Characters in this post
View character profile for: Starri Gierdmonsson
View character profile for: Yrsa Gierdmonsson
View character profile for: General Stavenge (NPC)
Silent Night (Part 2)
[Dawson's Healing Works, Evening]
The twins had been holed up in the shop for the day, Starri sleeping soundly thanks to whatever beverage that strange woman had brewed. Yrsa hadn't left his side, hadn't slept. Anything could happen at any moment and she was not risking her brother's hide over a stranger.
Gemma was seated behind the counter eyeballing a book with her chin resting in a palm. The agitation in her expression was clear. "Killing an innocent man is immoral and would damage my reputation. I heal people, not kill them. I don't even know who you are so I'd have little reason to." Gemma didn't look up as she spoke. The Aelmeri woman's gaze pierced into her skin with much judgement. Like daggers, sharp and hot. As assumed, Yrsa was silent for a time.
"Aren't witch. Where you learn to heal?"
"My mother was a skilled alchemist some time ago here in this shop. This village cherished her for that and she travelled far and wide selling her tonics."
"So why you?"
The Shopkeeper grimaced. She could never really have the same touch her mother did. Her mother’s kindness and perfected batches of tonics made her popular in neighboring towns as well as Warfall itself. A beacon of the community--even during her youngest daughter’s death--now gone unlit after all this time. "She is ill. Thought that was common knowledge here in town but of course outsiders like you wouldn’t know jack. I've heard about you northern Aelmerians being all pissy after the loss.”
Ignoring her jests, Yrsa's eyes narrowed out the window where the sun was beginning to rest on the horizon. She examined the village life with a tiger eye that caught almost everything at once. Almost too much. In her search she had found a towering fellow with a similar build to that of what she was used to back home. Impressive blonde locks framed a stoic face held up by wide shoulders. The armor he was plated in was bold considering they were in Warfall across the Sarnian border. An enemy country. And he donned the armor of her clan. Why else than to find the traitors the clan had lost and despised? Dyri’s outreach was growing stronger but she was more than willing to cut them down if it meant freedom. Her brother and her were hated on both sides of the border even if they did fight for Sarnia. Now, they fought to keep their freedom.
"Are no good if you can't heal her." Gemma scowled at the woman and was about to snap back but Yrsa stood abruptly, rumbling the wood floor, and stormed outside of the shop without another word. Quick, too. There one minute and gone the next. The shopkeeper thought little of it and rolled her eyes, stuffing her nose in the book again. Starri snored comfortably in the corner.
The man was walking cautiously through town and had entered a darker, less populated area with an alley jutting out to his left. As he neared it Yrsa walked at a brisk pace, steam pouring out of her nostrils as she did. Her fingers slipped a dagger from the strip of leather in her bear pelt boots, flipped angrily at the fingers of a war dog ready to kill. He crossed the alley entrance and was gripped by the fur at his collar and shoved aggressively into the dim lighting.
"Rovi kroka!" Filthy mutt! She snarled slamming the large man against the cobble wall of a building, dagger pressed into his throat enough to mark the flesh. She saw nothing but an enemy and with enemies came answers.
"Ah sathi dy asadi thrai denya. Hona haylun mu beno bariseul u?" I see that armor clear as day. How long have you been following us? Yrsa was growling, spitting in his face as she spoke in a hushed tone like a creature gone rabid.
Stavenge kept his appearance stern to coat the flames rising inside him. He didn't want trouble but this one did, and this one wore familiar hides and a clearly fluent tongue in a language only taken up in clans of north Aelmere. His natural tongue. It was possible that she was here to kill him on behalf of the clan’s honor.
"I haven't followed you, I've been in this village for years. I'm the leader of the militia and you'd be smart to unhand me."
Her grip only tightened and she changed her speak to that of her broken, accented Commontalk. "Dyri send you?"
Stavenge's eyes went from narrow to wide as the name struck a chord. Dyri? The eldest boy of the main Gierdmonsson family had stirred up some trouble, no doubt. The boy was just as hunger-some as his father, and if what the man heard was true, the father was dead. Brutally usurped. By none other than his son? And if that were true, his nephew was not fit to lead in a healthy manner. He'd heard nothing on the other two, yet this one had his recognition. The piercing eyes, the night black in their hair, the build. This was a clanswoman but it was tough to say who exactly. He'd only ever seen his nephews and niece from afar due to being estranged for differing opinions, only back then he wasn’t quite self-exiled yet.
That’s when they were interrupted.