least, I've heard as much. Interesting times, ahaha. But I have no other option but to go back. It's Society business, and I have a duty to uphold, all that noble nonsense." Sort of. Was it Society business if it involved joining the Council? But then again, it was for Hopkin's safety, which made it Society business, at least if he had any say in the decision. "So you're one of the people fleeing? Shyregoad isn't much safer from what I hear, not after what happened with Lady Waldgrave. Mages at a loss, all that, not that I've had trouble with any of them yet. Still. Magic." He made a dismissive gesture to show exactly what he thought of that, partially out of a sense of Imisese pride and partially out of the whispers from the enchanted crow still bouncing around in skull. He had quite enough of magic for the time being, too glad to leave it to another Jawbone Man to find the truth in spells and potions.

"Anyway," he continued, "I suppose I can't convince you to go back to Imisus for me, so I was wondering if you knew of any trustworthy mail carriers around these parts. I need a letter delivered, one to Imisus and one farther North. Someone I can trust," he repeated, "My ramblings may not mean much to an eavesdropper, but to an old man like me, privacy is important." He looked terribly haggard for a moment, but caught himself, putting on a smile and a brittle laugh. "But here I am talking business when you're here as a surprise guest. If you don't know anyone, that's fine. It's foolish of me, I suppose- I saw you on the road out there and for a moment I thought it was fate. Fate, delivering me a mailman in my time of need!" Chuckling more easily now, Wickwright relaxed slightly. Talking helped, joking helped, making him feel less like he was caught in a vice. He didn't know how Hopkin was handling the situation- the little book boy was even more drawn and silent, though sometimes he heard the thing whispering to himself at night.

kotaline
Vice Captain

Deathly Darling


Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Wed Mar 30, 2011 1:51 am


Coyotl's cheeks puffed out with a sigh as he entered the comparative warmth of the wagon, allowing his rucksack to slip down off of his shoulder. He set the jar he carried down with a heavy clunk in the most out-of-the-way spot he could find, and gratefully accepted the proffered food.

"Well, if you've got no choice, then," he said with a shrug, plopping onto the crate and resting his elbows on his knees as he had done outside. The duties of a member of Finch's Society certainly weren't the same as those of a letter-carrier, but he could relate to them all the same. He'd gone far, far out of his way to complete his rounds before, though admittedly never during such chaos as this. "I don't know what state Shyregoed is in, but Imisus is a madhouse. Folks've lost all their sense-- not a day goes by there's not a riot, fire-starting, lynch mobs..." He held his hands palm-up in a gesture of defeat and confusion, shaking his head. "It's the Scientists in the big cities and towns getting the worst of it, but no place is safe, not really. And that's not to mention the lunatics in masks roamin' around like a pack of wild dogs," he added, his face darkening considerably.

If Wickwright was correct about Shyregoed not being much better off than Imisus, though... Coyotl kneaded his thumb into the palm of the opposite hand absently, brows settling low over his eyes as he frowned in thought. "Truth to tell," he admitted, "I wouldn't be leaving if I had a choice. 'Better the devil you know than the devil you don't,' eh? Things are bad all over, I don't expect it'll make much difference where I go." Without even realizing it, he found himself mimicking Wickwright's earlier glance at the sky, this time out of the shuttered window. Every time he'd seen a bird of any sort over the past few days, he'd felt a needle of anxiety work its way under his skin. "But I'm not sure that choice is mine to make anymore."

As Coyotl listened to Wickwright's request, he couldn't stave off the sinking feeling that came over him, brought on by the memory of the crow's awful little letter. Under normal circumstances, he would have had a number of recommendations for deliveries within Imisus, at least-- but now the words replayed themselves in his head. It must be obvious that your peers and other messengers are bearing our mark. Having heard that, how could he, in good faith, recommend anyone as "trustworthy"?

Suddenly, and not for the first time since the 17th, he felt remarkably alone.

To put into words why there was no one he could vouch for... That would be difficult. And after attempting to think up several ways of explaining-without-really-explaining the situation, Coyotl had come up with exactly nothing. It was then that it occurred to him that perhaps both of their interests would be best served by a full disclosure. If it was true that the majority of letter-carriers in Imisus, or perhaps all of Panymium, were affiliated with the writers of that ominous message, the least he could do would be to warn Wickwright of this fact. And if he was truly fortunate, perhaps the older man could offer him some advice, or at least a sympathetic ear, since Coyotl truly felt he had nowhere else to turn.

"Finch," he said finally, addressing Wickwright by his surname out of habit, "I'm not sure I can recommend anyone to you. I wish I could, but... The post might not be safe anymore. Or it might not've ever been, I don't know." Now, he realized, he would have to elaborate on that. How to begin? 'I got a letter from a bird and it told me the post is full of spies' probably was not the best explanation to give, but he couldn't think of what else to say, and eventually, growing exasperated with the ridiculousness of what he was trying to articulate, he decided that the ridiculous explanation would have to suffice.

"I got a letter myself a few days ago that said as much, a letter by bird. And I don't think whoever sent it was joking."
PostPosted: Wed Mar 30, 2011 5:14 am


Wickwright only grew more haggard with news of Imisus, exactly as he had heard it rumoured and exactly as he had feared it would be. It almost sounded like Shyregoad would have been safer, but of course, he couldn't join the mages, and foremost in his mind was obtaining the aid of a faction, even one as weak as the scientists were sounding right now. He had no other option, as unable to perform magic as he was, and as advanced in years as he was, the mages and military were closed to him. And Obscuvos was, of course, not an option. Though pretending to join Obscuvos seemed like a clever safeguard to him at first, he needed to Society to be able to fully trust him or any chance Hopkin had of being accepted into the Collection was scuppered.

He spat and stroked his jaw at the mention of lunatics in masks. "Obscuvians," he muttered. "Obscuvians everywhere, like a second plague." His book bag trembled slightly. "Even the decent ones are murderers or fools, and each and every one of them is a damned nuisance." He was in no mood to be as kindly to the House as he had been when saving Dragomir Meschke from being burned to death, although had Coyotl been an acknowledged Obscuvian, he would have been singing a far more neutral tune. "If the riots are happening mainly in the towns, I'll try to avoid them, but I'm not sure I'll be able to. Shame, I was hoping to return home and regroup, but if what you say is true, I doubt that it's in any state I would want to return to." Hopkin perked up at the mention of home. Though Hopkin had never been to Wickwright's home, the earliest stories he had in his head were from the Jawbone Society and Rosstead, making him aware of where Wickwright was talking about almost as sharply as Wickwright himself.

Wickwright glanced anxiously at the sky again as Coyotl spoke, drumming his hand on his knee. "I know the feeling," he replied fervently. "Still, if I don't do something, I think I'll go half mad. Never been one for just doing things without some kind of plan." Finch men didn't work like that. Finch men liked to feel like they were one step ahead of the game, and having someone pull a fast one on them like the crow had done was incredibly unsettling for them. Wickwright wasn't quite sure if he was joining the Scientists because he had to to protect Hopkin or because he had to to feel like he was doing something to protect Hopkin anymore. If the Scientists were weak as they were, they wouldn't be the best allies, but what else was he to do? The Jawbone Society couldn't protect him from a major threat, and in this particular case, he wasn't keen on them even knowing he was a target.

"Well, the safety of the mail has always been a relative thing, but is it really-"

A terrified squeak came from Wickwright's bag as Coyotl mentioned the bird. Wickwright paused, staring carefully at Coyotl. "What kind of bird," he asked hoarsely, pulling his book bag into his lap. "A crow, by any chance?"

kotaline
Vice Captain

Deathly Darling


Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Wed Mar 30, 2011 2:52 pm


Though he knew little of their dogma, Coyotl knew enough of Obscuvians to fear and mistrust any he encountered. They supposedly believed that the Black Death was a message of salvation from their god, which was bizarre enough in itself; add onto that the murders and kidnappings carried out under their name, and even a fool would make a point of avoiding them. Except, obviously, for the fools that joined their ranks. Coyotl himself had come too close to a few of their bases for comfort in his travels over the years, and he didn't care to find out what they were truly capable of. "If your home's near any of the bigger towns, I'd avoid it," he agreed, scrunching up his face slightly. "Might not be worth the risk."

Coyotl had expected surprise, at least, from Wickwright as he told the man of his "informant", but in the pause that followed, he noticed that the older fellow looked a bit more perturbed than he might have expected. Then it was his own turn to be startled, as Wickwright named immediately the type of bird that had come tapping at his window, with neither pause nor difficulty. "How did you..." he began, his jaw hanging open foolishly for a moment before he continued, unsettled. A lucky guess, perhaps, or else crows were a common choice of messenger among more unscrupulous types, and he'd never been aware of it. "I-it was. Big nasty thing, too. The letter was a threat," he added, folding his arms across his chest at the memory of it, which still gave him the chills. "Bit too personal for coming from a stranger." That was all the explanation he felt was necessary, for the time being. Any further details might needlessly complicate the situation.

It struck him then, for some reason, to bring up something that had caught his attention as Wickwright had spoken; a sound, possibly coming from underneath the man's chair, or behind the desk, maybe. His ear had immediately placed it as the squeaking of a mouse or rat, and though it was really not an appropriate time to be pointing out a vermin problem, as there were much more serious matters to be discussed, Coyotl's intense loathing of rodents prompted him to mention it nonetheless. In fact, he reasoned, suddenly concerned with common courtesy for a change, he was practically obligated to let Wickwright know.

"Not to get off the subject," he said in a lowered voice, as though the vile creature might hear him and attack, "but I think there's a rat in your wagon."

He shifted his knee slightly, readying his foot in case he'd have to whip off his shoe and use it as a bludgeoning instrument.
PostPosted: Wed Mar 30, 2011 8:33 pm


"Was it making strange noises?"

"Covered in whispers and melting like a plagued thing," Hopkin remembered from inside the bag. "The letter was parchment but dissolved into ribbon, black ribbon, which Wickwright threw out the window."

Wickwright didn't bother to cough this time. "I got one too, I believe. It wanted something from me, wanted me to leave the Society." He laughed a little hoarsely. "Asking a Jawbone Man to leave the Society! Practically like asking me to rip out my own jawbone and give it to the Glutton God." The number of Society men who had left the Society for Obscuvos went unmentioned. Wickwright was already in a peculiar mood, and there was no need for it to get more sour. "Anyway," he continued, "What of your letter?"

At Coyotl's comment, Wickwright paused, doing mental calculations, but figured he was in for a penny and might as well go in for a pound. Coyotl was someone who he considered to be generally trustworthy, and it sounded like he had gone through a similar experience to Wickwright's own. Having someone who wasn't Hopkin to speak to about it might help him organize his thoughts, and even if Coyotl turned traitor, Wickwright was pretty sure he could at least fend him off from Hopkin in his own wagon. He wasn't young, but he wasn't dead either.

Yet.

Pulling out Hopkin but keeping him cupped safely in his hands, he said, "There's your rat. My book, Hopkin, and the primary demand made of me by that ominous letter sender. Hopkin, this is Coyotl Coyotl." Hopkin looked up at Coyotl, clambering to the very edge of his Grimm's hands and holding onto his fingers for balance to get a better look. However, after he saw that Coyotl was not as beautiful as Meschke or Arelgren, he began to get antsy and looked longingly back at the bag. He was curious about Coyotl, but this was a frightening time and he'd much rather be out of sight.

Outside, it began to snow.

kotaline
Vice Captain

Deathly Darling


Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Wed Mar 30, 2011 10:40 pm


For a terrible few moments, Coyotl was afraid, truly, truly afraid that he had gone barking mad-- or that he was still being haunted by the same sort of devilish whispering magic that had accosted him from the parchment several days previously. He was talking to Wickwright, and Wickwright was talking back, certainly, but he could have sworn that between words, he'd heard another person in the wagon. Yes, he was sure he had heard a tiny little voice speaking from somewhere very close by, though he couldn't make out what it had said...

"It... the letter spoke, yes," he said, confusion apparent in his face and voice. "Threatened to steal something from me. And whoever sent it, they said the messengers of Panymium were under their wing, but I don't know who..."

Coyotl's sentence trailed off unfinished as he got a good look at what exactly Wickwright was removing from his bag.

It was a fairly impressive display of self-control on his part that he did not swear profusely at the sight of the tiny moving thing in the man's hands, nor did he topple the crate he sat on by jumping up in alarm. His eyes went very wide, though, and he clamped his jaw tightly shut as he stared, unblinking, at what Wickwright referred to as his "book". It looked almost like a little bronze figurine of a person, clad in miniature clothes with paper wrapped around its extremities-- and, of course, it was alive, or seemed to be, at least.

After a very long pause, Coyotl managed to get his jaw working well enough to choke out "... Your book." His memory for names was notoriously awful, but he had little difficulty recalling other average details about the people he knew, and he certainly remembered Wickwright's book, having seen it with his own eyes. This wasn't it. This wasn't any sort of book at all, as far as he could tell.

And then, once the rest of Wickwright's introduction of Hopkin had sunk in, the pieces came together in his head. A strange and tiny creature; a book that no longer seemed to be a book; the letter similar to his own, demanding something from the recipient.

Coyotl hunched his shoulders and leaned down where he sat, scrunching himself in an effort to be at eye-level with Hopkin, and staring with a mixture of fear and awe.

"Is that," he murmured, "a Plague?"

(Somewhere, a part of him was relieved that there had been no rat after all.)
PostPosted: Thu Mar 31, 2011 9:21 pm


"My book, a Plague, Hopkin, yes, all correct monikers, or mostly correct, and more correct when strung together. But that's quite a mouthful, so I settle for Hopkin." He smiled wanly as Hopkin waved tentatively at Coyotl, adding, "The dratted thing's been a devilish nuisance. Hiding him is a hassle enough, and now all sorts are chasing him down. It's not just the dratted crow," he elaborated bitterly, "At the border I saw men stopping travelers so I hid Hopkin in the mouth of my ox. Sure enough, they were looking for plagues and plagued travelers, for what I cannot say." He rubbed at his temples wearily. "At any rate, and despite my earlier stance on the matter, I intend to go to Imisus to seek admission into the Scientists, because the more allies I can get, the better at this point, even if it's dangerous. Facing whoever sent the letter alone -and I suspect the Cult- would be more so, and I have no talents that would make me useful to the Mages." In for a penny, in for a pound. Having someone to prattle to was a sweet relief, especially since his jabbering Finch tongue had been quiet for far too long while he had been thinking. Now he had a plan, he needed to say it aloud, and saying it to Coyotl was more satisfying than saying it to Hopkin, who would just agree with him, or thin air, which would have absolutely no opinion on the matter.

"Anyway," Wickwright continued, "If your letter asked you to give up something important as well, I would make sure you have a way to get whatever it may be across the border before you charge ahead to Shyregoad. It's tricky going, but if I could outwit them, I'm certain you can too."

Hopkin clambered from Wickwright's hand now that Coyotl had been examined and Wickwright seemed to trust him enough to tell him the plan. If Wickwright trusted someone, they were safe, and that left Hopkin free to move about the wagon. He stayed away from the window for now, as the crow was still fresh in his mind, and from what he could see through the shutters, it appeared to be snowing quite hard now. Instead, he sat on Wickwright's desk and began to straighten all the feathers and assorted gifts he had left earlier. It was soothing for him to see the bright colours and arrange them in a pleasing manner, though the things that Wickwright was talking about weren't pleasant, Hopkin could at least make the desk look appealing. He picked up a blue feather and glanced at it, then at Coyotl, then silently offered it to their visitor in an attempt to make him look more appealing. Coyotl, he considered, had a good skin colour on further examination, almost reddish, and that was Hopkin's favourite to be certain. But he was far too short and not flat enough, not to mention that his hair wasn't fine or pleasingly arranged like Dragomir Meschke and Dorian Arelgren's. "If you put it in your hair, it will distract people from it," he told Coyotl honestly. "Your skin is well-designed, despite minor damage."

"Hopkin," Wickwright muttered, "People don't design skin. It just is."

Hopkin looked concerned. If being flat was bad for people and skin was just a random happenstance, he wasn't sure he liked how people were made. It all seemed terribly haphazard and thoughtless.

kotaline
Vice Captain

Deathly Darling


Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Thu Mar 31, 2011 11:08 pm


Coyotl was having a hard time dividing his attention between staring at Hopkin and listening to Wickwright, but he made a concerted effort to pay attention to what the man was saying. He glanced up at him every so often as he spoke, and looked fairly scandalized at the mention of how Finch had managed to smuggle his Plague into Imisus from Shyregoed; he didn't envy the little creature that experience, not at all. If there were guards performing checks on travelers moving from one region of Panymium to another, though, his intended destination had just become a good sight more unappealing. As he was quickly coming to realize, distance from his now-former home would not protect him from the people behind the letter he'd received, especially if they were Obscuvans as Wickwright suggested. Distracted from both the older man's words and the Plague sprucing up the desk, Coyotl stared at his hands and frowned deeply, rubbing his knuckles as he thought. Even if the House's influence in the North was dwindling, he doubted they would be deterred from coming after him there, and even if they were, he'd have a whole host of other obstacles to deal with regardless.

So where did that leave him?

It was then that he noticed Hopkin attempting to hand him something from the desk. He stared at the Plague dumbly for a moment, hearing him speak but not really processing the words. Hesitantly, he reached out with one hand and plucked the feather out of Hopkin's hands with his thumb and forefinger, as gingerly as he could. The little thing's manner of speaking was very odd. Something about his skin being well-designed, and distracting people from his... what?

Surprising even himself, Coyotl gave an abrupt snort of laughter as he realized what Hopkin was advising him to do. It wasn't a derisive sound; though it was born half out of nervousness, it seemed to relieve some of the tension in the room. He held up the feather, a baffled smile on his face. "Is that right? Well, it won't hurt nothing," he supposed, and feeling not a little foolish, he inserted the feather at random into his hair. It was only a few inches long, but even at that length, it was longer than the hair on his scalp, and stuck out at a strange angle. "Will that do it?" he asked, wondering how long the feather would stay there before it fell off.

That brief moment of levity had been unexpected, but it had been sorely needed. Coyotl found himself feeling more at ease than he had in days, as though a knot of stress at the pit of his stomach had come undone, his breath coming a little easier. He was still in a bad spot, no doubt about it, but he was beginning to feel as though perhaps he'd be able to handle it. Speaking with Wickwright had certainly helped, and, he reflected, if he wanted any further input from the man, he ought to be entirely forthright about his troubles.

"I don't think it'll be so easy for me to get over the border," he said, "not with... well, with things bein' what they are." Without any further explanation, he stood and turned, stooping to pick up the jar he'd brought into the wagon. Wordlessly, he brought it to the desk, set it down carefully on the floor, and uncorked it with a soft pop. The light from the window, though not as bright as it had been when the skies were clear, was enough to reveal the streamlined form of a fish in the water within, pale with a brilliant blaze of red between its eyes.

"Hard to imagine this getting by under the guard's noses," Coyotl said.
PostPosted: Thu Mar 31, 2011 11:44 pm


Wickwright grinned in spite of himself as Coyotl obliged the Plague, while Hopkin frowned and went to try to put the feather at a nicer angle. "My apologies," Wickwright snorted, "The thing has a need to fix what most people don't consider to be broken."

"I'm attempting to make it more like the book, Wickwright," Hopkin explained carefully as he made his adjustments. "Our wide world isn't colourful as the flat world." That comment made Wickwright's brow furrow for a moment, but before he could enquire any further, Coyotl uncorked his jar and Wickwright found himself looking at the kind of fish the wealthy of Imisus kept in ponds and shallow pools, a Yiruian symbol all the stranger for its grace and beauty in a container as innocuous as the jar it was being kept in. "Ah," he remarked, admiring the unusual sight and half wishing he still had a book to illuminate an image of it onto, "Slightly harder to smuggle across a border, yes." Life was no longer simple for anybody.

Hopkin, meanwhile, had scrambled over to look, and was now staring so intently at the jar that he might fall in. "A koi," he breathed, "It's beautiful." The bright red on its forehead drew his eyes like a target, it was more likely in his mind that he would drown in that red than in the water in the jar. "What do you call it? What gender is it? Where did you find it? What's its temperament? Will it become a dragon if you ask it to? Does it know many things?" There was a story about koi fish in Wickwright's book and hence in Hopkin's head, of infinitely wise fish who were powerful enough to swim against currents and transformed into dragons when men tried to cross them, challenging them to games of riddles on lazy afternoons, and drowning those who lost and failed to prove they were as enlightened as the fish. Those who kept them were supposed to be wise and noble. It was said that a Jawbone Man once outwitted one and captured it, and here was Coyotl with one as well. "Are you a Jawbone Man too?" Hopkin asked finally. He couldn't imagine that anyone else might be clever enough to outwit a koi.

Wickwright hushed Hopkin with a wave of his hand and stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyeing the fish. "I would offer my assistance, but it would draw attention if I just went across the border and back again so soon after crossing. I hesitate to say it, but I think it may be best for you to stay in Imisus, my friend. I don't know why those men were looking for plagues, but better the devil you do know than the devil you don't." He looked up from the koi to Coyotl and asked, "Is there anyone you can take shelter with?"

kotaline
Vice Captain

Deathly Darling


Hedjrebl

Anxious Nerd

PostPosted: Fri Apr 01, 2011 7:05 am


Coyotl watched the Plague as it- or rather, he- peered at the fish, wondering briefly to himself what the "flat world" was that Hopkin had mentioned, and also how the creature could see with his face covered in bandages. He certainly was asking a lot of questions about the fish, at any rate, and Coyotl was hard pressed to keep them straight in his head. They didn't all make a lot of sense to him, either. "I don't call it anything," he said, leaning forward slightly on the crate and watching the fish making slow circles in the jar. In Uque, it hadn't been common practice to name one's pets, at least not in his village; things were called what they were, so a dog would be called 'chichi,' and a fish, he supposed, would be called 'michin'. It was all very straightforward, he felt. "All I know is that it came from a house that all the people had left. I took it with me when I found it. The rest of what you asked, I don't know about." He shuffled his feet, unsure of whether Hopkin would be placated with that answer. "And I'm not a Jawbone Man," he added with a note of puzzlement. Turning to Wickwright, he asked "Are all Plagues like this? When they change?"

As Wickwright voiced his concerns about crossing the border again into Shyregoed, Coyotl nodded, seeming to have had what he was already thinking reaffirmed. "I wouldn't ask you to make another trip. I'm not so concerned with where I go, so much as not stopping too long anywhere." He nodded again, this time to himself. "Trying to hide someplace would only make more trouble. Better to keep moving as long as I can."

"I'll make you a deal, then," he said matter-of-factly, rubbing his hands together as though he'd just come to a decision on something he'd been deliberating on for a while. "If you're going south from here, let me come along. I'll make sure both of your letters get where they're headed. The one bound further North..." He frowned to himself, then shook his head. The House might have manpower in the field, but he refused to believe that all of the letter carriers in Panymium were in service to Obscuvos. Somewhere in Imisus, there had to be someone left who respected the sanctity of the post. "If there's a trustworthy man in this business, I'll find him, come Hell or high water."
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PANYMIUM ❧ RP + world information

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