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 Posted: Wed Aug 08, 2012 6:28 pm
{Shortly after his Choosing, Macaire fears what it might mean .. }Those that have met Macaire since his arrival in Palisade would be stunned to see him now: the generally reserved guardsman is staggering through the midnight streets, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel and the scent of alcohol wafting from him like a warning. He wavers as he walks, and smiles at absolutely everyone he passes, though his magnanimous grin may cause most folk to shrink away -- and for once, he doesn't seem to notice. Not their fear, not the late hour, and not even that the song he's singing, sad tune that it is, is wildly inappropriate -- both for a time that has celebrated the coming of the Guardians, and for Macaire's own cheery expression. " .. Me son, oi loved me native land with energy and pride,
Till a blight came o'er all the land and right and left we died.
The wolves had came from Wardwood wild spreadin' fear and pain --
And that's the reason oi do fear we shan't see home again!" He stops to laugh, and to drink from a bottle at his side, then humming for a moment carries himself along, drumming his hand on his belt to get the tune. "Well father, dear, the day has coom when on vengeance we may call:
Yon Gods have answered all our prayers, and weel not let us fall.
They give to us their wee ones dear, and though frail they may seem;
'Tis the Guardians of Warding Wood t'will save Skibbereen.
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Posted: Wed Aug 08, 2012 7:56 pm
Aaltos is on the whole having a rather splendid evening, and it is evident in the chipper way he walks, with the gait of a far younger man than his white hair would suggest. As is customary for him, he is dressed in most unusual attire, today favouring a loose white shirt of coarse material and billowy wrap pants he acquired long ago from a trip to the middle east. He only recently rediscovered these buried beneath a pile of papers in his study. It is most certainly out of place in Sunderland, and far too lightweight for the nighttime but what can he say, it is summer and warm and he enjoy the breeze it allows...but more than that the pockets! They are numerous and by far the best thing about the pants, for he has all manner of herbs, trinkets, crystals - even a small animal skeleton stuffed into them. And so he does not at first take undue notice of the drunken man singing in the streets, other than to give him a wide berth of course. It is not until a sharp caw from the rook on his shoulder that he stops and looks, surprised by her sudden intrusion into his mind, prodding him towards the man. Insistently.
He gives a sigh of resignation, eyeing the bird long enough to give her a withering look. Must she really interrupt his successful evening with the troubles of a drunk stumbling about the streets? Aaltos is not a callous man, nor is he the type to ignore those in need of help. But drunks are an exception in most cases. For one he does not enjoy being in the presence of those under the influence of strong substances, save those taken for spiritual or medicinal purposes. He does not include alcohol under either of those categories, though some men would argue otherwise. And for another thing, they are rarely ever in grievous peril, and most just pass out harmlessly to come to the next morning sleeping with pigs or dogs. It is what he would assume for this man too, if it were not for Salehas insistance.
He knows she must have an agenda, she always does. But it would be nice, he thinks, if she would care to indulge him once and a while and share. But of course she does not. She would rather wait until he can pick it out for himself and it is times like these he really has to think hard on the use of a familiar. But if anything points in Saleha's favour, it is that she is rarely ever wrong. And so with plenty of muttering to the bird, the man trudges forward to stand in front of the drunk.
The old hedgewitch, clothed in his outlandish garb, boasting a skeleton in his pockets and talking to the bird on his shoulder is most likely not a comforting sight to Macaire. He may in fact be the least comforting sight at the moment, given his stark eccentricity in comparison to the crowds of more...normal looking folk. The rook, with her intensive stare and glowing red eyes also will not help the cause.
"My good man. It seems as if you have had a spot too much to drink."
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Posted: Wed Aug 08, 2012 11:07 pm
The .. apparition .. that addresses Macaire takes him entirely by surprise, and the drunken guardsman staggers back, his expression making plain that he is not entirely certain whether the man in front of him is real. It will take him a long moment to decide: he leans forward, then leans back, briefly losing his balance as he does so. Once he recovers it, stabilizing himself, he continues to stare at the stranger in a way that most would find intimidating. If it weren't enough that he looms over most, there are the scars, or the muscles, or the plain fact that he's from a country that's itching to take Sunderland to war.
But there's no malice in the brown eyes that look over the strange man in his bedsheets, just confusion and a glimmer of curiosity. "Aye, mi'laird. Ye ken ye wearin' a sheet, right?" He pauses, with a bit of a frown, as if he's only now noticed something else.
"Oy! Anna clucker on yer shoulder! Ye should check that, mi'laird, them lot be close tae Guardtrians." He offers it like a friendly warning, as if the gentleman might in fact have an infestation of something perilous.
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Posted: Thu Aug 09, 2012 6:20 pm
Every time Patrek dragged Aufidius from the tavern after a long evening of raucous singing and uproarious drinking, the young singer would shuffle along reluctanty behind him and demand, "Why are we here?" But he rarely put up a fight. When Aufidius was drunk - and he usually was drunk, especially at this hour - he tended to become a whole lot friendlier and a whole lot more compliant with Patrek, or anybody's, instructions.
That didn't mean he wouldn't make a huge deal out of it, though, and tonight, Aufidius had managed to hang onto his poorly handcrafted lute, and he stumbled down the street with one arm flung around Patrek's shoulders, somehow still clutching the lute, and the other arm strumming away. If Patrek hadn't needed that arm around his shoulder to drag the young singer away from his drink, he would have tried to slip the awkward embrace in which he was now trapped, but there was nothing to it, and he just stooped his shoulders to accomodate Aufidius' height. "There you go, easy does it, lad." As long as Aufidius didn't vomit on him, Patrek was happy enough.
To his credit, Aufidius seemed almost as drunk as the obviously inebriated guardsman stumbling in the opposite direction. "Why... Well, good morrow to ye!" Aufidius called out as loudly as he could manage, flailing his strumming hand wildly at everybody and nobody. Then the hand went promptly back to the lute, and he plucked several discordant notes that sounded unsuitably loud for the night.
When Patrek patted his shoulder and suggested they leave the nice gentlemen alone, Aufidius just shook his head and waved his hand as well to emphasize his disagreement. "Nuh, nonono," he mumbled, eyes half closed as he squinted toward the drunken guardsman and his companion. "They, the want, they need t'hear some of, some of me music, cap'n." And with that, he burst into song, though which song exactly, even Patrek couldn't tell.
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Posted: Thu Aug 09, 2012 11:02 pm
Were Aaltos a different man he would most certainly have found Macaire intimidating, as the man towers over him nearly twice his size. And though the old man is wary of him, he is not often as scared of people as others may be, mostly because his mind exists in a most odd state in which he harbours a firm belief that a generally decent man will not attack an elderly person. Where he got the idea from would certainly be a story, but the man has lived this way as long as he has been old (a long time) and so far it has - mostly - proven right. He also finds men are akin to animals in many ways. Show them a weakness and they will take it. And if not, he is confident enough in both his evasive abilities and the mans drunkeness to assume he will probably do alright for himself. Thus the man's rocking back and forth and mumbling elicit simply the skeptical raise of one fuzzy, white eyebrow as the old hedgewitch works on processing the man's words.
Though the drunks accent is think, with the amount of travelling the old hedgewitch has done he has managed to become rather proficient and accents and languages and so does not struggle unduly. The words, however, elicit a different reaction and Aaltos manages to look properly surprised and offended at the comments about the bedsheets. It is perhaps one of the most reliably annoying things about the old man, that he always seemed genuinely surprised when people did not recognize where on earth he obtained his strange outfits. No matter that most people have never been outside Sunderland he seems to hold every man with oddly high expectations in the culture department.
"This," he gestures to the outfit "is a kurta. Certainly not bedsheets!" His tone manages to come off not at all angry, but slightly shocked. Though at the mention of his "clucker" the man cannot help but break into a most amused chuckle. Clearly he is far more beset at the comment on his clothing than on his familiar. He acknowledges though that the man had mentioned guardians, meaning that he seems to have some form of knowledge of them, even if he may regard them rather lowly.
Saleha, who of course does not understand what is being said is still smart enough to pick up on the fact that the man distrusts her quite a bit and she ruffles her feathers at this, shifting her weight from foot to foot on Aaltos' shoulder.
"Tis the Guardians of Warding Wood t'will save Skibbereen!" She caws in a loud, uncanny imitation of Macaire's singing voice as she flaps her wings. This is another hobby of hers, repeating random sentences she hears from passers-by and she has become rather good at her voice imitations.
But it seems that the large guardsman is not the only drunk the old man will deal with tonight and he cringes inwardly as another voice reaches them. Another equally loud, equally drunk voice. Thankfully at least, this one seems to bring a more sober companion and this sight at least cheers Aaltos slightly. He will not have to deal with them alone at the very least and so when the man's rowdy song reaches there ears he simply gives a small shake of his head at the ridiculousness before turning to the sober companion with a shrug. The two of them know there probably is little to be done about the drunk men, and it may be the case Aaltos will just have to wait out the man's alcohol before attempting to discover whatever it was Saleha wants him to.
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Posted: Thu Aug 09, 2012 11:53 pm
A cold chill runs up Macaire's back when the raven speaks: it's clear from his stricken look that no matter how fearsome the soldier may seem, here indeed they have found something for him to fear! Given adequate reason he might even turn tail and stagger away from this cruel apparition: even the drunken song of another stranger cannot stir him from his frozen gaze. Saleha's little parlor trick has just sobered Macaire better than a bucket of snow-melt ever could.
He's afraid of her: a little bird on an old man's shoulder, and he's plain as day afraid of her.
" .. ach," he says, then after a strangled moment begins to get his voice back. "An ill omen that be, mi'laird. Ill -- ill -- I donnae like it, nat at all." He takes a wary step back from them, then looks to the man in bedsheets again, his correction seemingly having made little impact on Macaire's ignorance. "Yon Guartdians be coomin' back already, and tae be sure 'tis darkness soon to follow. Yon clucker kens the truth!" Plainly, while his fear has sobered him some, it has not made a clean sweep of it, but even for a drunk it is a strange fear to have.
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Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2012 6:59 am
For one frightening moment, it seemed as if Aufidius was attempting to get loose. He stuck his hand up into the air, and all but dashed forward as they neared the other two men, and would have broken free if Patrek had not clamped a vice-like grip on the singer's arm and hauled it back into place over his shoulder. "Don't, you great oaf," the soldier muttered, grimacing as Aufidius proceeded to slump down on his shoulder and drag his feet across the road.
"Would you stop that, sir!" Patrek hauled on the singer's arm again, and the sudden sharp bite that had come into his voice sent Aufidius scrambling back upright and looking sufficiently chastised for the next thirty seconds. Having enough time to catch his breath, he caught Aaltos' shrug and couldn't help but smile helplessly in return. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to be done when drunk men were about.
"Guard... guardians," Aufidius piped up suddenly, plucking another note on his lute, seemingly at random. "Y'know, I always told ye, cap'n, spirits don't exist." The singer tutted lightly and shook his head at Patrek, as if the soldier had been the one to mention the guardians. "Nooooobody wants t'eat nofin', see. Noobody. Innit right?" Aufidius raised his voice suddenly and flopped in Aaltos' direction with a brilliant smile that seemed to say he absolutely had to be right.
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Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2012 11:13 pm
Ahh...well now they've done it. Aaltos spares a sidelong glance at the bird as the eyes of the guardsman fill with fear at the words of the silly feathered thing. Perhaps he feels bad now that the man is so obviously put off by Saleha, and this is why when the bird begins to prepare for an encore, he shushes her by grabbing her beak and sandwiching it between his knobby fingers, much to her great displeasure. She tries shaking him off but he holds until he is certain she wont try any more performances in front of the man.
"Dont worry about her my friend. She doesn't understand words, only likes to repeat them." He grows serious a moment later though as the mans words ring a truer, darker tone. So it seems the man knows more about guardians than Aaltos has given him credit for initially. And maybe it is not that he holds them in low esteem, but he is afraid of what they mean. And rightly so. After all, the guardians have never appeared in such numbers as now since the Great War. And, everyone knows those stories.
"Perhaps you are right friend, but you do realize it is not the guardians that bring the darkness. Rather, they are our only hope against it." He speaks with the lecturing tone of a scholar, though of course the words hold far heavier undertones. It seems he is closer to what Saleha wanted from the man. It is evident he knows more than he appears to. But as the other drunk makes an almost lurch towards them, the hedgewitches attention is drawn away to the other men. He has fervent hopes that the singing man won't suddenly lose his supper onto Aaltos' outfit, and it is this fear that makes him sidle closer, would you believe it, to the guardsman. But the other man's words stir him more alert once again, as he seems another of this "modern" breed of person that believes himself above tales of spirits and wolves. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the enthusiasm and random musical interludes so he had to pause a moment to observe the three of his companions, two who were obviously not all there at the moment.
"Ahh but the spirits often work in the most mysterious of ways. If they very much wanted you to know them, then I'm sure that you would," He informs the second drunk. And on second thought...after he says the line the words stck with him as he lookes over the guardsman again. Perhaps this was what transpired with the first man - an unexpected, or unwanted encounter with the spirits.
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Posted: Sat Aug 11, 2012 10:48 pm
Oh, it isn't the Guardians that Macaire fears, not deep down. He shakes his head back and forth while Aaltos is speaking, again and again, and is still doing the same when the older man speaks to the drunks. Aaltos may also notice that Macaire has an automatic reaction when he moves closer to the soldier: it will, given his size, be hard to miss. But it is not a wobble of queasiness or a sense of bristling menace: without seeming to be aware of it he steps forward ever-so-slightly, turning just enough that he can watch two other men. This will also put him in between Aaltos and the drunks -- so that should they attack, he will be able to protect the unarmed Bedsheet Man.
And perhaps Bedsheet Man is on the right track, for mention of spirits makes Macaire shudder and clutch at his throat. There is a small lump just under his linen shirt, perhaps some kind of charm against such spirits; he glances uneasily at Aaltos again. " .. aye!" he mutters, as if he has been haunted by the same. "Aye! When 'tis they want ye, t'will have ye, 'tis true! 'Tis true." A small shudder, and he shakes his head one more time.
" .. oi kin see thonder darkness and ye can see thonder darkness, but them that as been taken by yon Guardtians .. oh, they be wee things, all full oop wit' wonder an' joy. B'ain't got nae knowin'," he confesses, trying in tone to put into that single word a thousand more. Children .. being children .. cannot understand that what Macaire fears is war, and war is a terrible thing to do to children. "Yon Guartians, they be victory, oh, aye, they bring it -- but tae have victory, ye must have war."
And that is the sum and total of his fears, deep enough to leave him wavering in the streets, still drunk -- he must be drunk, for he'd never have spilled his fear so easily if he were sober. It wouldn't have been appropriate; he wouldn't've spoken to Aaltos in the first place. a
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