[Oakleigh] The road to truth

[Sintih]

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hey didn't seem to be in a good spot. Sin didn't know how much use Hart would be if this turned into a fight. That he would eventually win was nothing but a certainty if Hart hadn't been here, sword or not. Sintih glanced back to Hart and to the incoming riders to see one of them pull ahead, speeding up. He passed them quickly, simply nodding to them. Sintih kept his eye on him, shifting between the rider moving away from them and the other two riders coming up to them. Their pace was too slow for anyone to match unless they were planning on talking and when the sound of hooves behind them slowed down, Sin's attention was fully on the pair.

The man looked them over as they pulled up next to them and the woman greeted them. Sin found himself a living wall between Hart and the man and woman who'd decided that they rather slow down to this horrible pace and chat with strangers than go about their business. It wasn't suspicious at all. He didn't bother to respond, it wasn't his place. While Hart didn't see it that way, the world at large, at least the part that knew him to be the bastard Venora, saw him just a little step above whatever they classified Sin as. Sin saw Hart as the brother of hid Duke employer so he had no problem to leave these things to Hart. And Hart took care of it, it seemed.

They spoke as if they knew everything about each other, like old friends greeting someone they'd not seen in some time. Apparently someone named Lyla saw Hart earlier, alone, and decided to ask these two to come after him. That totally sounded like a proper excuse to send people after strangers. Sin shifted in his saddle, keeping his eyes on the two people. He hated himself for having left any sort of weaponry at home. He'd even settle for the boots Hart was wearing now. There was something very wrong with the man, looking at him as if Sintih was a problem while wondering if Hart was alright. Sintih remained stoic, riding between the two sides of the conversation as Hart replied. He was indeed fine, nothing more, definitely nothing less. Sintih hoped that the effect of the mushrooms had waned enough for Hart to keep up proper conversation without talking about flying ships or suddenly bolting.

There was no good reason to refuse riding together, there was only one way out of Oakleigh towards Welles: the main road. But there was no good reason for them to stick together either. They were strangers and they kept giving off a bad vibe, something that made Sin's tactical senses tingle with danger. Since before they had matched pace with them and started talking, Sintih had been keeping ether points around him supplied with his own ether, connecting with them through invisible thread he could pull at a moment's notice and cover the distance. There were several ones but the main ones he kept an eye on were behind each of the riders around him, Hart included. He didn't want to use that one but he wouldn't hesitate to blink behind one of the other two should they prove him right.

Why were they so talkative? Didn't they have the good sense to know when they weren't wanted? Sin hadn't said a word to them yet and Hart had barely said four and yet they stayed right there, yapping on about all sorts of things that they figured Sintih and Hart knew about. The focus finally shifted to him, after introductions had gone around and Sintih was the only one not named yet. He thought about replying with something sarcastic or even to ignore them but then again, he didn't have to give them a real name either and it would cause less of a fuss if that was what they were looking for. "Brada. I'm just helping Hart find his way." Sin said, barely blinking at his own lie. Yludih training did come in handy from time to time. "He was so eager to leave this morning he forgot his pack. Just went back and got it for him."

There was no use in telling them Hart was in a drug addled state of non-functioning and was only on the edge of coming off of it. It was a good thing that creating the ether points wasn't a taxing endeavor for him anymore. He figured they would have attacked by now if that's what they were after. Then again, perhaps they just enjoyed toying with their prey before killing them, Sin didn't know. He wasn't about to let go of his magic, though. He wasn't a rookie. He fully regretted not having taken more time to work on his Rakahi or Hart's signing lessons or he would have used either of them to try and communicate their situation to the Duke's brother. Even just a single 'danger' sign would have done much for this situation. Hopefully, Sin thought, Hart was aware enough of the situation to know where this was going. "So? Where are you traveling to?"

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

"Brada," Sintih said, and Hart didn't blink either at the lie. He had been smiling at the others, a polite smile, curious maybe, and his expression didn't change an iota when the guard gave a false name.

"Brada," the woman, Chelsea, said warmly, though Marcol had not taken his eyes from Sintih yet. He had started to frown.

Sintih's voice was... bland, but there was something else about it too, something standoffish, and it was obvious everyone here had sensed it. Hart didn't think these people would want to do him harm; he was a simple person and he had not had much occasion to learn to distrust strangers. People were generally nice to him. He didn't carry a lot so he had never had trouble with robbers. Pirates were another matter, but they all were as of yet nowhere near the sea.

But there was certainly something strange about this pair.

"We just wanted to make sure everything was alright," Marcol said suddenly, sullenly, even as Sintih spoke and asked a question, "So? Where are you traveling to?" Marcol had spoken just a trill later, so that he had interrupted the other man; after, there was a moment that became inexplicably tense, broken a few trills later by Chelsea's soothing voice.

"Port Town," she said. The man who had ridden on before was well ahead of them, quickly shrinking as distance was added by every bit.

Hart wasn't totally familiar with every little village in the Eastern Settlement but he knew of Port Town. It was exactly what it sounded like: a small port town, less illustrious than the city Welles. It was located due east of Pyke on the Welles coastline. It was there to ferry people from the mainlaid to the island without them needing to head further north to the big city. Hart had never been there.

"Sounds nice," he chimed in, but quietly, not adding anything of his own. The horse, bumping along underneath him, shook its head and let out a soft nicker.

"And you're going?" Chelsea asked, still pleasantly.

For long moments there was quiet. Hart didn't answer; he honestly didn't know what to say. He could lie, but he was better with lies that had been practiced beforehand. Marcol's mouth had tightened into a line and Hart didn't like people to be angry. But he had decided not to answer. If Sintih wanted to, he would.

Either way, Marcol seemed to have had enough. Without a word he kicked his heels into his horse and sped up, bypassing them all on Hart's side --quite deliberately-- and speeding away. "Marcol!" Chelsea called out after him, and Hart looked to her, struck by a sudden feeling of recognition.

She wants me, he thought, startled enough to have missed whatever Chelsea had said next --maybe an apology?-- before she too spurred her horse and raced ahead.

As soon as they were gone Hart felt an urge to call out after them. "Wait," he murmured, so low perhaps not even Sintih would have heard it. There was a brief internal struggle where he gripped the reins quite tightly, body having locked rigid as if in surprise or shock.

Perhaps a bit passed where he felt unable to speak, even if Sintih spoke to him first. He was certain, suddenly, that if he opened his mouth he would call out to them. He didn't know why but he wanted to call them back. He knew --he just knew-- that Chelsea needed him.

Then, just as abruptly as it'd come the feeling faded, not entirely but enough, and Hart leaned forward as if exhausted, panting out a breath. "I'm sorry Sintih," he said. "I--"

He could feel his hands trembling and he dropped the reins in case the urge came back to race after them. He wiped at sweat which had gathered at his brow. "I don't know what's come over me." The drugs. The mushrooms. It had to be, didn't it? He touched the purple flower behind his ear.

"That woman," he said, quietly but loud enough for Sintih to hear. His eyes fixed ahead; the two had banded back together further along and appeared to be arguing. They were continuing on, it looked like, at a pace that matched or was slightly faster than his and Sintih's speed. "Chelsea." He was aware he was babbling again. "She wanted me for something. Or maybe that's not right. She wanted me-- no, no, she needed me to do something but I can't think--" He couldn't think what it was. Perhaps to like her. To want to talk to her. To tell her something. He wasn't sure. "I can't think what."

His hands were still trembling and he put one against his heart, though he had managed to quit breathing so hard. Perhaps to Sintih the attack --the spell he'd gone through, if that was what it was-- might have looked like fear, but it wasn't.

He didn't know what had just happened.

"We should be careful," he said finally. He knew something was up, that Sintih would likely want them to turn and head back towards the Estate, and it wasn't too late to do that. But now there was something more than an illusory ship drawing him on.

He couldn't turn around. More than ever, he felt he had to go forward.

OOC: Hart used his mortalborn ability Fulfillment to get a sense of what Chelsea wanted. As he used it to sense both what she wanted and needed, the effects are felt more strongly by Hart-- and he feels compelled to help her get what she wants. He can resist that compulsion but it's difficult and uncomfortable.

On another note-- I've been constantly making things up about the Eastern Settlement, like Port Town. I hope that's okay. ^_^'

[Sintih]

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f anyone had ever given him stronger vibes that he should be on guard for them, Sintih couldn't remember them. This Marcol character kept eyeing him as if he'd slept with his girlfriend or something. He hadn't been long enough in the Eastern Settlements, let alone Oakleigh specifically, to make any enemies. So far, all his time had been spent working at the estate and learning about the people there as well as the immediate surroundings. That this other guy seemed to have such a problem with him worried him. He was more likely to cause trouble if he felt Sintih had slighted him in some way, something that could put Hart in harm's way. Sintih nodded lightly as the woman repeated his name.

As he spoke again, Marcol also spoke and Sintih stopped as soon as he could, finishing most of his question anyway. Marcol seemed to be irritated by this and there was a tense silence, as if Sin had done something to cause offense to the man. The woman seemed much more forgiving for whatever Marcol thought Sin had done and she gave him a proper answer. Port Town. The name ringed a bell. Considering the name, most likely somewhere along the coast. Ah, yes. Sin remembered seeing a sign towards it when they first arrived here. Port Town, what a coincidence, a destination that made sure they would have to travel the same road for the next few trials, only the final few breaks would be a different route. The feeling of unease didn't stop, or even lessen. Sin's body created the illusion of breathing in through his nose and nodded when Hart spoke about the place.

Sin waited for Hart to reply to the question but nothing came from his companion. When the silence was about to turn suspicious, Sin did speak up, taking over for Hart. As the road to Welles and Port Town was mostly the same and there was no further destination along this route than Welles itself, Sin saw no reason to hide their destination. He also didn't know enough about the other towns along the road, if there even were any, that he could use as a decoy. "To Welles. We're looking for a ship for my friend." Not totally a lie, although he'd swapped some words from the truth. Before he had to start coming up with any sort of properly informed lie about the ship and whatnot, Marcol suddenly moved.

The horse he rode passed by them, close to Hart, and Sin's asterism jumped, flashing with light for a second, translating in his illusory pale blue cheeks darkening a little. But there was no aggressive move combined with the quick charge past Hart. Sin kept his ether anchor behind Hart in place, but didn't blink, not seeing the need as soon as Marcol had passed Hart by. That he had been slow to react to Marcol's sudden move only showed how much more training Sin needed. Chelsea went right after him, giving a quick apology in passing. Sin let go of the two anchors on their horses as soon as they were far away enough. Both of them remained on the road, where Sin could keep an eye on them, but he felt the tension leaving him slowly. Another illusory deep breath and just as he turned to say something to Hart, the Duke's brother spoke.

Why was Hart apologizing? These people were the problem, not him. But Sin knew better than to argue with the man. Hart was quite adamant about certain things about himself so Sin had decided not to argue with the man about it, things like his title and status within the Duke's household, for example. "What do you mean, ser?" Hart touched the flower by his ear and continued speaking, quietly. Sin had to focus to hear him but it wasn't like he was whispering either. Sin was surprised at what Hart was talking about. Did this man, who so strongly stood on his common roots, think that serving girl was somehow flirting with him or something? "Are you sure, ser? You don't think it might have something to do with your... breakfast this morning?" His hand shifted slightly, clearly visible to Hart if he was looking at him, and he pointed up to the sky, where he thought the ship was, roughly.

Hart seemed to be in some state, breathing heavily, trembling even. For a moment, Sin wondered if the encounter had been noticed by Hart the way Sin had seen it, as a failed attempt on Hart's... what? Life? Perhaps as the brother, almost twin brother, to the Duke, Hart held value to them? Or perhaps... Sin thought on it for a moment. There was a possibility that it was magic... "Did you feel some sort of... unusual thoughts, perhaps, toward her? Like a command, maybe, ser?" Between Sovereign, Illusion and Empathy, there were enough ways to get people to do what you needed them to do. Having a professor of domain magic as a mother had its benefits sometimes. That Hart hadn't charged right after them made Sin think that either their goal wasn't for him to follow them or do it in a very subtle way, which slightly failed.

"Indeed we should be, ser. The road to Port Town and Welles is mostly the same so we'll probably see them in the inns along the way, if they stay there. Just stick to the story, Hart and Brada, two friends looking for a boat, and we should be alright." Hart seemed to be more in control of himself, more in touch with reality now. Perhaps the encounter had sobered him up enough now that he could see that there was actual danger on the road, even if it wasn't in the form of wild beasts and story book bandits. "Take your time, try to think of some good reasons why you shouldn't go after her and hold onto that. You know you shouldn't go after her, right? We don't know what she wants with you." That he was able to so easily accept Hart claiming to know that the woman wanted him was something that Sin attributed to the way Hart was acting earlier, which he thought was much worse. He preferred Hart in this state, lusting after some woman, rather than chase a boat in the sky.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

Sintih spoke to him, confused, and Hart focused on his questions, not on the pair who were trotting along less than a quarter mile down the road. He drew his eyes down towards his hands or over towards Sintih, purposefully not looking in the others' direction.

"It might have to do with my breakfast," he said, smiling upon reflex at the euphemism, but wiped his brow again, swaying with the horse as it walked. Then he hesitated. "Or it might not."

As for unusual thoughts-- "Well, yes," he said, but uneasily. "Or maybe not, I don't know. A feeling, more like." He glanced over at Sintih, considering him, and said, very uneasily now, "I know it doesn't make much sense but, um-- there's something-- there's something I can do, sometimes. It's like a trick." Or so he thought. He didn't quite know. Up until recently, he hadn't thought it was abnormal for him to be able to do things like this. He'd thought everyone could sense, well--

"Sometimes I can tell what people want without asking them." He said it quickly. He remembered when the Estate cook had overheard him speaking with Tristan about this, and how the man had looked at him as if Hart was something very unusual. It didn't seem that strange to him, but Tristan had thought he had magic powers.

"I don't know how it works. I thought everyone could do it. But I guess not." Would Sintih believe him? Or would he think this was the drugs again? And was it even all that peculiar? Didn't everyone have intuition?

"Reasons not to go after them," he muttered then, running a hand through his hair. Sintih had told him to try to think of reasons not to go after the others but he couldn't think of any, except that Chelsea and Marcol might be bad people. They might be. Might. He didn't really know, they could have been telling the truth. Still, he said, "I'll try."

As long as he didn't look at them he thought he'd be okay. Or if he could think of something else. Anything else to distract himself.

Trying to unloosen the ball of twisted nerves in his stomach, he said, still uncomfortably, "Sintih, if you could not tell anyone about this--" this being what he'd just told the man about himself, "--I would appreciate it." It really did make him uncomfortable. He almost preferred the other think him too high to be making sense. Perhaps it was better that way.

"But, while we're on the subject of things not to tell..."

Hart regretted saying it almost as soon as he'd gotten the words out.

What he was asking, or rather what he was asking without actually asking, well. It was not only rude to inquire; asking this could be dangerous. But now that they were here he felt he might as well... and he had a habit of pursuing things he rather ought not. Ships in the sky, for instance.

"You know, my promised one was a lot like you." He spoke carefully, pausing to consider how to word what he was trying to get at without saying it outright. "He could lie about his name very easily as well, though lying weighed heavily on him about most things. Still, he did it because he wanted to protect himself from those who might harm him. It was something he learned to do very young. He wasn't a biqaj like me, you see, though he did look like one." Another pause.

"So it was curious to me when I first heard your name, Sintih Rathaan." His tone made it clear he was not blaming, nor afriad, nor angry, but he looked over guardedly as if to search Sintih's face. Not knowing how the other might react.

Hart didn't know how he could have put it any plainer without just saying the word itself. He knew it was bad, asking this, a bad thing to do, and he almost wished he had stopped before he had gone on.

Looking upon the visage of the crystal man, the illusion of the drugs fading so that Hart could now clearly see the person underneath, the seaborn waited for an answer.

He'd asked as a means to distract himself. From Chelsea and Marcol, yes, but also to distract from the admittedly strange revelation he'd made about hismelf as well. Even as he did, however, he knew he probably should not have asked at all.

[Sintih]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=6086[/img]

ne trial there would come a person who wouldn't hesitate to tell the truth, without thinking about themselves first, about how it made them look towards others, nothing of that would be necessary for them. And it would be a breath of fresh air. Sin listened quietly to Hart as the other spoke, trying to explain something that Sin was only half interested in. At least, at first he was. So the Duke's brother thought he had some sort of special ability? If it was magic, then the bastard had another thing coming if he expected Sin to be surprised by any sort of magical skill. Maybe the man was simply skilled in something related to reading people somehow.

So he could read people then. Sin wasn't much impressed. Anyone with half a brain could learn how to do that. But he nodded and looked interested in what his companion had to say. The idea of the drugs influencing his companion being the cause of this did surface in his thoughts but he'd seen Hart act somewhat normally earlier with the two riders who were now up ahead from them and he didn't think the man would fall back so deeply that he would think he had some sort of supernatural power. No, mostly some subconscious use of magic or training. "That doesn't sound like something everyone can do, ser. It sounds like you've gone through some pretty interesting training in the past or perhaps some sort of ma-..." He stopped himself and instead turned to Hart and give him a polite smile. "Never mind."

Hart seemed to take his advice to heart and went quiet, presumably to think of reasons not to go after the people who Sin thought might have used some sort of hypnotism or magic on him. That they hadn't tried to do the same to him was odd, though. Getting rid of him in any way, even for a bit, would have given them the opportunity they needed. He tried to look at their current actions from every angle to see how they could lead to the result he thought they were after. He didn't get very far in his analysis as Hart's voice pulled him back from his thoughts. "Hmm? Oh, it's not my place to tell your secrets." If it was some form or use of magic Sin wasn't aware of then he'd be more interested in getting the info out of Hart, rather than spread the news among these magic-shy peasants Rynmere seems to have been made up off. If it was some sort of training, some sort of advanced interrogation or something then it wasn't interesting enough to spread rumors about anyway.

He was trying to focus back on his previous train of thought in regard to the riders when Hart spoke again. There was a tightness to Sin's lips for a moment as he looked back to Hart. Another secret? Sin shifted a little in his saddle and gave his attention to the duke's brother. Perhaps these mushrooms were stronger than Sin initially had thought? He nodded to Hart to see if the man would continue to speak. Sin's white eyes opened wide as Hart began to speak again. This wasn't going anywhere Sin had originally thought. It was flattering but Sin didn't think about Hart in any such way. While he tried to get over the initial shock of what he had thought the Duke's brother was asking of him, Sin's mind took longer to get around to what Hart was really going on about.

He looked like a Biqaj but he wasn't one? A becomer? Sin had met one some time ago, a very difficult person to deal with. Whether that had been because of the advanced magic or because of the man, Sin had never figured out, but the becomer had seemed very impulsive and not driven by laws of any kind. His train of thought stopped abruptly as Hart once again shifted what he was trying to say. Yet another shift that completely changed things around. The focus went to Sin's name and the Yludih-in-disguise tilted his head slightly at Hart, confused what his name had to do with becoming and magic. Hart also sounded... odd, like he was forgiving Sin for having the name he had. It couldn't be.

"I'm sorry, ser, but I don't follow. Are you telling me that your boyf- promised one was a magic user? But what does that have to do with my name?" The frown that cracked his otherwise quiet Eídisi face showed his confusion as much as his how far off his question was from what Hart was really saying. What did his name have to do with the magic use of Hart's Promised one? A magic user and his name? His eyebrows raised out of their frown as understanding seemed to dawn on Sin. It was an odd connection to draw for the Duke's brother but then again, he was half a noble so he probably had some privileges that normal people didn't have. "Oh, I see... I think you are mistaken, though. My mother wasn't really a magic user. She used to teach magical theory at the university. There was no magic involved there, just the theoretical study of it. I never really got into all that studying anyway. Too much peering over old books and not enough fresh air for me." He chuckled lightly, drawing on the deceptive nature of his race to play a potentially dangerous situation off as a joke.

How Hart knew that about his mother, who had quit her job at the university before either of them had been born, was a bit of a mystery to Sin but he didn't want to ask Hart about it. He had probably overheard it from some older Venoras who had studied under his mother.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

"Your mother?" Hart asked, and then fell quiet, watching Sintih as he spoke. The bodyguard's response was enough to cause the Venoran bastard to wonder. Perhaps he had been a bit too clandestine? Hart rested his head on his hand to gaze at Sintih in seeming contemplation, as if trying to figure the other man out. His expression was politely confused.

Of all the reactions he'd been expecting, this was not one. Did Sintih really not know what Hart had been asking? Or was he just pretending not to have understood? A bemused smile alighted upon Hart's face as he thought.

It was something of a puzzle.

There were a few different possibilities, or so Hart considered. One was that Sintih was not a yludih and had no clue what Hart had been talking about. Another was that he was a yludih and had honestly misunderstood. And yet another that he was a yludih and he hadn't misunderstood at all.

It was that final one that was the most interesting.

If Sintih was a yludih and had lied, well... that should have been expected, shouldn't it? Sintih could have been lying to protect himself, or to protect Hart from knowing something he really shouldn't, or to protect the both of them.

Or there could be another reason.

If Sintih was a yludih, and he knew now that Hart suspected he was one, and he wanted to protect his identity, and they were alone together on the road, and he didn't know if Hart would tell anyone else, someone like the Duke for example, well...

Hart seemed to come out of a reverie, putting both hands back on the reins of his horse.

"You're strange Sintih," he smiled, and then chattered on, "Was your mother really not a magic user? How can a person study magic without using it?" He had never heard of that before. "It wouldn't matter if she was a mage when she worked at the university-- magic wasn't banned back then."

He'd decided to drop it. He probably shouldn't have even tried to ask to begin with.

---

As they went on and bits upon bits turned into slow breaks of riding, the others, Chelsea and Marcol, seemed to spur their horses far ahead. They shrunk from sight as they approached the horizon and, when evening neared, it seemed they had vanished altogether. Hart was too distracted by the burn in his muscles and the displeasure in his legs and spine to really worry about where they'd gone. Though he did worry a little. It nagged at him.

"Oof," he said when at last the first roadhouse came into view, a leisurely trial's ride from Dewwich. He stretched as well as he could while still on the horse's back, which was not very well at all for someone not used to riding. Halfway through the afternoon he'd insisted he get off the horse for a while and walk, though that had quickly grown just as tedious, and he was now quite sure he had blisters from the ill-fitting boots he wore.

He looked over at Sintih.

"We're stopping here for the night, right?" Hart asked. He didn't know where the next such establishment might be, so he figured that yes, they would have to stop.

When they came upon the stables, Hart spent a moment to look upon the rows of horses as if to recognize two of them, though he didn't.

"Hmm," he said.

Inside the roadhouse the seaborn handled the costs of care for the horses and the price of renting the stables, and for their rooms and food for the night.

Hart looked around, but eventually he had to admit that if Chelsea and Marcol were here they weren't in the common areas of the inn. He tried to hide the inexplicable disappointment he felt.

The establishment itself --called the Old Lass by the bartend-- was nice enough, though typical of its kind. The building was made of old wood and stone, and dominated by a big open space in the middle of everything that was full of heavy tables to eat and drink at. A standard bar lined the wall farthest from the door. To the port side of the room --the left-- there was a big fireplace, though it wasn't lit. Still, the smell of smoke and booze and candle wax and good food lingered, and just faintly the scent of horses and mud and leather from everyone's clothes and riding boots.

Without the fire going the building was low-lit, relying mainly on candles to light it. Heat and gentle smoke drifted lazily over from the open door to the side of the bar where the main room connected to the kitchens. On the other side of the bar were the stairs that led to the upper floor and the rooms for the night. There were ten or fifteen travelers in the inn, plus the Lass' staff.

They had found themselves a table of their own and for a short while Hart chattered on at Sintih as he had earlier in the day, though he thought by this time the poor guard must be tired of it.

As the evening wore on, Hart seemed content to speak less. His eyes strayed to the bar, then to one of the tables to the side where a group of men had begun to gamble, dice of some sort, then to a working girl who'd snuggled up next to a man in one of the overstuffed armchairs in the farthest corner of the room. His fingers drummed on the tabletop as if restless and he picked at the rest of his food, though he didn't really want to eat.

Sitting curled at the table, head propped up by one hand, he ordered a shot and wondered how many drinks the bodyguard would allow before he tried to cut Hart off. Or would he even try at all? He'd already had a couple beers. Should there be someone selling drugs here, perhaps that shady-looking fellow at the bar who wasn't really drinking, would Sintih let him buy some, or would he object? Or what about a prostitute? What if he bought one for Sintih?

He thought that was an easy way to get himself in trouble.

And speaking of ways he might get in trouble...

He glanced at the men at the dice table and thought, Maybe I could just play one game. Just one. Just one couldn't hurt, could it?

Or he could go to sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, took the shot when it was delivered, and kept watching the men play. The drink had been a signature of the roadhouse, though not very good. He considered ordering another.

At least he wasn't thinking about Chelsea and Marcol. He wasn't drunk but he was sort of buzzed, which was a pleasant surprise.

Sometime later, he decided he really needed to go to bed.

"Think I'm turning in," he said to Sintih to let him know, and stood. "If you're going to stay and drink I could give you some coin?" He didn't know how it worked, being the brother of the man's employer. He intended to pay for whatever Sintih wanted throughout the night. Contrary to "being a noble" he was not overly rich and never had been, nor had he ever asked Tristan for money.

But he really didn't mind. For Hart, there was simply no point in having coin save for spending it.

OOC:
-2gn for two good quality rooms for the night
let's say -10gn for the horses to be stabled and cared for properly for a night (hooves picked, unsaddled and brushed, fed)
let's say -10gn for food and drinks for both Sintih and Hart, and I'll adjust this if Sintih insists on paying for his own or requests anything specific/expensive
current total: -22gn

[Sintih]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=6081[/img]

t seemed that the more answers they provided to each other the more Hart and Sin confused each other. Hart seemed to be listening intently as Sin tried to explain that his mother didn't have any ties to magic beyond what her work required of her but Sin could tell the man didn't really believe what he was saying. It was indeed strange to teach something without actually doing or having done it. The corners of his lips curled upward at Hart's description of him. If only he knew just how strange. "No, uhh... She's a geniu-..." He stopped himself and his smile turned sad and a bit distant. "She was a genius." Sin corrected himself.

It was a strong tool to have, the ability to bring up sad memories of loved ones. People here seemed to immediately back down, as if they were intruding on something important, sacred even, with their questions. He let his eyes shift from Hart to the back of his horse's head and waited tensely for any sort of follow up from his companion. It seemed to have worked as Hart became quiet, dropping the subject. The quiet set in between them and stretched out. The longer they rode, the more Sin wanted to stop and go back home. The crystals in his back and legs creaked against one another and he could feel his asterism picking up pace to keep providing enough light and energy for everything to continue functioning.

It became easily visible that Sin was exhausted. His breathing had picked up as if he'd ran a few miles and his quietness grew to encompass all of him, not just his voice. He slumped more in the saddle and bumped more with the pace of his horse than before. But when the roadhouse came into view and Hart drew his attention to it, Sin seemed to find his second wind. "Yes, ser. We'll be staying here for the night. The next one is almost another full trial of travel away." He slowed his horse down as they came up to the building. Despite his second wind, Sin barely managed to get his leg over the horse before sliding down to the ground, landing with a tired grunt.

Once their horses were stabled, Sin grabbed their bags while Hart looked around and they headed in. The roadhouse was one of many along the main roads between big cities. The island was full of them, the duchies all connected through them. Here, they were fairly new, or had seen a recent influx of guests because of the changes made to the Eastern Settlements by the king. Tristan was one of those changes. It wasn't crowded, not this time of the arc, so Hart and him found themselves a table to sit at. Hart ordered for them, asking for food and drink, which Sin eagerly accepted, although he did ask for something sweet to drink without the alcohol. He couldn't have considering who he was here with.

While he only listened with half an ear as Hart continued to talk, Sin's eyes were on the people in the place. Now that he could rest on this, not very, comfortable chair, he could get back to his job. Every now and then he did feel as if the chair was moving left and right, almost like a horse. He ignored that, thinking it to be exhaustion. The people in the place didn't seem to be interested in the two of them aside from their initial looks as they had entered. They were all travelers here so it mattered very little who they were and where they were going to. Hart seemed to quiet down as well until the two men quietly drank their drinks and ate their food.

"No, ser. That's alright. I will be turning in as well. Shall we say... the sixth break tomorrow, breakfast and then we can head out again." Sin was happy to hear that Hart had decided to go to sleep as well. It only took him a few trills once his door was closed to fall on his bed and fall asleep. The following morning, Sin was planning on getting up bright and early and arrange for some rations for the road ahead. They did have some to last them but not enough to reach Welles, not unless they rationed the rations.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

The next morning, Sintih or the innkeep would need to knock on Hart's door to get him out of bed. Perhaps it was something the seaborn had eaten, or perhaps it was a hangover --more likely that despite having only had a few drinks-- but he really wasn't feeling well. He didn't feel nauseous, which was a plus, but he felt... tired, somewhat achy, and feverish.

The aches and pains likely had come from their day's riding the trial before. The fever... Hart supposed it was from wearing a heavy sweater almost all day yesterday, even in the heat of Saun. The drugs had definitely worn off by now, and he didn't know what he'd been thinking.

He pulled on his clothes, leaving the sweater off, and wished he had his own boots.

"Hey," he said by way of greeting when he opened the door to his room, rubbing groggily at his eyes, hair wild from bed. He'd looked through his bag, packed trial-last in what must have been a haze, and found most of the stuff he'd need for travel. He could do without the rest.

Hungry but not feeling much like eating, he sat at one of the tables downstairs and ordered hair of the dog, plus some tea and simple unbuttered toast. He forced himself to eat, feeling lousy, and considered the drink he'd ordered with some caution. It was called an amber moon, and after a brief hesitation he shrugged and gulped it down.

"Holy shit," he said, setting the glass on the table. "That's disgusting." It had been a remedy for hangover-- vodka, some sort of hot sauce, and a raw egg. Despite the face he made he seemed amused by how disgusting it truly was. "Ilaren save," he said, knowing she was Tristan's favored.

Should Sintih need help figuring out supplies, Hart would follow the bodyguard around doing his best to get them whatever they needed. Some of the other travelers had stuff to spare which they were willing to give up or trade for-- the rest they could rummage up or buy from the Old Lass.

Outside, their horses were in good shape, freshly watered and saddled, and seemed to have been fed, cared for, and rested well. Hart's horse tossed its head as if impatient to get on the road, and Hart smiled and patted its neck. "I'm glad someone's feeling well today, at least," he said.

Mounting the horse was easier than he remembered from the day before; riding, harder. The sway of the horse was not doing anything good for the flu-like ache of his body, and combined with the fever and general pall of the hangover, the consistent back-and-forward clopping of the horse made him feel quite light-headed. "Sintih, just kill me now," Hart muttered.

A few of the people from the roadhouse had gotten on their way and were traveling in a group further along the road, seemingly for the conversation.

Is there any way to sleep on a horse? Hart wondered, and looked up at the sky.

It was less sunny out today though just as hot if not hotter, and Hart had made sure his waterskin was well and full, determined to keep hydrated. The clouds were angry, but not in a way that made it seem like it would rain. There was a bit of a breeze, though the air that brushed past them was sticky and desert-warm. Not for the first time, Hart wished he was at sea. With the rocking of a ship, rather than the pounding of this horse, to lull him.

He missed the Jovy Akor. A little stop and rest would have done him good, but he was determined to find her. Despite knowing his hallucinations trial-last had been just that, and that they had been pure nonsense, he still felt Welles was a decent place to take a look for the Akor. And besides, they were already halfway there. He might as well keep going.

Around noon Hart began to feel a little better, though he thought his fever might have raised some. He'd been nodding off on his horse and he was trying to keep his eyes open. Whenever his eyes shut, he dreamt --or perhaps daydreamed-- of two people on horses riding quickly away.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved yesterday," he up and said out of the blue, after he near nodded off for the fifth time. "I'm sure you would rather not be here." It had been a quiet day thusfar, not a lot to do. Should the guard be willing, Hart would have asked early on in the morning to learn some Common sign, and would have been practising throughout the day. He could offer Rakahi in turn.

"Sintih," he said, "Why did you want to work for Tristan?" Another seemingly random interjection-- but it wasn't nearly as random as it seemed. Besides, Hart was genuinely curious. "Aren't you afraid you'll be hurt defending him?" He had noticed Sintih's apparent exhaustion trial-last but had not brought it up then, nor did he now; these questions were, for the most part, unrelated to that. "What made you want to risk your life --your safety-- for others'?

"I don't believe that's something I could do."

OOC: Just a note, but Hart isn't really hungover, nor is he truly sick. Flu-like symptoms are a consequence of using his MB powers.

An estimated -5gn for their breakfasts. Total for the thread around -27gn.

[Sintih]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=6091[/img]

he morning arrived quicker than he wanted it to. His crystals hurt everywhere, as if they were in a constant state of being flexed. His legs and ass mostly but he could feel it even in his back and wrists. He quickly remembered that he was on duty and that there wasn't anyone else to cover his shift for the morning. He rolled out of bed and got dressed to check on Hart. He tried the Biqaj's door but found it still locked. It was still early so he didn't want to wake the man up if he wasn't already so Sin took his second option and went towards the main tavern to see if Hart was already there. He found it mostly empty but devoid of Hart.

He stretched and yawned before walking to the door and stepping out. The sun was already rising but the morning still had that freshness to it, that crispness. He basked in the light of the sun for a while before checking on the horses in the stables. They were fine, well taken care of. Hart's money had paid for a good treatment here. As the only waystation on this leg of the journey between Welles and Oakleigh, Sin was glad to see that they didn't take advantage of their position here. He went back inside and back towards his own room, gathering his own belongings together. Another long day of riding was ahead and Sin didn't want to waste much more of it, it was already much later than he had planned for. Back in the hallway he moved to Hart's room and knocked quietly at first. When nothing happened he knocked harder and harder until Hart finally opened up.

Hart looked like a mess, possibly a hung over mess although he hadn't been drinking that much. The bed hair somehow worked for him, it brought out his Biqaj side a little more. Sin went with Hart to the tavern and sat down at a table, ordering a proper breakfast. Hart ordered some strange brew with his breakfast and Sin amused himself by watching the half Venora drink whatever it was and make faces afterwards. Whatever it was did seem to energize him a little, wake him up a little more than before. "The best medicine always tastes the worst." Old wisdom but not less true because of its age. Sin smiled as he took a bite from his own toast.

Once breakfast was done, Sin started looking for their supplies. Most of what they needed, rations specifically, were easily bought from the way station itself. For some bits and bobs he had to look towards the other travelers present. Hart didn't seem to mind having to deal with these people to get them what they needed so Sin provided him with a short list. About half a break later they were packed, sacked and ready to go, even with Hart looking like every step made his head hurt. They were on the road a few bits after that. Again, Sin smiled as he heard Hart mumble in his direction. "I doubt the Duke would approve of that course of action, ser. After all, he is quite fond of his own brother." And with that they were on the road again.

At first, Sin felt his body protesting every time he moved in the saddle. Now that he was back on the horse, the entire pressure and tension of riding was on the same crystals as the day before, the same crystals that had been protesting and hurting all morning. But the pain quickly faded to an acceptable level as they rode on. Despite the nice morning sun, the sky clouded over more as they continued to ride. While Hart suffered on top of his own horse, Sin focused on the road ahead, looking specifically for a pair of riders he would recognize while keeping an eye on their surroundings. For most of the morning, both riders rode in silence, each keeping to their own suffering. For a moment, Sin thought about the ride back once Hart had decided to go back but he put that thought aside as soon as it popped up.

His attention was pulled away as Hart asked about learning a little more sign language. Sin was happy to accommodate him and take both their minds of the horses underneath them. "Well, yesterday's encounter made me think about this in advance. I can teach you some easy signs. If it's alright with you, I'd like to practice my Rakahi a little now that I've finally found someone who speaks it." He raised both his hands so that Hart could easily see them. His right hand was a simple thumbs up, his left hand flat, his palm up to the sky. "Right hand..." He showed his thumbs up to Hart as he spoke in Rakahi. "...and left hand." He showed him the flat left hand. Sin put his thumbs up hand, thumb upward to the sky, on his flat hand, palm upward as well. He raised both at the same time, just a little, in front of him. "H-Help?" He said in Rakahi, a little hesitant, and then switched to common to make sure it was correct. "Help."

He watched Hart try it a few times and nodded, continuing his lesson in Rakahi. "Simple. Same right, left change..." He turned his left palm upside down, pointing his palm to his horse and kept his thumbs up on his right hand. "...sign dangerous." He switched back to common to make sure he translated it properly. "Danger." Sin held his left hand at about neck height and then proceeded to try and stab himself in the face with his right thumb, lightly tapping his right wrist against the edge of his left hand. "Knife attack, you defend. Knife dangerous." He repeated the sign a few more times and then watched and made sure Hart had it right as well. Both signs were easy enough and Sin found that they were visual enough as well that they were, almost, recognizable without knowing signs at all. But that was perhaps due to his experience with signing.

The lesson continued a little longer, Sin trying to explain as much as he could in Rakahi, learning from any tips Hart wanted to share with him on the language and showing him a few more signs. "Question. Is danger? Want help?" Sin pointed at his eyebrows and exaggerated in pulling them upward as high as he could. He signed the sign for help with his eyebrows raised. "Need help?" Then he lowered them back to normal and repeated the sign. "Help me." He swapped a few times back and forth, eyebrows up, Rakahi translation, eyebrows down, Rakahi translation. "Same. Is danger?" His eyebrows shot up again and this time Sin tried to stab himself with his thumb again, blocking with his left hand, the sign for danger. His eyebrows went down and he repeated. "In danger. Is danger? In danger. Is danger?" He swapped back to common for the last part of his explanation. "If I ever sign danger to you, don't bother looking at my eyebrows, just get ready to run." He voice had a stricter tone to it, like a commander who expected to be obeyed. "We'll be fine if you do."

The rest of the lesson shifted to more mundane signs he might be able to use with Thet. A few stable and horse related signs that Sin knew and some basic things, like saying hello and asking how someone was doing. It was slow going considering Sin had to ride a horse, steer it, sign properly with both hands and be turned towards his student riding next to him while focusing on his Rakahi where he used it to make sure he didn't make mistakes. All in all, after about six or seven signs, Hart seemed to be losing focus and Sin was glad he was. The lesson stopped with that and Sin focused back on the road as Hart went back to nodding off.

After a while, Hart spoke up and Sin turned to watch him. "There is no need to apologize. It's my job to protect you." He nodded, giving Hart a smile. You're also one of the best people I've worked for so far. He wasn't going to say that out loud but he definitely wasn't wrong in thinking it, at least no from Sin's point of view. The comment seemed to have been more than just an off hand apology as Hart steered the conversation further into something he'd seemingly been interested in for quite some time now. Sin was surprised at the question, although his face showed little of it. Usually people didn't ask those things, they used to ask why he wasn't doing a better job of it mostly. "I think you're misunderstanding something here, ser Hart. I'm not risking anything for others. My job is to foresee and prevent things from becoming something that might hurt the Duke or his family, you included." There was a short pause in his words here as he looked at Hart, trying to determine how he'd best explain the next part.

"I don't know if the Duke told you this but my employer sent me here to protect the Duke while he got settled into his new appointed position. There was very little choice involved on my end. I simply go where I am sent, I simply do what is required of me as long as it is required of me. How long that is depends entirely on the Duke and on my employer." Sin looked ahead of them and shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for people to send their own employees to serve other people. In a sense it was exactly what the Iron Hand did but if Hart would or could make that connection remained to be seen. "Besides, I don't think I could do what you and the Duke do. To each his own purpose, right?" He smiled, although his empty, white eyes didn't seem to reflect that smile.

[Hart]

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"

Despite having wanted to, Hart had not had a lot of success learning Common sign before today. A handful of times he had come across Thetfretr in or around the stables, or at the dinner table, and had tried to speak with him-- but perhaps had resorted too easily to writing to communicate. He'd learned a couple things, like the sign for Thetfretr's name. And when he'd inquired about swears he'd been pleased to learn that a stiff middle finger was universal.

Once or twice they'd started in on the alphabet, Hart thinking he may be able to learn to spell out certain short messages, but he hadn't managed much of that, finding his hands moved very clumsily from letter to letter.

He paid prompt attention now as Sintih began to teach him. Despite his shortcomings with Thetfretr, he quite easily picked up the signs for help and danger. The signs were similar and somewhat self-explanatory in their design.

Sintih used the opportunity to give the lesson in Rakahi, and whenever he asked a question about his efforts, whether it was to his pronunciation or to check whether he had the right word, Hart would correct or encourage as need be. He vaguely remembered Sintih speaking a blessing in Rakahi when they'd first met. Now he found himself trying to suss out, through conversation, how well-versed the other really was.

As Sintih went through the signs about horses, Hart made sure to let him know the appropriate words in Rakahi as well, smiling at how the sea-based language coped with a land-based vocabulary. Horse in Rakahi, for instance, was something like an amalgamation of the words seahorse and rowboat, though the combination lacked a certain elegance intrinsic to the original words.

Hart had taught a handful of people some basic Rakahi before, simply because he'd traveled so often throughout his life. Traveling meant meeting new people, which meant meeting some who didn't speak his language but who wanted to learn. The most interesting thing he could think to start a beginner on was the meanings of biqaj names. So, should Sintih be willing, he would give a brief overview of those, starting with his own, Qy'ihadi. Qy' meant clan of and Ihadi meant dreams. He had taken the name when he and Quio had been married.

Growing up his surname had been Qy'akor, clan of love, after his mother's name and lifestyle. The Jovy Akor, then, was named after his sister.

Biqaj surnames ranged from the mundane, qy for clan and ki for merchant, to the exotic, zyq for champion and zy for defiler. A biqaj's name could say a lot about them, which was why beginners found learning them particularly intriguing. To an outsider it was sort of like learning how to read a biqaj; how to figure out, even if only in a small way, a particular biqaj's background, their secrets.

After half a break or so of back-and-forth in Rakahi and Common sign, Hart found the lightheadedness getting the better of him, easily stumbling over the signs Sintih had shown him or getting things mixed up. From then on they gave it a rest, though he repeated the signs quietly to himself periodically throughout the day, seeming to muse upon the meanings as he did so. "Danger?" he signed, first with eyebrows raised and then as if in reply, "Danger."

---

When Sintih said his employer had sent him, Hart looked over at him, momentarily confused. "I guess I missed that," he admitted, the bodyguard having asked if Tristan had mentioned it. "It's strange," Hart said. "But you seem like a self-made man. I would have guessed you were your own employer."

It wasn't so unusual to a biqaj, however, that Sintih's employer might have sent him somewhere to work for someone else. Growing up, his mother had swapped crew members with sister ships regularly, sometimes on the daily.

---

The rest of the day and into the night were, for the most part, uneventful. Under the heat of the Saun suns, one of the people riding ahead of them had a near miss with heat exhaustion, and Hart insisted on stopping with them for a while near a little creek to make sure they were okay. There they rested and watered themselves and all their horses. He refilled his own canteen and pressed handfuls of the fresh water to his face.

Sometime in the afternoon they passed the fork in the road that split between the city of Welles and Port Town.

Near evening the fever finally broke, just in time for them to make it to the next roadhouse. Tired from travel and the hangover's fading effects, Hart excused himself early to go to bed.

In the morning he felt largely better. Blue eyes bright once more and obviously pleased to be nearing their destination, Hart was back to his chattery self. He ate a large breakfast to make up for the meals he had skimped on the days before.

By mid-morning they had made it to the city of Welles, and Hart looked around excitedly. Welles was a large enough city, bustling with people and full of old architecture, some of it perhaps predating even Andaris. Arguably the largest city in the entire Eastern Settlement, it passed through almost all of the traffic from Rynmere to the Settlements, as well as most of the trade.

The buildings here were unusually tall and ornate, as if someone had stacked new additions upon buildings that had already been made. Though a lot of the newer additions were of customary design, some of the lower levels had an odd, intricate style. Most of the streets were narrow, just wide enough to pass a carriage and not much more. Between the old cobbled streets and the stone and lumber and metal-trimmed buildings, the entire city was nearly bereft of all green.

The city streets were full of people. Welles was the most populated region of the Eastern Settlement, and a lot of that population lived here and on farms in the surrounding areas, as well as on top of the mines in the north.

Almost as soon as they'd come within the boundaries of the city, Hart had found them a bar. He seemed to have a knack for finding bars and whorehouses, something that was neither a blessing nor a curse but a little of both. He stopped by the bar he'd found to ask for directions to the inns and docks.

"If you'd like to take a reprieve or if you have other business you'd like to attend to in the city, Sintih, I'll just be down at the docks looking for the Akor," he told the bodyguard.

At the docks, Hart found no obvious sign of his sloop, though he didn't let himself become too discouraged. If it was to be easy, he would have found the Akor already. He started asking around, giving a description of the little sloop, her general size and color and shape, and rattled off questions in fast Rakahi to various dockworkers. Someone pointed him to a man near one of the Rynmeran transport vessels, and he approached and had reached out a hand to shake before he looked at the man and realized--

He looked familiar. Hart squinted at him, surprised that he couldn't quite place the man's face.

He was certain he'd seen him before, somewhere. But he couldn't think where. He must not have talked to him, wherever he'd seen him. If he had talked to the man, if he'd learned his name, he would have remembered him. He almost never forgot a name.

"Hart," the man said before the seaborn had had the chance to introduce himself, and the smile froze on Hart's face. He'd reached out to shake and the man had gripped his hand; now he pulled back, perhaps on instinct, but the other didn't let go. He pulled his arm back harder, and on the third tug, when he pulled harder still, the man released him.

"I'm sorry, you have the wrong person," Hart said politely enough. "I've got someone to meet and I shouldn't make him wait."

"Your bodyguard?" the man asked, and an unwelcome feeling twisted Hart's gut. "Not much of a guard without weapons, is he?"

Hart hadn't noticed one way or the other if Sintih had been armed; he hadn't even thought to check. The uncertainty must have shown on his face because the man smiled.

"The city guard--" Hart tried, but the other spoke over him.

"Welles guardsmen don't give a rat's ass about some pompous brother of the Duke of Oakleigh. They're of the old blood here, the blood before Rynmere. And they, like the people of Oakleigh, don't like your kind. Neither do we."

"Oh," Hart said softly.

The man's smile broadened.

He looked normal, not forgettable but not particularly memorable either, brown-haired and bearded, a little taller than average in height and average in weight. Hart, perhaps uselessly, kept trying to figure out where he'd seen him. He was more and more certain it had been some fleeting moment. But where? In Dewwich? On the road? Or some other place?

"You agreed to help the Alliance upon pain of death--"

"I didn't."

The man ignored him. "--and now you're coming with me."

"My friend will be worried--"

"There are others of us in this city, Hart. Look around. Even if there weren't, no one here would help you. No one would blink an eye at your blood spilt, nor your protector's. Not the bastard brother of an unwanted Duke.

"You are nothing here. Worse than nothing: you're Rynmere nobility.

"And you're coming with me."