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122nd of Vhalar 716

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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122nd Vhalar, 716

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It would appear, to the casual observer, that Faith had an inbuilt need, or a trained one, to feed. She had promised him lamb baked in a garlic and pistachio crust with chive potatoes and roasted root vegetables served with a mint gravy and she had delivered it cooked the very best she could. Served with a bottle of Stone Creek red wine she had eaten the food with more enthusiasm than the night before, although her appetite was small bordering on tiny, and she had taken sips at the wine but very slowly. Usually, followed by a strange expression on her face which suggested that not only was red wine an acquired taste, but also that she had not acquired it. In truth, she really didn't understand how Tristan drank so much of this muck. However, that aside, even she would have had to admit that the food was passing fair and she was pleased with it. If he'd have them, there would be extra helpings of everything and, to give her credit, she worked very hard not to just jump up and refill his glass or add to his plate. Mostly, she managed it, but now and then she realised too late and gave him an ironic and apologetic grin before sitting back down.

If he'd wanted to help with the preparation, she'd been more than happy to share that task with him, showing how to crush the pistachios, how to peel the vegetables, the basic tasks which he could pick up easily. She didn't ask him to, though, leaving it up to him what he wanted to do. During the preparation he might have noticed her moving more stiffly on one side than the other, like her arm or shoulder was stiff; she didn't say anything about it, but it was definitely there. Whilst she worked and whilst they ate it seemed that her default was to be quiet. She was perfectly content and she spoke if he did, but she didn't start a conversation at any point. Unsurprisingly, since he already knew her way of working, she was neat. She tidied and washed up as she went and had everything planned to within a trill it seemed, so that there was never disruption for any longer than there needed to be.

"There is more of everything, if you'd like anything?" She'd bought more than enough to feed four, after all, she didn't want to be caught short in her preparations. Once she was assured that he had eaten his fill she looked at him and suddenly smiled a most genuine smile "It is very tricky to not just take your glass over to put next to where you're sitting and then get on with the washing up. Small steps, though." It was all she could take, she knew, small steps; that meant of course that the journey would take longer but she couldn't go faster than she was capable of. "I went to see Lady Elyna and Malcolm today and told them." It had been important that she did, she knew. She'd mentioned them to him last night, but it had been a long night and she thought it was worth putting in context again.

How did she explain this? There were so many things that were going around her head and she looked at him and wondered if he had any idea of just what sort of lunacy he'd invited into his house. That wasn't a good thought, what if that meant that when she told him this he decided that didn't want her here? No. She banished that thought from her head and took a gulp of wine, pulled a face like she'd sucked at a particularly over-ripe lemon and charged head on in. "I was involved in the civil war last season. You know that. The Qe'dreki rebels who were holding Lady Elyna captive, who were trying to overthrow the king, they were the ones which attacked the walls. A lot of them fled and Malcolm and Elyna are leading troops into the burning mountains in a few trials to track them down." Such a large story, so many moments of terror and achievemnt and all the other things that she had felt, broken down into so few words.

"There was a moment, Padraig. When I realised that I'd made a difference and I could be free. I have to see it through. So I'm going with them. Which has knock on effects. I'll have to get the brand before I go. Lady Elyna and I tried to see the Empress today, but we weren't able to. We hope to, before we leave, to see if she can heal the brands rather than add a new one. But I can't be a branded slave in a military camp." She thought he probably didn't need that explaining, and she didn't offer to do so. "I'm scared of that. More scared than I'd like to admit, really. But if I have to, I'll do it." There was so much that she wanted to say about that. Would he think her hideous with a brand on her face? What about straight after it had been done, would he rather she was not here? She wanted to ask those things, and so many more, but of course, she did not. "I don't know how long the campaign will take. It might be a long time and not everyone will come back." There was no easy way to say that, so straight and clear was how she did it. Always, always it was so much easier just to hide behind factual statements.

"I didn't know they were going, but they told me and I've agreed to go with them. I didn't get details because Lord Krome was attacked, then I got stabbed. I'm fine, it's just a few stitches in my shoulder, but I needed to tell you. I'm leaving. I'll be back, I will. Plus, I wanted to ask you, really." Oh how did she do this? She wasn't good at any of this and she ran every scenario through in her mind. Each one had her saying things which she was just not physically capable of saying but which were there and pushing against her. More than that, every time she rehearsed it in her head she wanted to cry genuine tears and just ask him if he could still look at her with a brand on her face. It was beyond ridiculous. So, she stuck to what she was good at. "I thought that you would be a very helpful addition, your skills might be unexpected against the rebels. Also, we could pool resources and share things like equipment and tents. I'm not suggesting sleeping bags, but one tent rather than two. If you'd like to help. But there's no pressure, I haven't mentioned it to them, but I just thought you might...", she trailed off and sighed, she thought he might what? The possibilities were endless and she wrapped them all around in her head, tried to make sense of them and tried, genuinely tried to say all the things that she wanted to say.

"I'd like it if you did. But only if you want to, it's up to you, of course." Could it get any worse? Really, could she be more clumsy at this she thought and then, there it was, popping out of her mouth like she couldn't help herself "But I might have the brand, so you need to consider that." Marvellous work, Faith, her internal dialogue continued, make it look like you think he's that shallow. She took another glug of wine and pushed the glass away with a grimace. "That tastes worse than I communicate. I'm sorry. I should have stopped at 'I'd like it' or maybe ended with 'please, if you would, because then I'd feel like I might be able to do this'. That would have been better, and been more accurate"

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I forgot to deduct the cost of the wine (4gn), so have taken it out of my ledger now - the other stuff was paid for in the other thread. All there!
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Padraig had helped a little, preparing their meal. He'd crushed the pistachios, sliced and diced when she wanted to. For all that he wondered if in the kitchen, he was more a hindrance than a help. He was much better in fact at showing his appreciation for the meal itself, and his appetite hadn't suffered any since her arrival. A second helping of the lamb, as he'd discovered that in spite of it being something unfamiliar, he liked it quite a lot. But any more than that, he'd waved her efforts off with a shake of his head. "The food is delicious, you make a fine chef, but any more and I'll leave the table rounder, round the middle," he told her dryly.

Her apparent struggles with the wine left him both bemused and amused at once. If she didn't care for the stuff, why drink it? As for him, a single glass was enough. She'd mentioned their lessons earlier, and setting his fork down near the end of the meal, he said, "You know, if you still want lessons, we needn't call them that. I'm always happy to share what I know. But Tabitha...She doesn't come for lessons anymore and I can't say I regret it." The girl was thick as a brick after all and they'd never gotten far beyond rudimentary mathematics. "After me, she tried music lessons and lasted a single session. But apparently, her father has found a suitor for her." Which just went to show, apparently, that there was somebody out there for everyone. Poor, unsuspecting sod.

He was doing fairly well, Padraig thought, at focusing on other, less tricky topics of conversation, ever since they'd begun preparing the meal. After all, I know she'd said, and from his perspective, the response had sent a message. Problem was, he wasn't sure what that message was exactly. I know, but it's too soon? I know, but it was a sentiment she couldn't share or didn't want to? Had he misread her so completely? Under the circumstances, no matter what he'd rather, for now he'd choose to assume the latter. Better that, than to say more when she was just beginning to know her own mind. It occurred to him, he probably ought to stop trying to decipher a woman's mind and concentrate on science. He was better at it. But naturally, it was about to become more difficult.

"You'd told me about the civil war. But you're going back?" Somehow, in spite of his determination to leave personal things alone to avoid confusing her more, he couldn't help but feel disappointed that she'd be leaving again so soon, and into the thick of danger. The brand, at the moment, seemed like a safer topic. "May be, you'll be able to see the empress before you go." He hoped so. He knew how much she feared getting the thing. It would be painful, but it was also the prospect of being marked against her will, once again. "I know I've said it before. But it isn't right or just. There must be another way."

But she believed he could be of use if he came along? Or was it that she wanted him to? For courage? Or for companionship? If she'd been any other woman, under any other circumstance, he'd have wondered if she was fickle. But he knew that she wasn't. It was, surely, that she was finding it tricky to navigate through her newfound reality? "I'm not sure what value my particular skills will lend to the expedition. I wouldn't want my presence to be a hindrance. But if you think otherwise, and you want me there, then yes, I'll come," he told her. But then something she'd said gave him pause and he frowned curiously. "Why would the brand change anything? You think it would bother me, somehow repel me?" he asked. "It does bother me if you're forced to get it. But not for the reason you might think."

"I saw the brands, the other ones, the first time I saw you. But I stopped seeing them as soon as I knew you. Another one, no matter where it is, won't change that. It won't change my opinion of you. How I see or feel about you." Dammit, he'd resolved not to wander that way again, but she'd caught him unaware by wondering aloud, and it put him right back to being unsure of what she'd meant by, I know, and how to contend with it. "Why would you think that it might?" he asked.
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Why would it even begin to matter what they called them, she wondered. If they were going to continue lessons then lessons they were. But she shook her head, nonetheless "I can't take up your time, especially not your work time. But maybe in the evenings we can put aside some time to discuss things, if you aren't busy? I can teach you to cook, you can teach me magic with physics", she smiled at him and wondered if everything was quite alrght. He had enjoyed the food, there was no doubting it and she was pleased at that, so she dismissed the idea that he was pensive; it was probably just her imagination jumping at shadows, she considered. That theory was further fuelled by the discussion on Tabitha. Faith's face took on an incredulous expression which spoke volumes when he said that her father had found a suitor,"No! Who? Oh, don't tell me, but I'll pray for him." Every night for the rest of her life probably wouldn't be prayers enough, she considered and she grinned at Padraig with a wicked glint in her eyes which told of her amazement and amusement.

Which, of course, faded as they continued this conversation. She listened to everything he said and she sighed, just a slight sigh. She was jumping around from one thing to another and if he had his wires crossed and was confused well, it wasn't surprising really was it? "I don't like the taste of this", she tapped the wine glass and it gave a slight tinkling sound "But my first memory is of pouring it for one of the owners. I did it wrong and spilled some", she didn't explain more than that, she didn't think he'd want to hear and she had no need to describe it. "I don't know how old I was, I don't know how old I am, come to that but I was small, I remember. I learnt to pour it properly and I poured it a lot. Then for Jamal and then, well if I'm honest Padraig, I've never seen anyone drink as much wine as Tristan does." The slightest pause over the name, but not much. "When I was kneeling in that tent, Velijorn Burhan threw the goblet of wine at the boy next to me who I now know was the King. I have lived my life around this stuff and never tasted it, and I just wanted to see what it tasted like. All these arcs and I just didn't know. Silly, I know, but there it is", which of course had nothing to do with what he had said, but very much did at the same time.

"I think your skills will be useful. But that isn't why I want you to come" She pressed the pads of her fingers against each other, steepling her hands as she tried to make the words just come out clearly. "I have a duty to these people. I have to try and help them. They're my friends, but you're.." Oh well, now there was the question and she'd manouvered herself right into a corner. But no, she determined, she was going to be clear and unemotional. Or clear. If she was honest, she thought that vague and muggy was probably the best she could manage, but she did her best and looked at him as she spoke. "You're the person I ran to and as much as I know there were others I could have gone to, it would always be you. I feel confused and unclear and afraid, if I'm honest, and I keep saying it wrong, but I know that I have to help them and I know that I don't want to do that without you there. Preferably in our tent which is safe like our house and our dinner." She lowered her head, then, examining her hands and spoke again, her tone quiet and as calm as she had sounded for the last two trials.

"And the brand matters to me. I want you to see me as free, not reminded about what I was, but seeing who I am. It represents a limitation of choices, a lack of ability to be free to choose and it's an ugly great burn stuck on my face", she smiled slightly, lifting her head to look at him with an ironic quirk of her lips "The first words you ever said to me were 'you're a slave'. I was sassy about it, but it's what you saw, that's the point of the brands, even though I know you don't see them now. But on my face? Every time you look at me, Padraig, I don't want you to think about the owners, or the wine pouring, or anything. I'm not that person any more and I don't want it to be what anyone sees." She looked at him and smiled a soft smile which spoke more than her words managed."Especially not you."
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She could teach him to cook, he could share with her his knowledge of physics and chemistry. In truth, it would be some help to both of them. Padraig had already begun to consider that many of the ingredients she used to cook, or bake, might be useful for chemical, or alchemical creations as well. He'd be here at home, so would she, and when they were together there was no reason not to share knowledge that would benefit both. And he told her so.

"I can't imagine that anyone really cares for the taste of wine or stronger spirits, at first," he considered aloud when she explained to him why she drank the wine, in spite of not liking it much. "It's an acquired taste I think, resulting from the desired effect it has on the mind and body. You should take care though," he warned. "Too much and you'll forget yourself in ways you might rather not. And in the morning, you'll pay the price for overindulging." He had, more times than he could count. But not wine. He didn't mind it. But it wasn't usually his drink of choice.

But if she believed he'd be of use on this coming campaign? "Maybe," he said. "My blade skills have improved. But conceivably, other things might prove more useful, were I to make a few purchases, some preparations before we set out." Science after all wasn't simply a cerebral affair. There were legitimate, practical, real world applications known and only imagined that might be applied to any given situation. In the thick of a fight? Maybe. But the real reason she wanted him to go along, that interested him more at the moment. It warmed him, more than he could say; considering that sentiments like that were new or foreign territory for him. But he smiled at least, and agreed. "I'll go then. I'd rather you didn't go without me."

As for the brands? The smile was gone, replaced by a more thoughtful frown. There was vanity, yes. Of course there was. She wouldn't be human if the thought of a scar on her face didn't bother her. But it was much more than that, and he knew it already. The brands symbolized something, something that was no longer who she was, but what she had been. "They did represent those things, yes," he said quietly, looking her directly in the eyes. "But now they symbolize something very different. A sign of where you've been, and what you've managed to overcome to get you to this place." Then again, it wasn't about what she saw, but what others did.

"I saw them, yes," he admitted. "I made a callous remark, and I'm sorry for it. I can be blunt, thoughtless in the name of expediency...practicality, and I know it. But I also saw a more beautiful woman than any I've known before. One who was clever and quick, and one that..." Well, here he went trying to duck around the truth again. Not for his sake, but for hers. He'd tried, mostly in vain since she'd told him what Tristan had said to her, to keep any similar declarations to himself. Padraig didn't know her former master personally. He might be judging him too harshly. But it had struck him that the timing of a declaration of love seemed inconsiderate at best, and self serving at worst, and had played on her sense of feeling vulnerable.

And yet now, here she was saying things that made him rethink his approach. Maybe saying nothing risked more than declaring all, if she cared but believed he didn't. "When I look at you, I don't see the brands. I don't think about your former master, I don't think about chains or scars, real or imagined. I see you," he told her. "A new one won't change that. I see a woman who I've come to care for very deeply. More than I would care for a student, a friend and much different than I would for family. If I haven't said it, its because before this trial, it was impossible. And now that you're here, I don't want you to feel as if you should spare my feelings, or that you should feel the same."

Padraig wanted her here, after all, whether she did or she didn't. He wanted her to feel it was her home as much as his, regardless. The last thing he wanted, after all, was to make her uncomfortable to the point of leaving. And so it was a risk, but one he'd reasoned he should take, assuming he was reading her own sentiments accurately.
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It was a nice idea, she had to say and the thought of the two of them being able to sit together and talk through the evening about things of interest was appealing in many different ways. Certainly not something that she was going to skip the opportunity for, that was without a doubt, and she accepted the idea with enthusiasm. But on his warning of wine, she nodded "When Master first bought me, he was so very pleased to have a slave he loaned me to his family, whether they wanted me or not", she gave a grin at that memory, completely unaware that it might sound in any way anything other than amusing "One of the people was his cousin, Lord Andraska. The one who played the cello in the play? He took me to a party and gave me shots to drink. Then he sent me to get some more and some men saw the brands. They assumed that meant that I was available to them, but I had been instructed that I was not to be, unless ordered differently. I hit one of them with a tray, there was a fight, I got knocked cold, so I don't know if the headache the next trial was the shots or the pummelling I received." It didn't occur to her, in truth, that her life thusfar had been riddled with violence. She mostly assumed it was true of everyone. Why wouldn't it be?

It seemed, thankfully, that she'd been clearer in her communication about the campaign and she smiled in delight. "Thank you. It means a lot and I wouldn't want me to go without you either" Her smile was genuine, if somewhat mischievous, keeping things light and teasing if she could.

Which, it transpired, she really couldn't. "I haven't overcome anything. All I've done thusfar is answer a question honestly and run to you", which really didn't seem like major achievements to the young woman and she would have pointed that out but his next words had her shaking her head in disagreement, tempted to argue with him about the use of words like callous and certainly, disagree with his apology. But it was the rest of what he said that stopped her short, sitting in the chair and watching him with a rather surprised expression on her face. Her thoughts and feelings rushed around, the sound of them a cachophany in her head as she sat, unmoving and silent for a good thirty trills after he finished speaking. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she tried to make sense of what he had told her and to put her own emotions into words; the only movement was the slight clenching and unclenching of her hands, clasped together in her lap.

Then, she looked up and breathed in, trying to maintain her calm exterior. "So, first, I need to be clear with you, Padraig. You weren't callous, you were truthful. Please don't apologise. Please, don't ever apologise to me." That was the easy bit, of course. There was a lot more to say, a lot of it much more difficult for her and she realised that she really didn't know how to respond to him. She knew what she wanted to say, wanted to do, how she wanted to react, but she simply didn't know how. "Overwhelmed. When I'm outside of here, of us, I feel completely overwhelmed. Like I'm trying to contain a tidal wave from bursting out of me and another one from rolling over me. The two of them are competing and sometimes, I leak water from my eyes. It is a tidal wave escaping, which I am trying to hold back with my will alone", the lifting of her lips was a poor excuse for her usual smile, but it was as good an attempt as she could muster.

Standing, Faith collected up the plates and stacked them, one on top of the other and seemed for all the world like she was just going to ignore the rest of it until she put the plates back down on the table with a clatter, picked up her chair so that it was next to his and then sat, taking one of his hands in hers, entwining her fingers around his and looking down, for a moment, at their hands together. "When we were stranded together in the woods, after you mocked my beautiful outfit, claimed the loss of my shoes was a good thing and refused to hand me over like an item for barter, I slept with your arms around me, more than you slept I think, because I felt safe. Safe from harm, but safe to be myself, too. You make me feel like... that is when I'm with you I believe...", No, there was no doubting it, Faith was not good at this. Of all things, it was not until she started to get irritated with herself that she spoke in a more clear fashion. "I really am shoddy at this you know and I do not foresee myself getting much better. I have no intention of sparing your feelings and there is no need for me to because I feel the same way. I really don't know how you don't know that already when I've told you it so many ways and for some time now." Scarily, she was quite serious and was as annoyed at him as she was at herself. "I just didn't know you did and really, if I'm honest, I'm not quite sure what to do with it now that we both know. Shall we try and work out what we need to take with us on this campaign?" Yes, that made good sense to her.

But she didn't let go of his hand.
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It was not amusing, so far as Padraig was concerned, that she'd been passed around on a whim, to friends and family as if she was just a plaything, or maybe a favored hound for hunting. She'd had pluck. He knew that already and at least that brought on the briefest of smiles. No, not amused, but he'd said enough already on the topic, and wouldn't share his own impressions about a man she clearly was fond of. He chose a safer topic. The results of overindulging. "It was probably a combination of both. Though in my experience, the cheaper the libation, the more miserable the morning after."

He disagreed, to hear her say that she'd overcome little to nothing. By actions, perhaps not much just yet. But in spirit, she had, and quite a lot. And he told her so. But there was something else on her mind. Something she seemed to be struggling with. A result of what he'd said earlier, no doubt, and wondered if he should have. So Padraig left it alone, not wanting to make her feel more uncomfortable or pressured than he might have already. Because of course she was overwhelmed.

He watched her rise from her chair, observed her fidgeting, but said nothing before she finally returned and sat down beside him. What she said though, when she took his hand. Was he hearing her right, or only hearing what he wanted to? But no, he had to stop second guessing himself where she was concerned. There was much at stake, after all, for all that it was completely new territory. She felt the same way that he did. And the result was a rare, but genuine smile when she placed her hand in his. "I guess I'm a bit dense when it comes to these things," he told her dryly, and resisted the urge to instead inform her that to his reckoning, she'd never once said it. So how could he know? It didn't matter now, either way.

"I'm not good at this either. But I knew already that I cared, when I watched you soldiering across the cold, soggy ground in those ridiculous shoes, out in the woods. When you climbed out of the tub, fully clothed and looking like a drenched street urchin, after wrestling with that damned cat. And when you laughed at my joke during Tabitha's tutoring session, and snorted a little." So what now? Well they each knew where they stood didn't they? And wasn't it enough for now? "We go forward, knowing what we both know now." It was half the battle won already, Padraig thought. "But a list, yes," he said, and squeezed her hand before getting up to go after a piece of paper, his pen and an ink pot.

Sitting back down beside her, he passed her the paper and pen. "So we'll need that tent, for two. Warm clothes, transportation, rations that won't spoil...Medical supplies?" he asked. But then it occurred to him that he didn't know quite as much about what they'd be facing, in order for them to build a proper list. "What should I know about what we'll be up against, besides the cold?" he asked.
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"Well, I will accept that perhaps when I say that I've told you it, I mean more that I've not actually said anything. So perhaps it isn't entirely that you are dense, so much as lacking the ability to hear my thoughts. I'm prepared to accept that." Her smile was genuine and she recognised that his dry delivery of being dense was as far away from the truth as it was possible to be, and they both knew it. It was what it was, and it was enough that they did both know, all things considered. So, she contented herself with running her thumb over his and listened to what he had to say, her head lowered to look at their hands held together as he spoke. However, she lifted her head quite quickly and looked at him with an incredulous expression as he finished a sentence.

"I snorted when I laughed? Really?" The look she gave him was one of slight disbelief, but she said no more than that. She was most certainly not aware of ever snorting and it did not sound like the kind of thing that would be appropriate for a slave to do. Perhaps, she considered, Tabitha had done it and he had ascribed it to her, instead. Or something like that must surely be what had happened. She was not a natural snorter, she was convinced, but she kept quiet and did not argue.

They went forward both knowng? Well what on Idalos did that mean? Forward to what? Carrying on like this or changing something, she wondered. If it was changing something, what changed? Was he fundamentally saying it was good to know that they both felt this, whatever it was, and that they just kept on like this? Well, that seemed odd to her but if that was what he wanted to do, that was fine. She smiled as he squeezed her hand and then looked down at it and wondered if she was supposed to squeeze back. Oh, this was all very tricky. If there was one thing that she could say about being a slave, it was much more straightforward. Jamal wanted her to make coffins, she got taught how to and then made coffins. Tristan wanted her to share his bed, she learnt how to and then did. But what did 'We both go forward' mean?

Taking the parchment and paper, she nodded. "Not rations. I'm going as the cook, those sorts of things will be provided. I can make us some things that will keep a while, a lot of soldiers do that, bring their own. But yes, the hot meals will be me. But Malcolm and whoever else is in charge will take care of that. Tent, warm clothes, mounts, yes. Medical supplies too, although they'll have them I'd rather have them on hand, if possible." But then he made a fair point about not knowing what they were facing.

"The Qe'dreki are soldiers, families, we went to their camp, there were a lot of them. But then dragons landed from King Cassander and when everything that happened in that tent happened, the dragons decimated a lot of the camp. Then, they attacked the walls and a lot of them died, so their numbers must be lessened. But they are rebels, fighting against the rightful King. They have mages, I think, necromancers at least. On the way to the camp, we were attacked by zombies ~ I think it must have been one of them trying to kill Lady Elyna. Although, that doesn't really make sense because if she had married Lord Krome, it would have strengthened their claim. Lord Marcus Krome is Malcolm's son. He's a bad man, Padraig, he has performed some vile actions which aren't my story to tell, but he is. But if he's with them, then Malcolm is marching against his son." Which sounded like a very complicated thing to do, in her mind. "And they are leaving behind their baby. It is a very complicated relationship, but they love each other."

And then, of course, she explained, there was the beast. 'You might have heard about it from the civil war? My friend, Aeon, the one who taught us blades. He fought it that is where he got the scars and lot his hand. Tristan is making him a new one." The beast, she explained, she knew about only through what Aeon had told her. Two heads, both of which breathed fire. When it was damaged, it healed immediately. An arrow through the brain had not slowed it down. It had killed Immortals knew how many and Faith, quite genuine as she said it, told Padraig that she was worried that it had destroyed Aeon somehow, in his heart. She looked distraught at such a thing, because he was her friend and she cared about him very deeply. "But I was thinking about food colouring", she explained and smiled at him "There is a food colouring which is made from crushed up beetles but, Padraig, when you drop a food colouring or a flavour essence in to liquid, it spreads. That beast bleeds and blood is liquid. If it bleeds, then the thing to do is kill it through the blood, surely? To poison it's blood or, stop it from clotting, or burn it at the wound or... Well, I'm sure that there's something you could coat weapons in, but I just don't know what." Rather like whatever going forward meant. She was sure that he was clear, but it made no sense to her at all. "Is there anything that you can think of which might help?" She watched him and put the pen down "I have spent my life trying to do what was expected before it was expected, but you are a very confusing man, Padraig and I don't know how to go forward. I'm sorry, but what does that mean?"
word count: 1011
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Padraig
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"I think we can both agree then that I am not clairvoyant," he told her, and smiled when she mentioned the shortcoming; an inability to have read her mind. "And we might also agree that, neither are you, and I should be more clear in the future." As for the past? The situation had been an impossible ones. His feelings for her hadn't developed overnight. But her status as another man's belonging, had required that he keep them entirely to himself. If all this was new territory for her, it was no different for him.

She might not be a natural snorter. How could he know if she was? He hadn't heard her laughter often. Nonetheless, "You did, a little. But I liked it." Why was anyone's guess. But could be, it had provided him with a glimpse of her. One that had been rare, considering that so many of her behaviors had been taught to her, and also compelled by others.

"No rations then," he agreed, and dashed a line through the word, effectively removing it from their list. So, there were the rebels, and there was a beast. Padraig knew nothing about necromancy, except that the concept, what it signified, repelled him. And "Zombies?" Well, it made sense he guessed, what with the necromancers. "It would be difficult, to say the least," he added, referring to any man, needing to face his own kin in battle.

Then there was the beast. That was trickier. And was there anything he could come up with that might be of some use? Maybe, he considered. "The rebels, if they are ordinary flesh and bone, then some sort of explosive device ought work well against them. Something hand tossed, maybe, or something that could be launched out of a hollow tube, aimed in their direction, to explode on impact." Black powder, he explained, was difficult to purchase. But for someone with his skills, not at all difficult to make. A little powdered sulfur, charcoal, both of which acted as fuels. And saltpeter, easily made out of composted manure, which acted as an oxidizer.

"So if you placed black powder into a small ceramic pot, added shrapnel like metal shavings, broken glass and the like and stopped the top with a rag soaked in alcohol, like a wick...you could light and throw them at the enemy. Add a little pine pitch to the mix, and the burning stuff will stick to their skin as well."

But for the beast? "There is a poison, also used as a medicine, called Garrotte Vine Sap. It's an anti-coagulant," he explained. It would get blood moving throughout the body, throughout vital organs, in a way it wouldn't, under different circumstances. The stuff could be delivered at the point of a blood. "But it wouldn't be enough, would it? So, it might be combined with another poison, like ghost mushroom." Which, he explained, would shut down breathing and suffocate the victim.

"The combination could be swiped on a blade, and delivered that way. But it might also be stored in a glass, stoppered vial, and combined with some sort of accelerant. A foaming agents like licorice root," he considered. Packaged that way, the alchemist in him thought, it would need an oil like olive or almond added to the mix to act as a stabilizer inside a sealed bottle.

"You could throw or launch them in much the same way as the tossed explosives. And when the glass shatters on impact, causing scrapes and cuts to the body, the exposure to air would activate the accelerant and foaming agent, and speed the poison through the blood." In theory, yes, but he had the equipment on hand to pursue both plans, and the time to get them right and test them.

On the other hand, those questions seemed far less tricky than the last one she asked. He was confusing? In his opinion, he was the most straightforward, blunt person he knew. Not so much this trial, maybe. And he smiled a little. Understandable, he guessed, until this trial he hadn't been able to say what he'd wanted, and had felt as if he was walking on eggshells since, trying not to further confuse her. He'd done the opposite then. "I think..." He paused and frowned, unsure how to explain what he was feeling.

"I think that some things change going forward and some things don't. I didn't develop these feelings overnight, like some sort of spontaneous reaction to you being freed. It doesn't change that I think about you when I wake in the morning, and before I close my eyes at night. And a dozen more times in between. It doesn't change the fact that your happiness and welfare is somehow, inextricably tied to mine. There were things I can say and do now, that I couldn't before, when the rules forbid it and it would have done neither of us any favors. I couldn't say that I cared for you any more than I would a friend."

Taking her hand, he leaned in a little closer. "I couldn't have done this, even had I believed that you wanted the same. He did something then that he'd wanted to, long before this trial, so much that it was a source of constant distraction. He kissed her. Gently, only so much as she was willing, and then pulled back and smiled.

"It means that I love you." There, he'd said it, and hadn't considered it before he did. He'd have laid bets that he'd never have, or make the occasion to. He'd resolved in fact that he wouldn't, considering the position that her master had put her in. But not being clear had left her confused. "It means that there's no one but you, for me." And on a lighter, but also very important note, he added, "And it means that when, if you should become ready, should we find ourselves sharing a bed again, we each needn't be clinging to the edge of the bed and each pretending we are sleeping so as not to disturb the other. And I won't pretend to be unmoved when the reverse is so undeniably the case."
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Faith Augustin Champion
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"I don't know. You have been quite clear about my shoes." Her smile was teasing and mischievous "And your face when you first saw those victory curls spoke volumes. That is clarity in silence, which I am quite sure is an advanced skill. Then there was the cat bathing incident, you were quite clear throughout that. Moments of clarity, I'd say. Flashes. More than enough to work with, I'm sure." Since almost the first words they had spoken to each other, they had always had a slightly teasing relationship and that had been one of the things which had first made her realise that he was her friend and then, as they continued getting to know each other, that she had feelings for him.

On the subject of snorting, though, she was quite unmoveable. "I'm not sure that I did, you know. I believe you if you say I did but I can't imagine it's something I'd do often. Quite out of character." Her gaze was the very epitome of innocence as she added "A bit like that high pitched scream eminating from you when the cat got you. Quite out of character." Revenge, after all, was a dish best served cold and she had warned him about that cat. Maybe next time, he'd believe her when she told him about creatures of pure, unadulterated evil.

Sitting together, writing the list and thinking about ways to do what needed to be done was something which delighted Faith. It was rare and she smiled at him as she realised why it was such a rare thing. "I like this. Us. It feels... well, I like it. But I don't think that glass vial would cut deep enough to get it into the system from what Fred said. We'd have an irritated beast with foam on it. What about darts? We use spider fangs to deliver injections to patients. Kidnapper spider fangs. They are small and sharp and pierce the skin, injecting the medicine into the blood. Could we use that in a dart, I wonder?" Certainly, that made sense to her and she asked the question with a thoughtful expression. But still, details sorted, she'd asked what it was to go forward and looked at him in all seriousness as she waited for him to answer.

It wasn't an easy answer, judging by the pause, but Faith was a patient individual and she waited, hands on her lap, one on top of the other and relaxed. He would answer, of that she was sure, it was just what he would say that left her dumfounded. However, he had made the statement and he was, amongst other things, a scientist. He knew how to quantify his statements. When he started to speak, she listened with care, lowering her head to look at him as he tried to explain what he meant. She couldn't hide the smile of pleasure when he told her how often he thought of her and her hand sought his in the same moment that his took hers. That he thought about so much, so often was more than she had expected.

Which was something of an understatement in comparison to when he kissed her.

The realisation that he was about to do that elicited a small gasp from her, but even as she gasped she leant forward to meet him. It was a lingering moment where all of the 'what ifs' and the 'should' or 'should not' do or think or say fled from her and there was just them and just that moment and their embrace. Her hand in his tightened, surprised that he pulled back just when she thought he would do the opposite even as her head reeled and her emotions swirled. Looking back at it, later, what would impress her more than she thought possible was how he pulled back, just a trill before she needed him to and with her needs foremost in his mind. But that would be later, because even as she sat, wide eyed and trying to make words come out of her mouth, he told her that he loved her.

He told her, in fact, in no uncertain terms just what it meant to go forward and Faith listened in silence as he spoke. It meant that he loved her, that there was no one else for him? Later, she would worry that she would not be enough; but in that moment she did no such thing. And the last thing he told her it meant? Well, there was a message there which was more profound than the words themselves. That was why he had pulled back from the kiss, because it was down to her how they did this, how their relationship developed. It was all completely new territory to her and she didn't speak for a moment, her hand in his firm and not in any danger of letting go.

"That's clear", she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion as she leant her forehead against his, just for a moment. "I know what that means now. It means that I... " She slipped her other hand into his and breathed in a ragged, emotion-filled breath. "Well, I'm glad I asked." Her smile was genuine as she said that and her hands squeezed his "I didn't realise you felt like that", her explanation was simple but entirely honest "I'm so glad you do, more than I can tell you and I'd like it if you reminded me, because I'm not sure that I'll believe it in the morning. But, I need to just go to bed now and try to make some sense of the last two trials." Keeping her hands in his she leant forward and her lips brushed against his with a soft and gentle kiss. "I'll wash up in the morning. Or we can if you really insist, but I'm happy to do it. Either way, I love you too. I think maybe I have since I met you, I'm not really sure. Goodnight, Padraig. Sleep well." Taking her hands from his she stood and made her way to her curtained-off area where she got dressed, got into bed and fully expected to lay awake for breaks at a time, trying to make sense of her emotions but, actually, she was asleep within trills.
word count: 1084
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Whisper
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Faith


Peer Review

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/5
Structure: 5/5


Awarded Knowledge

Alcohol: The Taste of Wine
Chemical Warfare: Poisons
Garrotte Vine Sap: Anti-Coagulant
Pedraig: Calm of the Storm
Pedraig: Grounds Me
Pedraig: Loves Me
Poison: Garrotte Vine Sap
Slavery: Brands Show Overcoming Hardship
Slavery: Limitations of the Brand
Tactics: Chemical Warfare
Tactics: Wartime Strategies


Extras
Loot & Losses [/color]xxxxxx Injuries
Wine: -4gn [/color]xxxxxx None
Fame [/color]xxxxxx Devotion
None [/color]xxxxxx None
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Pedraig


Peer Review

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 5/5
Structure: 5/5


Awarded Knowledge

Chemical Warfare: Poisons
Faith: Brands of Slavery
Faith: Involvement in Civil War
Faith: More than Her Brands
Food Colouring: Crushed Beetles
Marcus Krome: Malcolm’s Son
Qe’dreki: Rebel Soldiers
Tactics: Chemical Warfare
Tactics: Wartime Strategies


Extras
Loot & Losses [/color]xxxxxx Injuries
None [/color]xxxxxx None
Fame [/color]xxxxxx Devotion
None [/color]xxxxxx None




Comments


Well.. that was certainly something. It's cute and worrying all at the same time!
Faith - that is the most cop-out ending I have ever seen!!! Awkward or what?!? :D poor Pedraig!

One negative: with thinner templates, I would suggest breaking up the paragraphs a bit more. Sometimes it can be quite demanding on the eyes to read more than 5 or 6 lines in a paragraph. But maybe that's just me.


As you can see, I have provided feedback and reasoning behind my review. If you have any questions, comments or criticism about your review, feel free to send me a PM and we can discuss it.
Thank ye.
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