• Closed • An Unwanted Man.

[Squirrel]

1st of Ymiden, 720.

Sergeant Rynfar never took his eyes off Patrick for the entire journey. From the moment he'd been removed from his cell to their arrival at what would be Patrick's new home, not a single word had been uttered to him by the esteemed Guardian, nor any of his four accompanying Lieutenants. The open-top horse-drawn cart was stiff and uncomfortable, with nothing more than shallow shelves on either side for Patrick to sit. Sandwiched between two men clearly in full plate, and with openly-drawn swords resting on their laps. Not that Patrick could see it, but Sergeant Rynfar held a particularly heavy-looking mace. The silence of the men was more than made up by the creaking and squeaking of wheels, the shuffle of stones, the whispers and casual conversations of travellers and passers-by, peeking curiously into the cart to catch a glimpse of the five knights and their shackled prisoner.

Nevertheless, it must have been jarring when the old knight suddenly broke his peace. "OPEN THE GATES!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, followed by the heavy scuff of thick wooden doors being dragged open to accept the latest arrivals to Storm's Edge.

Here, at the very edge of disaster, was a place a man with little value left could be put to good use, one way or another. A place filled with people that had better things to worry about than a blind traitor with blood practically overflowing from his cupped hands. A place where he could even, perhaps, earn his keep one day. It was too good for him, in Sergeant Rynfar's eyes, but he had not been charged with this duty for his judgement. He had been charged for his unwavering dedication to his duty, and his ruthless arm when it came to disobedience. "Fetch the Ranger," he said as the cart was finally brought to a halt just outside the stables, and the man to the Sergeant's left hopped from the back of the cart to fetch Vega.

The other two hooked an arm around Patrick each and hauled him from his seat. There was no violence or cruelty to their actions, unless he forced it from them. Sergeant Rynfar had hand-picked the men himself in much the same manner as he had been picked himself.

Once the Officer had found Vega, briefly explained that her presence was formally requested as a matter of urgency at the courtyard, and guided her back to where the four men stood waiting patiently, Sergeant Rynfar removed his helmet to reveal a rather young-looking face with a sweat-soaked brow and a mop of unruly red hair. "Aha, you must be Vega, yeh? S'a honour! S'a big honour, yup." After hooking his hand under one armpit to ease a heavy-looking gauntlet off and offer his bare hand for a shake, he snapped his fingers and the Officer at his side reached into a satchel to produce a wax-sealed roll of parchment... and a glassy-looking orb with lightning crackling silently within it.

"Ilaren sends her congratulations upon becoming worthy of the title 'Ranger'," he said with a short nod towards the note, "and has a request that she believes you would be best suited to handle. This is prisoner Patrick Barnell. Effective immediately, should you accept it, charge and ownership over his care and daily work will fall to you, to carry out his service to Rharne and its people in whatever ways deemed fit, until such a time as he reaches the end of his natural life, or until Ilaren deems otherwise... whichever comes first."

Should she accept the offer, the Officer holding the orb would extend it to her. The moment Vega touched it, shocks ran down her arm like the crackling of lightning itself etching into her flesh... and the orb vanished, leaving Vega with the Mark of Palenon.

!	Message from: Squirrel
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[Patrick]

It finally was time to put all of this behind him, every bar that kept him caged and every inclination to be free. Today he left the prison not as a man, but a slave in shackles as the knights who escorted him sat all around. He knew nothing about where they were taking him, much less whether or not one of these knights was his alleged 'master' either. Still the wagon kept on rolling as he remained seated, his head hung low as his hands were clasped together. His wrists chafed badly from the cuffs that were around them, and the Ymiden air felt hot and sticky to be in now that he was finally out of prison. It likely didn't help that he hadn't had a proper bath, let alone a damn good shaving, since before he even went to prison... although he'd been allowed the chance to clean up before his trial back in Ashan.

Of course by now the jungle covering his head and face felt wet on his forehead, his eyes irritated by tickling sensations even though he could not see anything. "Ymiden... If you're able to hear this," he offered in silence, "let the warmth of your rays guide me please." He had no idea how faith normally worked in all of this, but lately he had started to get a good impression. Funny. For when one's eyes were shut too tight for too long, they avoided all the important details he could never see now. Yet he hadn't forgotten anything from before either, back when Ymiden had actually helped him with his curse just a little. Now however he was beyond help, for Patrick had to walk this rocky path alone; hopeful that he'd see the light of dawn when he reached it's end. If not before...

Yes he knew it now, while redemption was well out of his reach for the time being; that didn't stop him from hoping to attain it later. He had much to do after all, and when he finally got there; only then would he pursue the path to dawn. Eventually the wagon stopped and when a voice called out, the traitor slightly budged from the commotion he had heard. With every sound so enhanced it still remained impossible to filter everything, so naturally Patrick's biggest task had been avoiding a problematic headache.... and even then he felt like he were failing. Still the wagon rolled forward and the sound of chatter could be heard, as the carriage gradually came to a full stop before too long. Then when the knights surrounding him grasped his biceps, Patrick knew that had been the time to move. Thus he rose the moment he felt them tug, and proceeded to move until they helped him step down.

To finally feel the ground under his boots again brought a small sense of comfort, as he knew now that nothing kept him from being grounded for the moment. One good shove however and he might as well be crawling however, for his mind already felt disoriented from the lack of vision. Where they were... It hadn't been a full day since they left yet, Patrick knew that much otherwise he would've been cooked a while ago. They had to be near one of the towns to say the least, although Patrick didn't think any of them had gates to keep things out. No? That settles it then, he was at another base for the Lightning Knights; soon to meet the one that'd be in charge of him. Already his gut felt twisted into a knot, as he stood there amongst the Knights; his eyes averted to where he assumed the ground would be.

He needed a drink... He really needed a drink right now. But he couldn't let his nerves do this to him, no more could he be the scared lonesome man he once was; no more could he let himself be. The knight that was in charge of his escort seemed determined to meet with this Vega person. Patrick began to wonder if she might've been anyone important, never once being able to remember the name in his past experiences. Curiosity took root then until she apparently arrived, and the knight in question proceeded to congratulate her. Patrick however remained plain and indifferent, never changing his glum expression as his eyes searched darkness. Ultimately he wanted to gauge who this person was, and since he had only four senses to rely on; hearing was pretty much the only best thing to use.

"Patrick", "NPC"

[Vega]

Enter the diplomat.....

"Wot?"

That had been Vega's response to being told that there was an official here and she was 'formally requested' to go somewhere and do something, Vega didn't actually jump-to like most people would. "I don't give two twigs an' a twinkle who's here, or what they want," she said firmly. "I'm busy." She was, it was true. The individual had found Vega stacking up wood. He looked utterly flabbergasted at the woman when she said that, and Vega paid him no mind. "But... you are formally requested," he said again, like maybe she hadn't heard him the first time. "I know," she replied. "An' since it's a request the answer is no, till I get this done. You wanna help?"

So, Vega and the Knight who'd gone to get her arrived at where Sergeant Rynfar was and if he noticed it had taken a while, or that the knight accompanying her was nursing a splinter, he didn't say anything. "Yep, that's me. Nice to meet you," she said, and shook the Sergeant's hand. She frowned slightly, glancing over at the two Knights who were standing either side of what looked like a prisoner. "What's goin' on?"

She took the wax-sealed parchment, and opened it, then lifted her head in surprise at the word "Ilaren". Vega waved a hand at the Sergeant and said, quite respectfully for her, "Shush a minute, would you? I can't read great, an' it takes all my concentration, so if I'm listenin' to you talk, I'll get confused." He nodded and she lowered her head to read the parchment. As she read, her frown deepened, and then she lifted her head and motioned for the Sergeant to go on. He spoke, and Vega nodded. "It's my honour to serve Ilaren, an' I'm right grateful for the opportunity," she said, and she reached out to take the offered Orb.

"Slap my thigh an' call me Shirley, you should warn a girl before you do that!" Vega said with a grin and then she looked down at the mark it had left. "I'm right honoured. Thanks." She was, there was no doubting it, very pleased. But, then, she looked at Patrick. "A'right, so it seems I'm responsible for you, then. I'm Vega." She said no more than that, but she took his arm. The hand which held on to his elbow was strong; firm, but not harsh, she spoke to him. "An' I'm gonna lead you over to a place where we can sit down."

That was what she did - slowly, she led him to a low wall. "We're in Storm's Edge. We're under siege here, an' I came as a volunteer to help out." Vega's voice lifted in a slight smile. "An' I got recruited into the Knights. Not a bad gig, if we survive. So. Ok, there's a wall in front of you, that's it. We're gonna sit there." Once he'd sat, she sat next to him and then she spoke again.

"So, if this is gonna work, you're gonna need to be honest with me. So, how about you tell me everythin', from the beginnin' an' assume I know nothin'," she said. Then, she added, "in fairness, that's usually a pretty fair assumption. So, go on."

And that said, Vega fell quiet and she waited, listening to him.

[Patrick]

The knights at his side never once shifted in the time they spent waiting, and how they could remain standing in that manner for a while amazed Patrick. By this point in the waiting his legs were getting sleepy on him, with his feet starting to pine for a place to sit down. Then again the wagon ride had been somewhat uncomfortable, that standing for a bit actually felt like relief up until just about now. Now they stood around... waiting... waiting... and still waiting for what felt like hours to Patrick. Then again being a blind man left him with little perception on the passage of time also. Either way he started to grimace just a little, considerable thought put into the possibility that this 'Vega' wasn't gonna show. "Well this is getting awkward fast..." He began to think as he breathed out a slow sigh, that is until the alleged guest of honor finally graced them with her presence.

Apparently they had a note or missive from her, something that made Patrick wonder what it was she had to read. It likely concerned him in some way, or maybe the orders Ilaren herself wanted to give to the woman. Yet with the way she spoke? Honestly part of him felt the innate need to grin, the dialect she carried sounded quite unusual to the Rharnian's ears. Of course Patrick wasn't humored by the sound of her voice, moreso the quality of attitude felt in her sharp tones. He had never met anybody who sounded quite like her before, and granted it was a woman Patrick had been assigned to; he started to wonder just who exactly this Vega person really was. To him she came off foreign right from the start, and yet something about her exuded confidence already.

Something else must've taken place as Patrick heard a spark, the sizzling sound of electricity briefly manifesting before dying out once more. From the reaction Vega had given, she wasn't expecting such a thing to occur when it did. If the traitor himself had to guess, then it might've had something to do with Ilaren's blessing. He hadn't forgotten after all, what She had done before bestowing him with Her curse. If his inclinations were anything to be trusted, then deep down he knew and felt... Convoluted. There was still sadness for the fact he'd lost his own, but understanding that it was done out of necessity; based upon his actions prior to that point even. Of course there was also a bit of envy, but that paled in comparison to the hope he bore for Vega now. If she had been given Palenon just now, then that meant she would treat the blessing far better than he did. Therefore he hoped, in turn, that it served her better in the end.

She introduced herself to him and while he almost looked up, in her general direction, the Rharnian remained impassively quiet as his head still remained low. Now he felt nervous... Here he was about to be left at the mercy of a stranger, and he had no idea what she looked like to begin with. Part of him remained apprehensive, not ready to say a thing as she reached out to him; taking him by the elbow with the warning that they were going to move. They were going to find a spot to sit down at finally? It was almost innate how quickly he gave into the instruction, the steps in his feet being cautious ones as he followed the pull of her arm. Strange. She was stronger than any woman Patrick had ever came across, then again he had never really brawled much less arm wrestled against them. A moment came where the tip of his boots hit the ground first, causing him to stop so that he could reign in his balance before moving again.

Finally they reached the point of their destination, after a sluggish progression towards what had to be a stone wall. So they were going to sit on the ground then? No big deal there, now that he had a strong support to lean against. Patrick felt at the wall with both hands, the chain of his cuffs lightly tapping against the stone, as he used the surface to ease down into a sit against the structure. Now that he had finally found a place to be seated, much of the tension he showed before started to ease up a little; yet his hands showed small doses of jitters before he buried them between his inner thighs. Vega delivered it to him straight and forward, with the suggested implication that he explain himself to her like like she knew nothing. For all he knew she probably did, then again he doubted such was the case; since he also didn't know what she read in her missive from earlier.

Still he had to say something to her? Yet he didn't know where to begin. His eyes simple remained forward, with a minor wince as he recollected the shame of his history. Where to begin. "My name is Patrick Barnell," he finally muttered dryly with a clearing of his throat, "I'm the traitorous bastard of Rharne." Perfect. He could acknowledge who he was now, and even better he wasn't tearing up over it anymore. "I won't overwhelm you with all the details... unless you wish to know the entire story; but after Emea's Fall I became somebody I never wanted to be." Or rather something. He was many things before that though, things he also wished he didn't become; things that might've somehow weighed in on bringing him here. None of those mattered though, for in the end he had become a true monster; a living being of self loathing evil before finally going off the deep end.

"I became this person I never would've recognized... somebody I don't want to be ever again." That statement couldn't be ever more truer than now. "And the worse part about is that I let my own fears cloud my judgement." That's all that remained so far, constant fear of what he could still barely perceive. "I gave in to my impulses and it costed people their lives, and led me to betray everything that I came to love." Even now he wondered about everyone, about Faith and her family, and about his own family as well. There was nothing that could've made him more better than hearing Dax's voice once more, unfortunately the boy would remain in Rharne while Patrick lingered here. In Storm's Edge where he would serve this 'volunteer' from now on, although he questioned how long that would actually be if it were still under siege. He had missed out on so much being locked away, making him question his actual usefulness in the midst of all this.

What good would a blind man do against a siege? Patrick could've fought before sure, but without his sight all of that had been rendered useless. He was also unable to write or read, much less navigate or do just about anything vision related. But then he remembered; he wasn't here to help out at the fortress, he was here to serve under this Vega woman. Which meant he had to do whatever she deemed capable in his limited mobility. "I understand I'm meant to serve you now. Therefore you should be aware that by nightfall... I won't the same version of me you've met." How awkward this was going to get, as he felt pretty sure the lady would have questions revolving around that. "When night falls I pretty much lose my moral compass... the me you know now goes away, and the other guy comes out instead; the one I don't want to be anymore..." That was the simplistic way of explaining the situation to her, now he waited to hear if she needed to know more or not.

"Patrick", "NPC"

[Vega]

Enter the diplomat.....

Vega listened.

It wasn't something that the redhead did, usually, just sit and listen. But for this, it was important that she did. So, with the scroll open in front of her, she sat next to him and listened. When he finished, she was silent for a moment or two, possibly a painfully long time. But she was trying to work out just what it was that she wanted to say -how to express what she felt.

"So, yer a manipulatin' jackass who's playin' a role. An' also, you're not too bright. Righteo. That's how we'll do this then."

Oh, it seemed like she'd say it just like that. That was good, Vega thought. It was succinct. "The only thing in yer favour after that bunch of verbal dog-mess is that you told me the truth when you said your name," Vega said. There was the sound of parchment rustling and she pursed her lips. "Right. Point one. Yer not the victim, an' I'm not listenin' to any suggestions you are. Point two. What happened is that you gave away your 'light' in the Fall, an' you've used that as an excuse since. Qylios gave you a chance, an' then - accordin' to this parchment - you used that to justify murder an' treason. Loss of light don't mean loss of responsibility - an' it don't take away choice. You are responsible, an' you chose."

Vega said - and entirely meant - "If you pull that rubbish with me about there bein' another you who 'comes out' an' is someone other than who you are, I'm gonna get testy, an' you're not gonna like that. So shut your trap on that." She paused for a moment, thinking about how to word this. Again, she realised that - for her - there was only one way. "This is not about you. Playin' the victim an' actin' like it weren't your fault, some big boy came an' made you do it? That's not goin' to make your life easier. An' if I'm any judge o' character, you're all about makin' your life easier."

Vega sighed and shook her head. That was a disappointing start. Oh well. "So. Rules. You don't speak unless yer spoken to. You are either with me, or you're where I've sent you or put you." Ilaren had just put a lot of faith in her, and Vega wasn't about to break that. "You call me Vega, that's fine." She looked at him and considered it. "An' your name is Numb-nuts. Numb-nuts McNumpty. So, Numb-nuts, this is how it's gonna be. You're here, so this parchment tells me, not to get redeemed," no, it was clear on that. "but to begin to repay some of the damage that you've done. Until you begin to give me reason to believe different, you go nowhere unless I know it. "

Vega had hoped, upon reading the parchment, that she wouldn't have to be quite so straight talking as this, so firm with the rules. But there it was. "An' that only changes if an' when I have good reason to believe that you're beginnin' to understand that this is not about you. So, in light of that, I'm gonna ask you a question, an' I'd like you to switch off yer pitty-ditty, engage yer brain an' only then, when you've done those two things, open yer gob."

There was no part of Vega that was gentle with words, ever. This was not going to be an exception. "The question is - we're here in Storm's Edge. You're obviously blind. But we're in the middle of a seige an' have been for months. What, if anything, can you do to help the situation?"

And then, Vega was quiet and let him answer.

[Patrick]

Patrick's solemn gaze fell into one of utter bafflement with what he heard next, as Vega came right out with what she felt towards his explanation. Manipulative jackass? Playing a role?! Not very bright?! He couldn't help but bite his lower lip as he listened to her, wildly perplexed by her accent still but also innately frightened of her. Why? Why was he so damn scared? He had thought it would all be behind him now, but even then fear still clung to him like a wet blanket. Then of course she went on a tangent about him, clarifying points about him from what had to be validations she read in her letter; and then comparably what she listened to when Patrick had finally opened up to her.

Maybe... maybe he was being manipulative? He didn't dare put any intent into it, so he couldn't imagine how he was being so. Then again listening to her carry on with her points, it led him to realize that ultimately everything she had to say was indeed valid. As much as he wanted to believe it, his actions after the Fall were still his own regardless. Whether or not he made those choices during night or day never mattered, because in the end they still defined him for who he was. So in essence she was right, and deep down he hated that already, in calling him a manipulative jackass. Patrick started to realize just how hard this would truly get, as it became apparent to him that his guilt still plagued his every thought. He had thought himself better ready to handle all of this, when in truth he was only fooling himself with pitiful thinking.

And of course he was almost inclined to rebuttal her statement over the 'big boy' she threw out there... but instead Patrick merely frowned and exhaled softly through his nostrils. He didn't want to sound like he pinned the blame on some 'big baddie' that bullied him into it. It was certainly not his angle anymore, yet the painted illusion still must have remained if such were the case. He needed to rectify this immediately somehow, probably by staying silent and listening to her further lash him verbally. So this was already off to a great start... He was serving under a foreigner who had just recently joined the knights, and now officially at the mercy of her sharp and ruthless tongue. Surely by now the fates had an utter sense of irony...

Then came the rules she imposed on him, those which were already steep conditions he felt forced to uphold. No... There wasn't anyone forcing him here, he needed to stop being so damn close minded about this. Already he quelled the shame in his heart from rising up, bottling it in as he listened to her continue on. No speaking without prompt, stay close or only go wherever she told him to, and to of course call her by her name. Pretty standard stuff when he thought about it, granted there were few liberties involved such as bathroom breaks and the like. But of course he didn't dare bring that up to her... not after being told to speak only when spoken to. Yet when Vega came up with his new alleged nickname, his eyes faltered toward where the ground should be right now. Numb-nuts McNumpty?! Who the hell did this woman think she was?! She had no context about him other than whatever she read on that parchment.

She didn't know where he came from, much less everything he's had to suffer through, before joining the war and then failing to aid with Emea. All his loss and heartache, the miserable suffering that made him the way he was now... He almost wanted to loathe her for it, and yet he could only default to loathing himself instead. By now it was clear her words were hitting him harder and harder, as he required slow and steady breaths to keep from getting upset. An entire season spent in solitary confinement, and already he was ready to break under the pressure shortly after his release. No! This time he wasn't going to allow it, this time he kept it all bottled in; so that he could focus on what he was told. The crude woman had her points and she made them perfectly well, Patrick was all about making this as easy as possible; just so that he could focus on the goal ahead of him. He needed to stop and take a step back, look at everything for what it was; for the bigger picture right in front of him.

His actions were his but they didn't have to define him, and his history didn't have to determine his course in life either. They weren't hallmarks of his past that he needed to be ashamed of, they were rough points he detoured to in his life. What he needed to do was stop worrying, and focus on the situation at hand most of all. Sure enough he looked back up just a little, his eyes in a general direction as he bit his lower lip a little harder. All of this was about making things right in the end, so when he was asked what he could do in his condition; the Rharnian's eyebrows rose as he started to think on it. What could a bartender do when he's afflicted with blindness? Overall Patrick's ability to do much of anything remained hindered, even getting around remained a constant chore when he had no idea where he was. What good could he do in this situation? Already the dark thoughts of self depreciation started to rise, leading him to feel inclined to tell her 'nothing' at best.

But that's what he was trying to best now wasn't it? Move past all that and collectively think on what he could do. As he thought long and hard he started to ball his hands into fists, as he rested his head against the wall to look up into nothing. Let's see... Bartending wasn't necessarily the next best thing, and he wouldn't be able to do things like cooking without risk of starting a fire... Combat and scouting were out of the question also, since he would only hinder the effort with his affliction. Dammit he was struggling with this, yet he had to be able to do something that wasn't useless. "I-I can... move things? Clean things I guess?" Fuck him... Why was this proving to be so hard? "I honestly was only good at drinking and whoring before all this." Oh joy, the highlight of his career to be sure. "But I'm aware those aren't helpful in any of this..."

The least he could do was admit that, knowing that his vices barely created solutions. "The best I'm capable of is probably small tasks for now. Moving things is tricky but I can manage, and maybe a few chores if anything needs cleaning?... There is also..." Now that he thought about it his eyebrows furrowed a little, as he had never thought much about it before. Palenon as a curse enhanced every sound within his vicinity, making him hear things at a higher frequency or so he believed. Before he had thought Ilaren cursed him on principle, punishing him with it before sending him back to prison for the rest of Ashan. Now however he started to wonder... was it just about punishment? Or was this her way of throwing him a bone? As a blind man he was vulnerable to just about everything, yet when a blind man could hear just about anything in his proximity? "I can hear things more, everything within a certain range that is."

Even now his eyes searched within the darkness, as he focused more on the ambience pouring into his ears. He could hear all sorts of sounds right about now; the march of knights along the fortress wall, the sound of arrows whipping through air as archers perfected their aim, the bustling noise of merchants and travelers filling the courtyard. All of it was there just overwhelming his auditory senses, yet if he could learn to filter some if it out then maybe... just maybe that could be useful. "The Grand Matron cursed me as well, so even the sound of a pin drop is noticeable." He remarked as he stopped searching the area before him, letting his eyes falter to where the ground should be once more. "I... Don't know if there's anything else I can do really." He had almost slipped up again, adding an 'I'm sorry' to the end of that statement. By now however he had learned that sorry didn't get him anywhere, not when he needed to face the situation before him and find a solution.

"Patrick", "NPC"

[Vega]

Enter the diplomat.....

Vega was quiet as he spoke and she frowned slightly.

He'd done this weird breathing thing while she was talking and, as much as she might not show it, Vega understood that he was reacting to her words. She was far from sympathetic, but she understood more than she let on. Also, she was marked by Xiur and - of course - there was a part of her which held out hope for this guy.

Not much. But some.

He could move things, clean things? Vega watched him and she considered his words. She didn't speak while he did, just listened. Then, when he was done, she replied. "I half expected you to tell me 'nothin' ' in answer to what you can do," she said with a smile. "So, I'm glad you didn't. Maybe you're not a total loser, Numb-nuts. " She ruminated on that and then added, "But you probably are." He was a drunk and a whore? "Int'restin' skill set," Vega said, and stood up. "Come on then, lets be havin' you, enough lollygaggin' around."

She reached down and took his hand, hoisting him up on to his feet without a problem. "I'll lead you about." Vega said, and she took hold of his elbow to do just that. "I'm six foot, dead on. Long red hair what looks like someone died a sheep red then dragged it through a hedge. I've got a lot of freckles an' more teeth. I'm a biqaj an' sev'ryn mix. My husband is taller than me, stronger than me, and doesn't share. So if you get that itch, scratch yerself an' don't sniff anywhere else or I'll punch you into next Cylus." That was good, she thought. Clear and precise and totally no nonsense.

"I'm a fighter. I hit things. I also play the fiddle an' I dance an' sing." Vega said that to him and then considered. Maybe that would be something he could learn, she thought. Music was helpful, it was useful - and it was sound. If sound was where he was going, that was a good thing. She glanced at him as they walked - slowly - and allowed her thoughts to meander, casually. "So, we're bein' attacked by things," Vega said. She chuckled slightly as she said it, realising just how unclear that was. "They're like mutated fire-breathin' big things. For reasons which are no ones business, I call them - as a group - pumpernickels." Vega nodded. "An' then the types are jus' 'what they are-anickels', so we've had toadernickels, wolfanickels, blobanickels an' so on."

Vega cast an eye over him. He wasn't weedy or noodle-like. "Can you fight, at all?" Vega asked. "Because if yer gonna survive long enough to make up for one gazilionth of the rubbish you've done, you're going to need to be able to defend yourself here. I'll teach you. I know you're blind," she said, before he argued. "But Ilaren gave you a curse what's also a bit of a blessin' for a blind mine, aye? You won't be the first blind-fighter, an' you won't be the last. You'll jus' need to learn."

As they walked, she steered him carefully. Vega took pains to make sure that she didn't hurt him, or let him hurt himself, but she also did her best not to make that fact obvious. "So, this is what we're gonna do." Vega glanced around and, as was always her way, she made a decision in the moment.

"We're going to get you workin' now. There's plenty to do. I'm goin' to get you in the kitchens. Things need peelin' an' slicin'. You'll have to be careful not to cut yer fingers off, but pay attention an' you'll be fine. It's warm there, an' you can sit down. Also, stuff like shellin' peas an' washin' vegetables. It all needs doin'." She spoke to him in a manner that was no harsh like her earlier words had been - but she was far, far from kind.

"While yer doin' that, I'll get you somewhere to sleep sorted an' I'll talk to my Sergeant about you. I sleep very little, so you're gonna get used to doin' the same. While you're workin' in the kitchen, you don't speak unless the cook, who I'm gonna hand you over to, tells you to." She wanted to ask him if he understood. But, she didn't. Because he didn't have to, she knew. He just had to comply.

As the heat of the kitchen wafted out to them, Vega spoke to him. "An' here's the next thing I want you to do. When I get back, I want you to tell me how many people there were. Names if you can, and the height of each one. Rough idea of weight too. You can get all that if you listen. " That said, she took him into the kitchen and spoke to a male. "This here's a prisoner what I'm responsible for. It's laid out here." The rustling of parchment. "I've told him he's to sit, an' work. Peelin', washin', shellin' peas. That kind of thing. There's always jobs to be done. He's not to speak unless you say he can. That ok?" The cook said yes and Vega led Patrick to a chair.

"Put yer worthless butt there, an' I'll be back in three breaks. How the rest of the trial goes for you depends on the report I get for how well you did."

And with that, she turned and he heard her walk out.

[Patrick]

Had someone finally realized how hard he had been trying just now? Utter confusion developed what used to be a vacant expression, as he listened to Vega remark upon the fact he didn't resort to 'nothing' as expected. Truth be told even he was aware that it was his standard 'fallback' excuse, but now wasn't a time for him to rely on such old habits. Now was the time to adapt and, maybe, survive whatever the hell comes his way. While he doubted Vega would be the scariest of things he had to deal with, the Rharnian definitely considered her a better option than any other alternative. Then of course her comment on his 'skill set' left him even more confused, however he showed no sense of it as they appeared to be moving on.

Patrick did not wish to rely on the woman so much, since he already felt like he was under her care and supervision. That had always been one of the defining qualities he never failed to possess, so when he felt her take his to help him up; the Rharnian used her pull and the wall both to help ease him onto his feet. Almost right after he was up and steady once again, Vega warned him that they were about to be mobile again. It felt strange as he wanted to be more talkative, to be more open and honest with her all of a sudden. He realized that ultimately while she was his ordinator, she also could have very well been a friend. Yet while part of him wanted this, he knew better than to believe it so. Vega was by all means just another person doing her job, and Patrick just now became a part of that job from the looks of it.

Were they in different shoes however, then it was possible the two could've been friends. Of that he was certain, for her personality felt interesting to him now; after just the few reactions she'd displayed with him earlier. As she led him to Gods knew where however, she started to fill him in on details without question. Was she doing this just to inform him about her? Or was there any real motive behind sharing such information? No wait. There it was. Learning what Patrick heard from her, the utter confusion soon became replaced with solid reasoning. Remarkably he quite liked her style, particularly when she pretty much told him to be celibate.

He had been without booze or booty for over three seasons now, physically speaking he wasn't doing so bad but deep down... well it was too soon to start saying that he'd 'kill' for a drink. Regardless he remained quiet and complacent, with a bit of a nervous scratching done at the back of his head. Had he been stripped of every personal freedom? Granted he fed them more than just plausible reasoning to do so, but seeing how every little thing he enjoyed became revoked; it really started to sink in just how much he had forsaken during the war. Deep down the innate, rebellious part of him felt constrained now; as the metaphorical collar at his throat felt tighter and tighter. It led to him swallowing every bottled emotion so far back down, and keeping his mouth shut as they continued to move onward. Now she was talking about being a fighter as well as a musician, an interesting combination as he knew maybe one or two such people.

Typically bards and minstrels who travelled were more prone to be combat handy, so hearing that she was one such character made him wonder more. Truly. If she's fought her way to this point in her life, then she was certainly a worthy candidate to be in charge of him. She then started to go on about the things that were attacking, throwing out the most unusual of names for the lot of them. This is where confusion became all the more rampant, as Patrick's eyes merely narrowed into the very air in front of them. Pumpernickels? Anickels? Toadernickels?! Wolfanickels?!! Blobanickels?!!! He wanted to laugh out loud for some dumb reason now, the soft rumbles of a chuckle being the only thing he couldn't prevent from escaping.

Of course he was sure the woman would've heard it, as well as likely seen that he couldn't hide a faint smile for a second. She then went on to ask him if he could fight, leading on with considerable reasoning as to why he'd need to be able to. She even offered to teach him, and of course when he was about to say a word, she then added in the fact Ilaren's curse could've in fact been a blessing in disguise. Therefore when she seemed to present a long enough pause, he finally came to answer her question from before. "I've dabbled in a bit of combat before, prefer the use of a broadsword mostly. Or a Crossbow... I also picked up a little bit of training with staffs and knife throwing." Yet that was it, just a few skills he'd barely spent time refining. And now here he was, likely on the verge of learning to fight in total darkness; relying solely on his other senses to survive. He didn't feel the need to go on any further though, lest he risk becoming a smart ass about something; therefore warranting her wrath as a result.

They were heading for the kitchens apparently, a place he could considerably be of some use at least. Of course he was aware of how he'd have to cut things, and that he'd have to rely on his sense of touch to get the job done. Patrick's vacant expression almost changed once more, as he nearly furrowed a brow at her during the conversation. Of course for him conversation was putting it mildly, as part of him felt as though she talked at him mostly. Probably because of the fact he was to keep silent, but also due to the fact he secretly annoyed by all of this. Yet the true challenge and possibly the biggest reason why he almost did that, was because of the few extra things she wanted him to do. Like he could control the curse that was imparted upon him. For all he knew Patrick had no control, and anything he did might as well made things worse then they are. "Dammit, stop that!" He almost wanted to chew his own tongue now, realizing that yet again he was defaulting to the old mentality.

By now he could feel the heat of the kitchen greeting him, almost in a smouldering manner now that they likely stood near the doorway. His instructions were clear at this point, and while he remained impeccably stern with his vacant expression; deep down Patrick began to worry about what possibly came next. She clarified to the cook Pat's new role being there now, and after the cook agreed to let Vega leave him here; the traitor was soon brought over to a chair to sit. He was given three breaks worth of time, certainly long enough to try and get a grip on everything. There was an uneasy sense of apprehension when he listened to her, as Vega made it clear that his performance would impact the rest of his day. Given that it was already in shitville, likely heading towards shitport at any given moment; he deemed it quite important to at least listen to her. If he didn't try anything that she had said, the he might as well be the dead man walking... so naturally when she left him to his devices, Patrick brought his hands up to search the tabletop.

Noticing that he was in fact blind the cook seemed to scoff at him, of that the Rharnian was certain because... well... Okay it may have been a chuckle, but regardless he could determine something out of the cook; between the loud cracks heard from fire consuming wood, and the sound of what had to be broth bubbling in a pot somewhere. Hang on... Hold the fuck up. The Rharnian's eyebrows furrowed as he realized something. He could literally hear the water boiling in a pot. Granted it was one of the few ambient noises he had to filter out and register! Yet that already was a start at focusing on the task Vega gave him. Footsteps walked towards him as his hands searched the surface, surprise becoming the next emotional surge when his wrist was grabbed. "Here." The cook remarked as he placed something in his hand, from what the Rharnian could determine it had to be a cutting knife. Gripping it's wooden handle now, he swallowed hard and felt for the next thing to grab.

What his hand came across next was something ovular almost, but not so much as perfectly conforming to the exact shape. As he rubbed a thumb across the surface, he remembered the texture from times spent cooking before. What he currently held had to be a potato if he were to guess, which meant he was skinning them for the cook if anything else. Patrick had to be careful about how he went to do this, angling the knife so it rested in a sideways manner underneath his fingers. He remembered that the knights in the prison had him do this once or twice, though at the time he had been utterly useless and deemed better left in confinement. "Not this time." He reassured himself as he brought the knife towards a part of the potato, with a slow and careful cut made across the surface of the starch. Honestly he hadn't any clue if he was cutting the damn thing, but the fact he made a complete stroke at the pace of a turtle was a decent start.

"You know what," He started to think to himself, "I think I can fucking do this." And not just the peeling but everything, everything Vega told him to do earlier felt like something he could do. He just had to stop holding himself back, and in turn apply himself to what it was she wanted. Thus with another careful attempt at practice Patrick started once more, this time feeling a layer of potato hit his wrist as it fell onto the table. He didn't plan on slowing down for much longer, not until he had the motion needed to execute his task flawlessly. While the cook was either amused or annoyed by his lack of pace, Patrick was actually practicing holding the potato and knife at different angles. Until finally he found a way to successfully skin his first potato, leading him to search for the next as he focused more.

He focused but he also started to listen, clenching his jaw as he mentally picked out sounds he could determine.

"Patrick", "NPC"

[Squirrel]

Vega

Points: 15
Knowledges: Leadership x4, Intimidation x4
Renown: 10, for involvement with Lightning Knights, promotion, and gaining Palenon.
Loot: Vega has gained Palenon, and has earned the first three abilities of it as a result.

Elemental Manipulation - Lightning (Minor):
The character is able to control a small amount of lightning in relatively close proximity to themselves. Limited to a single bolt of lightning that can travel 20 feet before dissipating. Capable of throwing one lightning bolt every bit. If the bolt hits, it can cause shocking pains and numbness to any struck body part. Alcohol intoxication diminishes the power of this ability.
Sparked Interests I:
The character is granted an extra three skill points which may be spent only on the following skills: Unarmed Combat, Brewing, Singing, or Endurance. Any skill points granted by this Mark can break the 250 (or 100 if fast track) point cap on skills. Within these skills, the points may be spent how the pc chooses.
Life of the Party:
The character is able to share their emotions with a crowd within a short range around them for a single break. Greater levels of alcoholic intoxication increases the power of this ability.

Numb-nuts

Points: 15
Knowledges: Endurance: Sitting Out In The Ymiden Heat For Hours
Rhetoric: Embracing The Concept of Faith
Discipline: Waiting On Someone When They're Taking A While
Rhetoric: The Difference Between Being Self Absorbed and Self Reflective
Deception: Lying To Yourself Is Easiest Compared With Lying To Others
Discipline: Learning To Become A Solution Instead of a Problem
Rhetoric: Finding Humor In The Ways Someone Treats You
Rhetoric: The Mannerisms Of Bards
Renown: 5, for involvement with Lightning Knights.

Additional Notes:

Been watching this intently throughout and... oh boy, is this going to be an interesting progression over the coming seasons. Hopefully Patrick can earn a better nickname soon... otherwise, thoroughly enjoyable. Enjoy your rewards!

!

Message from: Squirrel

A brief summary of the contents of the note are as follows: Responsibility over Patrick Barnell is hereby transferred to Lightning Knight Vega Leinox until such a time as Ilaren deems otherwise, or until Vega Leinox formally requests that responsibility be transferred to another. While under her responsibility, it is Vega Leinox's duty to ensure that Patrick Barnell does not engage in any criminal or unsavoury behaviour, and to ensure that Patrick Barnell does not leave Rharne until further notice. The methods to which Vega Leinox chooses to enforce such restrictions is left at her discretion, with a request that she does not cause lasting or permanent damage to her charge, nor cause severe disturbance to the community unless absolutely necessary; however if under such circumstances these conditions shall be waived. Patrick Barnell has been ordered to make amends for the crimes that he has committed against Rharne and its peoples. While in his care, Vega Leinox cannot wilfully prevent attempts to make penance for his actions, unless they are deemed hazardous or unsavoury. Vega Leinox is similarly not required to provide assistance in these matters.