[PRP] Howling winds. [FIN]

[circus king]

Howling winds.

Where:

The forest southwest of Stillcrest, near the base of the mountains.

When:

A week after the winter solstice, in the early evening.

Weather:

Tremendously cold. The area is all covered in snow mounds due to a storm that hit Shyregoed some days ago.

Who:

A blueberry stunted (The Semblance of Unity) and Baron Flanagan (Circus King).

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Blue, blue as far as the eye could reach.
Blue over the mountains' horizon, blue above the trees, blue reflecting on stonehard ice and a deeper blue glittering in the distance, where the sea was. The peaceful color was to be found everywhere, specially now that the sun shone bright in the horizon, high enough to illuminate the majority of the forest. It was truly a northern scene, virginal and majestic, almost like a mirage.
It was, quite literally, the calm after the storm.
No one had expected winter to arrive so fiercely, yet the snowstorm that hit Shyregoed some days earlier had been truly terrifying. It began with a simple snowfall, which then evolved into an evil, window-opening, cabin-crushing and cow-stealing beast.

The herculean had been one of the few lucky ones who had managed to get out of their homes using the front door. Had it been because his front door was so badly positioned between two old logs or because he had had no trouble pushing the snow aside? No matter which the response to that question was, Baron came out of his house merry and determined.
If he, an unsociable creature, was happy about finally getting out of his den, the animals would be even happier about it.
He looked once, twice, when he came out, quite impressed at how much snow had fallen. He then turned around and patted his coat thrice: two mutts appeared before him almost instantly, waving their tails forth and back. Lord and Bishop were the most gleeful ones about escaping their dark little lair. The two pups began sniffing around immediately, until the hunter caught their attention with a clap. It was time for them to work.

The group wandered deep into the forest. When they reached the soft flatland where the foxes used to hide, the sun had already reached its peak.
He looked up slowly, fixing his eyes on the lonely tree that was right above him. Somewhere in between those branches, a Cardinal sung energetically. The forest always came across as lively and colorful after storms, and even if the excess of snow could be somewhat troublesome, Baron enjoyed the change in terrain.
"aroooo" Lord howled playfully. From the corner of his eye, the giant saw a red spot flying away.
So far, however, nor Baron nor his pups had noticed a worthy hunt.

 

[The Semblance of Unity]

Belkin hated the cold, loathed, detested, virulently disliked, he felt it all. And cold was all he felt right now. By rights, he should be warm, cozy, nestled as he was in sheep's wool. It was the one thing Castor had done right, he thought bitterly. The mage was a screw up at best and neglectful at worst. But since they were to be traveling through Shyregoed, he had keep a pouch on his belt just for Belkin.

Whenever it had begun to snow, Belkin had wormed his way deep into that pouch, cursing the whole time. Frozen water from the sky was the stupidest damn thing. The storm intensified around them; Belkin could hear the mournful howling of an unsatisfied wind. Despite bracing for the worst, it came as an utter shock when the pouch fell, the strings loosened from the continual force of the storm.

"Castor! Wait! Don't leave m-me!." But Belkin's voice was swallowed by the wind and, defeated, he huddled back into the pouch to wait out the storm. <******** awful country and their awful snow. Suddenly, a loud crack sounded above the wind. The last thing Belkin felt was a sharp, heavy, pain, then blackness.

------

In the snow, pinned under a fallen tree branch, lay a pouch. Bright red and covered in embroidery, it was an expensive-looking piece of craftsmanship. And, upon close inspection, it seemed to wiggle weakly every few seconds.  

[circus king]

His eyes met Lord's, who quickly looked away. The hound kept on aimlessly walking around, as if bored. Baron couldn't judge the poor thing, it had been days since the three of them had seen a good prey, and they had all been expecting a little bit more excitement. He had hoped they'd be able to find a good prey at the base of the mountain, yet, apart from them, the place was deserted.
He snorted loudly as he glanced around once more. It was a shame, really. Soon the sun would start setting and they'd have to head back home.
The giant closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of nothingness. It was a nice sound. It was calm, soothing and comforting, yet it also was peculiarly empty, terrifying.
Lord barked.

"Wh-at i-s it, L-ord" the giant whispered to himself, sneaking his hand inside his coat. In his pocket he found a familiar handkerchief. The pup had stopped, fixated on a certain point in the distance. "y'fou-nd sum-thin?" He fiddled around with the cloth for a bit, then he reached deeper into his pocket, until he trapped a particularly cold object. He began moving slowly towards the distant pup, bumping something as he did. Bishop whimpered.
"ah--- so-rry, fell-a" he muttered to the dog he had just pushed with his foot.
The beast caught his attention immediately. Even though she had just been pushed, the dog did not move from its spot. She kept picking at a spot near a branch and, from the looks of it, wouldn't stop.
Baron noticed, almost suddenly, the trace of red in the snow. Was it blood? Had the branch killed something? Was it a cardinal? He took a closer look, leaning over Bishop. There lay a beautiful red purse, all covered in dirt and snow.

He clicked his tongue as he kneeled down, carefully picking up the petite treasure. Ah, now what was that little thing doing there, in the middle of the forest? It didn't seem like it had been there for a very long time. Maybe a merchant had lost it on the way to the city. It wasn't too heavy, in fact, not heavy at all, and it was soft to the touch-- but what was inside of it?
Hmm. Was it okay for him to peek inside? Well, it didn't seem like its owner was anywhere to be found, so a little curiosity would harm no one.

His fingers slid crudely along the pouch's edges, then inside it. A curiously smooth feeling struck him and made him shiver-- what a strange thing that was!

 

[The Semblance of Unity]

Oh Panyma, Obscuvos, the Prophet, Ada....! The little stunted's internal pleas stopped as he rather quickly ran out of gods to call upon. But, despite his earnest pleas, the pouch he was in was moving. Belkin held himself very very still. He had no idea who had found his resting area. Some sort of wild animal? Or worse, a person. Suddenly, he brought one tiny hand up to pinch a plump cheek. This was what he wanted: to be found! It was probably Castor, once again realizing he needed the amazing Belkin.

Belkin smiled as the cloth bunched around him. A questing finger eased the pouch open and Belkin grabbed it and scurried out of the opening, hanging tenuously onto the attached arm. He looked up expectantly and his little mouth fell open. "W-what? Who are you? You're not damnable Castor!" His voice was small but strident, accusatory. This man was supposed to be someone but he wasn't! It was all such an affront to Belkin. As he spoke his blueberry-colored hands grasped the fabric on Baron's arm tighter. He wasn't Castor, thin, lithe, light-haired Castor. And, oh, this man smelled. He smelled of not bathing properly and unwashed fur and slightly.... slightly of death. Belkin's eyes narrowed. And, overcome by a wave of dizziness, he passed out.  

[circus king]

His entire body froze when, instead of a coin or an amulet, a little, soft, blue thing came out of the pouch. It quickly managed to get a hold of his sleeve, hanging from it just like a child would hang from a tree, and, while at first it seemed somewhat happy, that happiness soon transformed into anger.
Baron was, to put it simply, shocked: just what in the world was that thing? Could it be a fairy? a spirit? a demon? Could all those fairytale stories be true? Or was he just imagining things?
To top it off, it talked. It spoke human words, words he could understand, yet he paid no attention to them, entirely focused on trying to find an answer to all those questions rushing in his narrow head.

He felt the petite fella squeeze his sleeve harder, and, for a second, the grown man feared what that tiny thing might do to him-- yet all these emotions suddenly disappeared when the blueberry-colored fae plainly fell on the snow, as if dead.
Was it dead? No, no, probably not.

He looked around. Bishop and Lord were just as confused as he was.
What now?

He took a deep breath, until, finally, he came to a conclusion: it would be best to take it home. Out there, in the wild, it could be eaten by a squirrel or a wolf, and it didn't seem like the little fella would be able to hurt him, really-- unless it had some almighty magical powers, that was. Probably not.
He carefully grabbed the little treasure, putting it back inside the pouch, then hiding the red bag in between his clothes.
"tsh, co-me on" he called the pups, marching northeast.

The giant's home was quite cozy. The windows were all tightly closed in order to keep the snow out. The furniture, although old, was in a usable state. The place was, contrary to what one might assume, considerably ordered and clean.
The hearth had been burning non-stop for a couple of days, which made the ambient in the cabin both warm and dense, perfect for a long nap.
The hunter left the small bag on the table, on the side nearest to the chimney. Would it wake up? the thing? was it still there? He hesitantly sat down, staring at the red spot with fear. He went searching for a deer, but he had found a fae, how curious.

 

[The Semblance of Unity]

The first thing Belkin felt was warmth. A smile curled over his face and he snuggled down into the sheep's wool. The second thing he felt was pain. His head ached just like how Castor described a hangover: pounding and dry withe tiniest wet squelch. Belkin fisted his tiny handed as his memories flooded back, their inevitable tide unwanted and... smelly. As much as he wanted to stay in the pouch forever, there would be no point. Belkin had been found, at least. There was some comfort to that.

Sighing mightily, he wriggled the pouch open and began to extract himself. As Belkin was a little on the plump side, for an excito, this took a bit. Finally, with one last dramatic flourish, he kicked the pouch aside. He stood, stretched a little, and took the time to straighten his hat, his shirtsleeves, even the little points on his poofy pants. When finished, Belkin finally looked up. "I am Belkin. If you are my savior from the storm. I thank you. It was Panyma-damned awful." He shuddered delicately even at the thought of more snow.  

[circus king]

A couple of hours passed by (at least that's what Baron felt), yet his tension would not cease. How could he be calm when, on the other end of the table, a strange being slept? He tried focusing on the flames dancing in the hearth, then on the knives he would soon have to sharpen, then on his mother's old rosary, yet the red spot was always in his mind, haunting every single one of his movements.
Maybe he should've left it where he found it.
He ran his fingers through the fur on his coat, untangling it mindlessly. What if that thing-- that fairy, belonged to someone? It had said something about some "Castor" guy, after all. Had he stolen the little fella? Was that a kidnapping?
How complicated that was!

Baron stared at the pouch once more.
He had been expecting the little bag to move, he had been waiting for it to show any signs of life, but when it finally did so, he couldn't help but shiver. There it was again, that surreal image, the result of a dream gone bad.
Its languid, careful movements left the giant breathless. <********..." he overheard. Well, it spoke much better than he did, that was for sure.

Suddenly, the fae noticed his presence. It thanked him. He shivered once more, this time not because of his fear, but because of his shyness.
Oh? Oh! He had to say something now, right?
A few grunts came from his throat. Ah, no, maybe that would scare his guest. Perhaps it'd be better not to speak at all.
He interlaced his fingers on top of the table, hastily nodding. Yes, much better.

 

[The Semblance of Unity]

If Belkin had been in the possession of eyebrows, they would have been raised so high his hat would go sailing. Instead, his blue eyes merely widened before narrowing dramatically to near-slits in his inky face. This great giant bear of a man (if. in fact, there were a man behind those clothes; it could be a bear after all)... this striking large man spoke no word of acknowledgement except a few ill-formed grunts. Belkin tapped one foot impatiently. This could mean one of two things: either the man was dimply bad at speaking or he was not bothering to acknowledge Belkin. Since it really would take only the slightest of words to respond, it must be the second, Belkin mused. The corners of his mouth turned down in a fierce frown.

"Do you not speak beyond grunts? Are you a bear?" Belkin walked up to Baron, his rotund little body moving very quickly. In a bid for attention, he clambered onto the hands interlocked fingers and plopped down ingloriously and butt-first. As soon as he sat, Belkin regretted his decision. After all, he had no idea of the manner of this man. What if he were temperamental? Or liked to feed small stunted to his slobbering dogbeasts. Deflating. Belkin groaned and delicately rolled off Baron's hands. He lay flat on his back on the table, staring up at a ceiling he could not clearly see.  

[circus king]

His chest felt strangely heavy and smoggy as soon as he noticed the lil' one's fierce disappointment. Was that fear? Oh now, had he maddened his strange guest with his grunts? his lack of humanness? He had hoped, somewhere inside him, that that wouldn't be the outcome.
Unfortunately, what followed were the words he hated with so much passion. He grunted yet again, this time a tad more violently.

The minuscule lad (and, finally, Baron recognized him as a lad for the high, yet obviously boyish tone of his voice) swiftly came up to him, sitting on his hands and convincing the man of his existence. He immediately grew tense, feeling his delicate weight-- ah, what was he trying to do? Why had he come up to him? However, this same weight soon abandoned him, and he found his guest lying flat on the table, just like a dead fish.
The bear dimly muttered to himself, taken aback by the blueberry's behavior. How curious he was. He looked around slowly, what was he supposed to do now? Introduce himself? Give him something to eat? (Did he even eat?) Or maybe just show him the way out? Ah, but that probably wouldn't be too friendly. Why not the first two?

Baron quickly moved his hands to his pockets, exploring inside of these. He took out a handful of things: a small knife, an old rosary, a wrapped icicle, some rocks and a little piece of something... Nothing the little one would be able to eat, apparently. He then turned around, towards another table, and reached for a minuscule piece of raw meat, placing it next to the lil' fella. Maybe he'd like that, maybe.
Now that the gift was on the table, it was time for him to present himself-- if his throat wanted to, that was. He lifted his heavy hand up to his chest, nodding slowly, "...Ba-ron". Ah yes, that worked nicely. Now, who was his guest?

 

[The Semblance of Unity]

Lolling his head dramatically towards Baron, he watched as the other man emptied his pockets. What was this, a ******** show-and-tell? At this rate, he'd never be reunited with Castor. He closed his eyes at the pain of that thought. Well, maybe not pain at losing Castor, but losing that sense of familiarity. He could think of nothing worse than being trapped somewhere dirty. Perhaps being trapped where it snowed constantly. A delicate shudder wracked his body.

"...Ba-ron"

The beast had spoken! Belkin's eyes popped open in astonishment. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was a piece of raw meat. "Panyma's bones. ******** hell..." he muttered, scooting himself back. Was it a peace offering or some sort of brutal he-man challenge? He levered himself upward just as a hint of something...deathly wafted through the air. Oooohhh. Perhaps this was interesting, after all. He sauntered over to the man, sidestepping the meat neatly. He would show no hesitation, no fear, just be his blindingly witty self.

"Welllll. I'm not a Baron, I'm a Belkin, and I doubt you are titled so... Baron must be your name, am I right? And well, Sir Baron, I once again thank you for picking me out of the snow." He looked at Baron, trying to gauge his reaction. "I am but a humble Plague at your service. But you, ah... yes, you have something interesting here." With that, he turned and neatly dove on top of the icicle, hands pulling at the wrapping. All the while, tiny noises of hah! and muttered I knew its floated out of Belkin's pouty mouth.

"Boo, how chilly!" He shook his tiny hands and tsked at the large man. "But, Sir Baron, you've got a fine little lady here. You should take her to the Fellowship."  

[circus king]

Much to his own disgrace, the blueberry did not care for the meat he had so carefully placed next to him. Was it too dull a meal for him? was he not hungry? did he not eat at all? Baron's face grew tense as these questions rushed through his mind and made him nervous. He was definitely having a hard time connecting with his little guest, and his discomfort only grew the longer his guest stayed on the table. Maybe he should've left him where he had found him, after all...
Or maybe not.

He nodded slowly at the diminute one's loud thoughts, interlacing his fingers again as the imp thanked him. It was nothing, really, he wanted to say, yet it was not like he actually wanted to. So his name was Belkin! What an exotic name, the big man thought, the sound of it fit the blueberry quite well. Something in his guest's words interrupted his thoughts, however-- a plague? really? like the ones Gabriel had told him about? He was indeed small and he was indeed strange looking. It all made sense now! Baron pouted worryingly, how come he didn't realize earlier?

The plague then did something a little bit more curious. Baron followed him to the icicle, shivering a little when Belkin began pawing at his amulet. What had he found? The little one's hums only made him anxious.
Baron blinked once, twice. None of that made any sense to him. A fine little lady? Since when did icicles have genders...? Take her to the fellowship? Couldn't the mages get some icicles themselves...? The bear squinted his eyes and grumbled severely. Was he toying with him...?
Hm!
Perhaps though...
He looked at the icicle slowly, pouting once more and sighing. "uh-m" he stuttered "w-hy?"

 

[The Semblance of Unity]

The smell of sweet death swirled around Belkin as he stroked the icicle lovingly. It was a heady scent of rot, disease, decay, with the cleanest undernote of water. Ahhh, it was a scent to fall in love with. Pausing, he regarded Baron with a critical eye. The man... could he be worry of such an ice-born woman? At that moment, Baron grunted and grumbled. Such a thunderous man! So burly, too.. Belkin thought acerbically. This delicate icicle would likely be such a mismatch... but ice is hard and cold, really, who knew? At the mountain's question, he felt his loyalty to the mages bursting sharply in his chest.

"Why? Why?" If he'd had eyes, he would've rolled them back into his head so far they'd see Panyma. He settled for a sigh and a muttered curse. Here he nudged the icicle with one blue-clad foot. His glowing mouth turned up in a smile and he hopped closer to Baron.

"Do you understand what I'm saying? You've been blessed!" He paused, his face shifting slightly. This could be to his advantage as well, if he played it right. "If you do visit the mages, as you should, I can guide you. You know, as thanks for plucking me out of that ******** snow. I am a part of the Fellowship as well!" His pudgy chest puffed out with considerable pride. If he brought Baron to the Fellowship, perhaps he could find Cantor! Or at very least, he could have a fun journey.  

[circus king]

The big old man tilted his head slightly, obviously concerned about, firstly, the plague's sore tone and, second, the strange yet painfully logical things the little blueberry was telling him. While his confusion had somewhat ceased, he felt uneasy and, obviously, unconvinced: wasn't the plague a horrible thing? why would he, of all people, be a grimm?
Something inside of him, however, remained curious and happy about the peculiar experience. He was an old man, that was true, he felt old, yet that silly thing was a child-like hope, the one that's always a must when it comes to going on an adventure.
At least, he thought, his guest had given him an agreeable answer, and that was enough to keep him calm and interested.

He inhaled so hard that the fur on his coat, the one he had forgotten to take off in the middle of his excitement, danced towards his nose. He reclined his chin on his hand and stared at the blueish vermin for what seemed to be an eternity, slowly yet surely digesting the situation. Going to the mages? Taking his icicle there? Being blessed? What strange things to think about. Gabriel came to mind. Sheepishly, Baron shrank. Well, if the icicle could be of help to the mages, that's the least he could do for them, right?

He took another long breath, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds.
"W-ill do." He sighed, then nodding "We'll g-go."

 

[The Semblance of Unity]

The blueberry stunted watched Baron closely, noting each shift in muscles, hoping to deciphers the flickers behind his heavily lidded eyes. The quiet stretched between them as heavy as indecision. It crawled onto Belkin, latching on his back like an unwanted burden. He shuffled his feet, one hand still idly stroking the unmelting icicle. It was cold, but so was death, cold and gentle, and this might be the first time Belkin was content with the numb tingling of too-cold fingers.

It made him uneasy, Baron's reticent nature. Belkin was from a world of loud talkers and over-drinkers, of raccous laughter that chased silence down to slit its throat and then returned to the party, wet blood glistening on its merry lips. The glare of the past shone in Belkin's blue eyes as he waited for the mountain to move. It breathed and that breath banished that dreadful light. At Baron;'s deep, halting words, a blue grin split the stunted dark face.

"We're going, we're going!" His voice sing-songed in pleased surprise and Belkin bounced a little in joy. Pausing in his mirth, he hefted the icicle, nearly over balancing. Belkin was not a small stunted necessarily, but the Plague was oddly heavy. With careful, almost hesitant steps, Belkin made his way back over to the mountainous man, placing the cold ice near one hairy hand. <******** god's bells, he thought, he was huge! He bowed once more to Baron, a courtly move, all frills and no substance.

"This is your lady, Baron. Treat her damn well." He cocked his head, thinking. "The closest Fellowship is the Northern Base, even more ull of ******** snow than here perhaps. But, alas," His sigh was heavy and utterly fake. "we must go. Even Castor was headed there, the lunkhead. All of Shyregoed is cold as a witch's tit in a brass bra, so it matters not where we go. We should go soon?" Bright blue eyes widened dramatically and fixed on Baron's rugged face. The man was smelly and spoke less than Belkin farted, but he was also Belkin's transportation. This was the stunted's Best Pleading Face.  

[circus king]

His eyes widened in surprise, gladness flickering in them. Really? Was he that excited about going? A little smile escaped him. The plague's small bounces and loud cheers definitely contrasted his bad case of sailor's mouth, he looked like a child who'd only learnt the wonders of swearing, Baron thought. What was so special about meeting the mages, though? The berry's merry excitement almost made it look like a nice thing to do. To him it seemed more like a chore (talking to them, that was), but well, yes, the journey would definitely be an adventure.

He carefully followed the little beast around as he rose the icicle up high, yet the giant's mind was somewhere else. He softly snorted to himself, rabbits dancing in his chest, his nervousness starting to grow. Would that be okay, though, meeting those cautious warlocks? Would it be as fun as Belkin made it look? He was neither an orator nor a negotiator, after all. Ah-- but it was too late now. He'd told the little one they'd go-- but actually, go where?

He abruptly bounced when the cold-kissed dagger tapped his left hand, bringing him back to reality. Well, the icicle sure didn't look anything like a lady to him, but if Belkin insisted, then he would gladly take care of her. Next, he nodded, yes, the Northern bases should be the closest hub, after all-- and if that Castor kid was headed there too, all the better. He brought a couple of fingers up to his chin, slowly playing with his unattended beard. How much food would they have to take? How many days would the trip last? Would an axe be of use? "Hm." he muttered "Tom-or-row mor-nin'.
He stood up, calling Bishop to his side-- ah, but... He turned around once more, staring at the plague "y-ou ea-t?