With the escalation of hostilities between Etzos and Rhakros, a series of small walled towns is being established as a network of early warnings and defenses against Rhakros' reprisals. Only the very bravest and most formidable of characters should risk themselves on the Witches' Wilds frontier.
- Approved Character
- Posts: 84
- Joined: Sat Jan 23, 2016 4:40 am
- Race: Human
- Renown: +35
- Character Sheet
- Prophets' Notes
- Plot Notes
- Player Review
- Personal Journal
Ever The Questions
Cylus 20, 718
“Your hand alright?”
He’d expected the question sooner or later, but he wished them well for holding their tongues so long. The man who’d asked was young, not long sprouted from boyhood with a mess of brown hair and a permanently bewildered expression.
“Fine,” Ivanthe answered shortly. “Ran on ice, cut my hand on a rock. My own fault.”
Ivanthe hoped that perhaps he would pull his horse on, but he didn’t. The man and horse both trotted evenly right next to the boy’s wagon, right next to where Ivanthe himself sat in the driver’s seat, albeit reinless; his mare, Marigold, was following the next wagon up because was tethered to it.
“You name’s Ivanthe, right? I’m Kieran.”
Ivanthe groaned inwardly, realizing that the man was one of those: too friendly for his own good, and not terribly good at taking hints.
“Hello,” was his full response.
“Do you need anything for your hand?” He didn’t even wait for an answer before depositing a pile right next to the boy in question. “Here, there was a willow tree where we stopped yesterday. I got some of the bark for you.”
Ivanthe stared at the willow bark––anti-inflammatory if chewed and a painkiller if boiled into tea, but completely useless for a physical cut––and didn’t know how to respond.
“Thanks, I guess.”
Kieran beamed. “You’re welcome.”
Please leave me alone, please leave me alone, please leave me alone
“What are you doing in Etzos once you get there? My uncle hasn’t decided if we’re staying with the caravan or what. I’d like to stay in Etzos for a little while, at least; we’ve been traveling so long I can barely remember what an actual bed feels like. It would be a nice change.”
“Oh! I also found some chamomile yesterday, it’s over on our wagon; that should help your hand too.”
“Give me a moment, I’ll get it.”
Ivanthe ran frustrated hands through his hair as the young man trotted ahead. By the Fates, if he just knew how to ride he could escape encounters like this.
Kieran returned not only with a bushel of dried, stomach-calming chamomile but also a handful of what looked to be yarrow, which would have been wonderful if Ivanthe had had a cold or fever.
“My uncle’s a doctor,” Kieran said proudly. “He’s training me.”
To be what? Because you’re no doctor. Ivanthe didn’t say.
“He’s the second wagon in line, right behind the big one. That’s where all his supplies are, so he can have what he needs the second someone gets hurt.”
“Do you have someone waiting for you in Etzos? Family? Friends? You look like you could make lots of friends if you wanted.”
Sweet Immortals, please shut up. “Thanks.”
“I have a little sister about your age. Not with us, of course; Mother would skin me alive if I ever took Lily away from the Landing, but you’re clearly fine with it. I wonder if she’d ever want to travel. How did you get into it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Kieran!” someone called from up ahead.
“Venther?” Kieran called back. “What is it?”
“Come look at these sores on my mare’s neck, I think it’s trouble.”
Venther was just barely visible by the starlight, but his stifled snicker said that his mare was not a real concern––he had listened, and knew exactly what Ivanthe was thinking.
Kieran, though, had no idea, and trotted up happily to examine the older traveler’s mount. Venther winked at Ivanthe, who nodded gratefully in return. If Kieran was already bothering him on their second day together, this was going to be a long trip indeed.