Fallout

[Faith Augustin]

18th Zi'da, 716
Morning

"It's from Malc... the Warden", she said to Padraig, handing him the note. "He'd like us to come to see him." It was good timing, breakfast had just finished and there was time now. Although, of course, if he'd wanted to see them in the middle of the night, then they would have to answer. In this place, on this campaign it was very much his bat, his ball and he was captain. Faith looked at Padraig and smiled, although there were some nerves in her expression. The situation with Sintih the trial before had been difficult and she was worried about Padraig, who was worried about her and it was all just a mess, in truth. But there was no point to worrying about that now, it was happening and so she put down her cleaning cloth, untied the apron she wore and then looked at Padraig and smiled. "This is silly. I want to ask if I look alright. Immortals, I've known this man the longest of any free person bar none. He was literally the first one I met." Faith shook her head, slipped her hand into Padraig's and smiled. "I'm going to stop asking if you're coming with me and just assume you are, but I'm especially not going to ask now, because it's for both of us."

The messenger who had brought the note accompanied them and Faith smiled and thanked her as they were shown in. Malcolm was there, there were more maps than she thought had existed and she looked around in awe. She had been in military encampments before, not often but once or twice, and this place seemed like it was a hub of activity.

Faith was wearing very different clothes these trials, a far cry from the high fashion she had worn when Tristan had owned her. A long black thick wool skirt over a pair of thick black tights, knee high soft boots and a thick wool jumper which had long sleeves, held in place by a tight black belt was the outfit she was in, and frankly, she was comfortable. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid and she wore nothing resembling make up. If Malcolm noticed such things, when she moved, the neckline of her top revealed that there were bruises visable on her shoulders, just starting to reach to the bottom of her neck. Her hand in Padraig's was unashamed and she had an air of nervousness about her, but Faith's eyes showed her pleasure at seeing Malcolm as she stepped in and dropped a curtsy.

"You wanted to see us?" She spoke in a quiet tone and only when he looked at her. She smiled and no matter where she was, she was unequivocally herself, so she asked "How can we help?" Free woman or slave, it seemed, she had the same bottom line.

[Malcolm]

“I wanted to see him,” Malcolm had pointed with his eyes, pinning Padraig with a look of intrigue, “but I know the best way to catch the bull is to bring the cow,” he smiled, a terrible analogy, but the absolute truth in this case. Padraig did not strike him as a very socially confident man, but he was smart, and he had ideas that the warden sought to explore further.
Malcolm sat in a narrow chair with a tall, wooden back. The arms of the chair were padded with a thick, black fabric, raised an inch from the wood, no doubt because of the stuffing that had been used to fill them. He wore a long-sleeved, black tunic with gold trim, showy, but by no means a status piece, instead beautifully simple, almost foreign. Fitted loosely to his left wrist sat a golden torc, the opening of which were fashion with the head of two wolves. He was a man of Krome through and through, seen in wears, mannerisms, and even his look. Leather pants and boots kept his lower body warm, and his curly, black hair had grown down past the point of his chin, slicked back from the front of his face with oils. Faith’s gifted gloves sat nearby on the table that separated them, but for now he needed his hands and fingers free to write.
“Please sit,” the warden gestured to the two chairs on the other side of the table, a large map rolled out between them of the area and fixed to the table with small, wooden models, drawings taken from local maps, and recordings made through observation all present. “Of course, there is also the matter of yesterday’s event,” Malcolm looked at Faith, not wanting her to feel dismissed. No news so public went on in this camp without making its way back to him. “How are you feeling? Do you think the situation was handled appropriately?” Malcolm was really asking if Faith felt safe with the Eídisi around, or if she would prefer for him to be sent home.
The warden waved one of the squires down and had him fetch some fresh water for them all. “Padraig, our numbers are far fewer than that of Qe'dreki, and if we have any hope of beating them with minimal losses on both sides, I feel you are probably the man I should take advice from.” Malcolm needed to make it clear, they were here to arrest Qe'dreki leadership, not slaughter hundreds of boys.

[Padraig]

Of course he was going with her. Padraig wasn't prepared for Faith to go anywhere without him, so soon after the altercation with Sintih. He wasn't sure when, or more accurately, if that would change, so long as the man was lurking about. Personal guard or not. But she'd shown him the note the warden had sent, so the only real question was why. And why both of them?

There was only one way to find out. So Padraig accompanied the messenger with Faith by his side, back to the tent that the warden had made his home away from home these trials. He was armed and wearing the leather armor he'd acquired sometime back on the ghost ship. It was comfortable, allowed a surprising range of movement and considering he was as good as sleeping in it these trials, it was coming to feel like a second skin. Though that could be because opportunities for a proper wash were few and far between. But if any of it seemed like a hardship under other circumstances, the young man didn't mind so long as Faith was by his side.

The inside of the tent looked much as he would have expected it to. He was a scholar, a scientist and had no background whatever in military things, but he was plenty capable and observant enough to realize that this was, in effect, the heartbeat of the entire operation. The warden was there, and Faith spoke for them both. But he smiled, more at her eagerness to serve a friend than anything, and added, "Any way we can, lord Krome." After all, he didn't know the man well. Very little in fact. But what he did know was the extent of Faith's devotion, and that was enough for now.

The warden's words took him by surprise. He'd wanted to see him? Maybe, the man wanted to have words regarding the recent run in with Sinith. Padraig hadn't been particularly outspoken in his response to it all. Only to Faith in private. But in expression and deed, he'd made no real secret of it either. But then the warden's comments took him by surprise. The bull and the cow? He wasn't sure how Faith would take that, but in spite of himself, a fleeting grin crossed his face. One which he'd school away, best he could, should the lady in question glance sharply his way.

He waited for Faith to take her seat first, then took a chair next to her. The map was curious, and Padraig couldn't imagine it would be unfurled, were they not meant to see it. First, of course, was the previous matter. He glanced towards her when the question was asked, and kept his own counsel. They'd spoken about it already. And this was about her safety, her sense of well being. His concern, was that both were what they ought and should be.

"So we're outnumbered, then," he finally said with a second, fleeting glance at the map. But then his gaze lifted abruptly. Advice from him?. "Warden, to say I have very little experience in military matters would be a gross exaggeration. I have none at all to speak of. But Faith convinced me to come, believing I might have something to offer." But what, he wondered? "The poisons ought be useful against the beast if we were to happen across it. Or smeared on the tip of a sword for an ordinary man to ensure a deadly outcome," he considered. But both options were one swipe,, one opponent; even a particularly important one; and wouldn't make much of a dent if they were truly outnumbered.

"I've brought along sufficient black powder to put together any explosives you may need. Small blasts to pepper opposition with shrapnel and burning pine tar. Or larger ones for lost limbs and divots large enough to swallow a man whole." Or kill them, it went without saying. He paused there and frowned, wondering if there was anything else he could offer. Did the warden want to maximize casualties on the other side, or minimize them? He had an idea if it was the latter, or even the former, but only under the right circumstances.

"There might be something else...If I had the right ingredients, simple ones, and the conditions were right. Not all poisons are lethal ones, except in some cases, to the infirm, the very old or the very young. Wild mushrooms for example." He glanced at Faith, wondering if she had any in her kitchen. "It's never advised to eat them raw. They should always be cooked first. If a little chemistry and alchemy was applied in order to dry, neutralize and transform them into a potent liquid or powder...Well," he explained. It was slightly more complicated than that. Amplification and whatnot. But...

"Unless there's plenty of fresh water to be found, then an army must travel with it's own supply, yes? If the concoction could be spirited into their water supply, the same water used for drinking, cooking and so on, then within a break a great many if not all of them would be functioning at far less than their usual due to nausea, dizziness and dysentery." An enemy slumped over and clutching its gut, he thought, was less fearsome than one standing upright with sword in hand. But ultimately Padraig smiled and shrugged a little, admitting, "As I said, my martial experience is non-existent. But what knowledge I have is yours to use, however you see fit."

[Faith Augustin]

Faith noted the grin on Padraig's face out of the corner of her eye and she raised an eyebrow, looking at them both. It was her best attempt at an arch look, but the amusement she felt was evident in her eyes. "Moo", she replied, drily and briefly grinned at Malcolm as they made their way in and sat as bidden. Faith folded her hands in her lap and Malcolm might notice the tattoo on her wrist; black and delicate and certainly new. The other thing which was different was how she dealt with the cold. Even just before they'd left, Faith had wrapped herself up to the point of almost disappearing in coats and scarves against the cold. But now, she wore no gloves or scarf, no heavy coat; she didn't seem to be feeling it, or was hiding such very well. But, they were here because Malcolm had wanted to see Padraig, so she was quite content to sit and let them talk.

Except, of course, Malcolm's first question was to her. She looked up at him with some surprise. Faith had a history with this man as someone who answered what he asked her honestly, even when it really wasn't what he wanted to hear or what she wanted to say. "I feel annoyed at myself for letting him bruise me. I could and should have punched him into next season. I reverted to slave. I don't care about a few bruises, but I'm afraid." Her hands moved, one resting atop the other and she intertwined her fingers as she spoke again "I'm afraid for you. He did this", she gestured vaguely to her shoulders, "because I told him you are the best of men. I don't care what his hands did, I've had worse, but his eyes were pure hatred and his words pure venom. He hurt me out of frustration because I spoke for you and became his enemy in that moment. He said that he had trained all his life so that men would follow him and look at him, but they are too busy following you and looking at you. It was like you have taken his rightful power from him and he wants it back."

For a trill, she considered. Would she say the next bit? Yes, she knew that she had to. "When I told him you are here because you are an honourable and good man who earned his rank and that he was being consumed by hatred and jealousy and so wasn't fit to lead? He would have killed me then if he could. If this lot hadn't charged in, he would have." The smile she gave was nowhere near her eyes, but it was an attempt and she glanced at Padraig. "I've seen slave owners kill slaves and enjoy it. More than once. I've seen the look in a cruel man's eyes as he beats or whips or tortures to his whim and for his pleasure." She didn't say that they were doing those things to her. She didn't need to, they both knew. " I've lived with violence all my life and I know cruelty when I see it. I am not a panic striken girl who is spooked by a man giving me a few bruises. If he could have, there and then he would have killed me. Because in that moment I made a choice and it was you. By Famula, I would make that choice again and I pledge you my service as I do to Lady Elyna, in Famula's name. But if he gets the chance, he'll kill you, any way he can. And so I am afraid." She sighed slightly and lowered her gaze back to her hands.

But when the conversation moved, and she was relieved it did, Faith listened but said nothing as they talked. But when Padraig talked about the water supplies and so on, she shook her head slightly. "The logistics of organising supplies isn't so straightforward that you keep your water in one place. It has to be able to be moved, stored in a number of places is best". There was unlikely to be one central water supply, for all sorts of logistical reasons, especially in a camp of that number. She frowned and considered what they had with them, what could be found nearby. Then she looked up "Scarf rot. It's a herb that we use in the medical tents, it's antiseptic, wonderful thing. But prepared correctly, it puts a patient in pain to sleep. Rather than rain shrapnel and pain on them, could you use it to make an alchemical sleep powder and we rain that on them instead? With our troops having taken the antidote?" It was probably a daft idea, she considered, but she thought it was worth to say. At least it seemd good in theory, to her mind.

And then, as a memory hit her from the street party, Faith looked up suddenly "Oh blessed Famula, Malcolm, I'm so sorry. I just remembered something Sintih said. At the street party, he said he studies magic and I asked him if he practiced it. He avoided the answer, completely." Cursing herself for her stupidity, Faith looked at Malcolm with genuine apology on her face "I'm so sorry, I should have remembered that."

Off Topic

Erp, sorry for the mega post, but this girl has a history of over-answering Malcolm, it seems!

[Malcolm]

It was a lot to take in, and even before Malcolm could answer the two of them seemed to be arguing amongst themselves about which tactic would be better. Faith’s would cause less casualties, but would it be possible to gather enough of the supplies they needed, and how long would the sleep agent take to work? Was there really an antidote, and could the two of them make enough for all one hundred and fifty of them?
Malcolm was quiet for a time, allowing the two of them to go back and forth as he weighed up the best options. However, more concerning than his decision about that chemicals they would use to give themselves a leg up, was the fact that Faith didn't feel safe in his camp. To Malcolm, this was unacceptable. The debadged squire believed that life owed him something, and hated Malcolm because of his place of authority? On top of that he had tried to kill Faith, and was possibly fond of magic use. The warden rubbed his temple, Sintih was beginning to sound more and more like an enemy than a valued member of the team. He had come with the volunteer unit, Malcolm remembered one of the squire’s commanders mentioning.
“Faith you should have come to me right away,” he frowned, not understanding the forced smile on her face, why would she smile after giving a report like that? In forgoing the action she had put the decision in someone else's hands, and now felt tortured by the idea of Sintih’s presence alone. “I'll try and handle it. In the meantime if he so much as looks at you funny, you come straight to me.”
Malcolm looked deep in thought, eyes watching one of the small wooden figures on the map, a horse and rider stood on a wide, square base that kept it upright, and was painted black. All the figures that made up his legion were coloured black, while Qe'dreki's forces were painted blue. Looking at the figures, one with the right mathematical knowledge could quickly surmise that each carving represented ten men. Malcolm had twenty cavalry, forty archers, and seventy ground units. In all cases, Qe'dreki outnumbered them more than ten to one, but their forces were divided, and the closest two camps to them were estimated to be between twenty to two hundred strong.
“Both,” Malcolm decided. “We show them we are serious with the explosives, anyone brave enough to charge past that gets the sleeping agent. If I assign you one of the Radon brother’s units, will that be enough people to collect what you need and make the stuff within the next four trials, antidotes included?”
Just then two men barged through the tent opening, bickering about something Malcolm couldn't quite understand over their muttering, shoving, and sudden outbursts. He knocked the figures down and the map rolled up under its own weight. “Men?” Malcolm looked at the two of them as if he were about to cut them in half with his next line. “Or should I call you children? What seems to be the problem?”
Both of the knights answered at the same time, one talking over the other. “And then he took my sword!”
“Your sword!” the other complained. “It was my sword, you lost it to me in a bet!”
Malcolm shot up quickly, his hands slammed against the table. “And what makes the two of you think I give a damn about something so trivial? There is a hierarchy in this camp, just like any other camp,” he hissed. “Get out of my sight and go find your captain. Tell him if he doesn't punish the both of you, I will!”
The pair ran out of the tent like a couple of foxes that had just taken a leg of deer from the mouth of a wolf. Malcolm watched them until they were out of sight, brow knotted. He sank down into his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. “Idiots,” the warden shook his head with disbelief. “Sorry,” where were we, he thought, “the sleep agent, can you do it? And what of the explosives, can they be let off from a distance or is it anything within throwing range?” A minefield, he imagined, would be best.

[Padraig]

It was better, Padraig thought, for Faith to be completely upfront and outspoken, so far as her concerns and fears regarding Sintih. Some of it came as a surprise to him too, considering he'd assumed that the majority of her discomfort, was her own. Instead, it appeared that it was in equal part, or even lopsided, in favor of the warden's welfare. But that too made sense and if it served to put all on notice about the risks surrounding the man, then all the better.

And he too remembered, now, the mention of an interest in magic back then. Padraig hadn't thought much of it then. After all, wasn't alchemy a particular magic of it's own? If so, it would make him a user himself. The difference thought was in character, and sanity, both of which he believed, that for Sintih, were in short supply.

Nonetheless, now the warden knew the truth and might act on it in some way. Padraig's opinion was already formed and Faith knew it. The only way he'd believe that anyone in the camp was safe from the man, was to see him aboard a ship in chains, sailing away from shore.

As for what they might do to be some use to the campaign, Faith's idea was clever regarding scarf rot, and he smiled thoughtfully in response. "Easily enough," he said when she asked if he could do it. "It promises to be as much a chemical process as alchemy. In order to minimize the effects among our own, we might do our best to position ourselves downwind if possible, and place cloth across our own faces to further minimize the risk." He paused a trill or two to consider it further. "The tubes we created for my project back in Andaris, I brought spares with me and we might consider using them as a way to launch the stuff, if not dropped from above instead." Although the sky riders might do it just as easily.

The interruption however was both amusing, and concerning at once. Instead of seasoned fighting men, it was much like witnessing two young boys fighting over a favored toy. It was settled quickly enough however, and Padraig was reminded again just how much the warden had on his plate. "Yes," he said of the sleep agent, and within the desired time frame. So long as they had the assistance they needed, and the supplies, he and Faith together could easily fulfill both requests.

"The explosives," he considered further. "Just a couple of alterations should make them suitable to use as landmines instead of thrown weapons. Materials that can easily be found in Welles or around camp I'd imagine. I've brought ingredients for black powder but could use more for what you're suggesting, and for testing. But these are common things, easily gotten at a low, or no cost at all." In fact, some of it might be found in the medical tent as well. "I can rig them so that we can plant them in the ground, and the pressure of a misplaced foot would create the spark needed to set one off. Further, if your archers were to know exactly where they're placed, a well aimed arrow could set them off as well."

Obviously the things would need to be tested. But four trials was enough time to do it, and he and Faith would find a suitable location to test what they created between them.

[Faith Augustin]

"I'm sorry." Her apology was very genuine in response to Malcolm telling her that she should have come to him. "Captain Burhan was there though, and dealt with it. I didn't think it was appropriate to go anywhere else and mostly I was embarrassed." There was no doubting that. But when Malcolm urged her to come to him if Sintih so much as looked at her funny, Faith nodded. "I promise", she looked at him with her usual intense gaze. Besides, if Sintih so much as looked at her funny, she considered, she'd come to Malcolm to stop Padraig from killing him, or getting himself killed in the process.

Both? That made sense, both the damage and the ability to negate an issue without killing someone. Faith nodded and glanced at Padraig as he spoke. "Yes, downwind and covered faces is good ~ but we'll need to make it strong enough that it will knock them out quickly. Therefore, it would be better if we were immune, rather than... yes, I can do that." She nodded, a frown on her face thoughts flew through her mind "I think. And yes, that would be very helpful, thank you." The last she said to Malcolm directly, at the offer of a unit to collect herbs and supplies.

Examining the map, Faith looked at it with a frown. As the altercation happened between the two men and Malcolm dealt with them like they were a pair of warring children, which in fact was what they were acting like, she looked down. Unfurling the map back as it started to roll shut, she put the pieces back in place. "Yes, I think so. It certainly won't be for lack of effort if we fail. But... they have a camp here, and a camp here? What happens if we attack one? Will the people from Camp A come to find what happened in Camp B? Because if so, we could leave things for them. Like when I leave a soup on the stove, but just.. explosive or something." she shrugged, wondering. Did that make any sense? She looked to Malcolm to see, because without a doubt, he was the tactical one of them.

Unfortunately, as she spoke one of the soldiers came in and whispered to Malcolm. Faith looked at him and knew that h was irritated, but she also knew that he had to do this. "It's fine, we'll deal with it. Excuse us, Warden."

As the pair of them exited, leaving Malcolm to deal with yet another issue, Faith turned to Padraig and frowned, thoughtfully. "If we're going to create these explosives and the poison, we'll need to make lists of what we need. When we get back to the kitchen, I'll do that but I'll need your help." She looked at Padraig with a raised eyebrow and said, quiet and calm, "So, apparently, to get the bull you call the cow. I didn't know he was a farmer. I saw you smile, you know." The smile she gave told the truth of it; she was pleased that her people, people like Malcolm and Lady Elyna associated the two of them so closely. It was important to her. "And we need to make sure that, whatever you make, it can be stored. Will the temperature affect it?" All things to consider, she thought, as they walked away from Malcolm's tent together.

[Padraig]

So far as Padraig was concerned, discussing what to do about Sintih had come too late, and there was far too little of it. Or rather, the man's part in the campaign ought not be a topic of discussion now at all, considering that Padraig remained firm in his belief that the man should no longer be within leagues of this place. But he'd already made clear to Faith how he felt, and said nothing more on the topic.

As for the powder that Faith would create, in his mind there were two possibilities if there were in fact two enemy camps. "You can either target both of them at the same time," he suggested, "Or, like Faith says, rig some sort of explosive device that can be triggered at just the right time." Of course those types of decisions weren't his to make.

Ultimately though, the commander had other things to contend with, and if they were going to gather the supplies they needed and have time to test their creations, better that he and Faith got started. "We'll leave you to your work Warden, and get started on ours," he said before leaving with Faith.

"Temperature won't have any effect on the explosives," Padraig reassured her once they'd left the tent. "It's only important to keep them dry and away from an open flame." As for cows and bulls? "I didn't grin. It was only a little gas is all," he teased her and draped an arm around Faith's shoulder as they returned to their campsite.

[/style]

[Nymph]

REWARDS

FAITH

• Knowledge:
  • Malcolm: Creator of Terrible Analogies
  • Malcolm: Pledged To
  • Padraig: The Bull
  • Padraig: Apparently Gassy
  • Scarf Rot: A Sleep Agent
  • Sintih: Possible Mage
  Loot: None
  Injuries: None
  Fame: None
  
  Story: 3/5
  Collaboration: 5/5
  Structure: 5/5

- - - - - - -

MALCOLM

• Knowledge:
  • Faith: The Cow
  • Faith: Concerned Sintih May Wish Ill On You
  • Padraig: The Bull
  • Padraig: Creator of Explosives
  • Tactics: Combining Strategies from Advisors
  • Scarf Rot: A Sleep Agent
  • Sintih: Possible Mage
  Loot:
  Injuries:
  Fame:
  
  Story: 3/5
  Collaboration: 3/5 (2 Posts)
  Structure: 5/5

- - - - - - -

PADRAIG

• Knowledge:
  • Faith: The Cow
  • Malcolm: Creator of Terrible Analogies
  • Tactics: Using What You Know
  • Scarf Rot: A Sleep Agent
  • Sintih: Possible Mage
  Loot:
  Injuries:
  Fame:
  
  Story: 3/5
  Collaboration: 5/5
  Structure: 5/5

- - - - - - -

Comments: My apologies for taking so long.

I think the first two rounds had a lot of potential. It would have been nice to see a finalized plan between all three. It was disjointed at the end which is why I gave everyone a 3/5 for Story. I am sorry to see that this ended as it had. Good work otherwise.

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM. Thank you!