Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Darius explained their errand to the innkeeper. The woman laughed. Oram frowned and shot both her and Darius a baffled look. What was so damned funny? This was the second time someone had had a laugh at his expense since they had started this thing, and he definitely did not appreciate it. But grousing about it wouldn’t get them what they needed, so he held his tongue long enough for the innkeeper to tell them about this Rorn person.

She was nice to Mule,though, and that won her some points back with the hunter. ”He likes apples, too,” he mentioned. ”And there’s a couple in the saddlebags in case you don’t have one handy.” The outstretched hand brought a scowl to his face. Payment up front, eh? Folks were right about Egilrunners. Nel-grubbers, the lot of ‘em. With an annoyed sigh, he started rummaging through his coin purse.

”Men-folk all tell me I have nice apples,” the innkeeper said, with a mischievous wink at Darius.

Oram, preoccupied with counting out money, missed the joke completely. ”Good,” he said. ”It sounds like Mule is in good hands, then.” The innkeeper hadn’t quoted a price, so Oram could only guess at a sum. He handed the coins over. ”Where can we find this Rorn fellow?”

The innkeeper weighed the coins with an expression Oram knew quite well from certain townies he had dealt with in Scalvoris; it meant she considered his offer a bit light. Being in a sour mood, he simply glared at her and made no move to increase the sum. ”I’m sure he’s around somewhere,” she answered vaguely, bouncing the coins in her palm meaningfully.

Oram knew what that gesture meant. He didn’t care. ”I’m sure we’ll find him somehow,” he shot back. Realizing that being a complete grump probably wouldn’t get them what they had come for, he sighed and fished a couple more nels -but just a couple- out of his bag. ”We’ve had a long and tiring journey to get here. I’m sure my mood will improve once we’ve been off our feet a bit and had something to eat.” He didn’t bother to pretend that he meant it.

The innkeeper shot Darius a questioning look, as if to ask: is he always like this? ”The common room is that way,” she said, pointing. ”I’ll see to your meal once I’ve gotten this handsome fella taken care of.” She patted the mule on the nose.

”I can tend to Mule,” Oram offered shortly. ”I’d like to see the stables for myself, if that’s alright. The sooner Darius and I can get fed and situated, the better.”

The innkeeper paused a trill, then nodded, told Oram where the stables were, and the traveler went off to get his animal sorted out. While he was gone, she turned to Darius and gestured for him to follow. The common room to which she led him was large, but surprisingly warm and not drafty. As for fare, they had warm cider and some hearty fish stew ready-made. They also had chicory coffee. They had stronger drink, too, but it was all cold. Other food items on the menu would take time to cook. ”Any idea what your…friend wants?” she asked. After taking Darius’ order, she continued: ”As for Rorn, he’s not hard to find. His farmstead is just a bit east of here. Last place before the road towards the mountains starts to peter out into a trail. He’s got a sign at his gate with a big ‘R’ painted on it. You won’t miss it, even in this gloom.”

She then asked: ”How long are you planning to stay in Egilrun? And what sort of room are you looking for?”

Oram appeared a few bits later, around the time Cornelia brought the drinks. She shot the hunter a cool look. ”Are the stables adequate?” she asked. He nodded, either missing or ignoring the tone. ”They’re the best stables I’ve seen in a while, actually.”

The kind remark seemed to take her aback for a trill. Oram ignored that, too, as he set himself down opposite Darius. Cider and fish stew was just fine with him. He ate and drank in silence, partly because he was quite hungry. Partly.

Once the innkeeper had seen to their room and their fare, she delegated their attendance to her staff. She had other guests and customers, after all. That left the two of them time to eat in peace. After Oram had wolfed down two bowls of stew, and gnawed the greater part of a hunk of bread the size of both his fists, he sat back and looked across at Darius. ”Seams had better reimburse us for this,” he muttered. ”Or he can find his own damned owl.”

He sighed. His words notwithstanding, the hunter’s mood had softened a bit thanks to the meal. ”Good food,” he said curtly. ”I’ll give her that. So. Do you want to go see Rorn as soon as we’re done eating, or do you want to rest a bit first?”

One more thought occurred to him. ”She said something about people coming to look for the owl every Cylus. We should ask Rorn about that when we see him.” He reckoned maybe they could ask the innkeeper, too, but he didn’t want to.

Oram nodded vaguely at Darius’ suggestion that they press on to Rorn’s farm. Nodded, because he agreed with his companion’s thoughts on the matter; vaguely, because the food, the warmth, the sitting were all conspiring to weigh his limbs down, pressing home the fatigue he had until then managed to keep at bay with motion and purpose. He willed his mind to work through Darius’ words, to figure out their import.

”People have been boasting, have they?” he asked around a stifled yawn. ”They’re gonna find it? We’ll have to ask who Seams has been sending before; they sound like fools.” He rubbed his temples, blinked a few times, looked up with a grin at Darius. ”We’re not fools, though, are we? Maybe we’ll find this owl, maybe we won’t, but we aren’t going around bragging about it beforehand.”

He poured himself the last bit of chicory and stared thoughtfully into the cup, the grin fading into something more serious. ”Somebody’s not telling us straight,” he muttered: ”Seams made it sound like folks here were in an uproar about this thing killing their chickens and such.” Without looking up he pointed with his thumb towards the front of the inn. ”…but Apple Lady here acts like it’s some sort of legend, some phantom for gullible idiots to chase. I hope we get something more useful from this Rorn character.”

The hunter sipped quietly on his drink for a bit or so, then sat up suddenly and set the cup down with a dull but emphatic *thunk*. ”You know, Darius, now that I think of it, I *definitely* want to see this Rorn as soon as possible, if only to figure out the truth of why we’re even here.” With a grunt he pushed his bench back from the table and lumbered to his feet. ”I’m ready when you are.”

The biting cold that the two men had left at the inn’s door a break before jumped on them like an attention-starved pet the moment they stepped back outside. The initial shock was unpleasant, but it dispelled the drowsiness that had started to set in on them, and the warm break and the hot meal fortified them enough for the short trip to Rorn’s farm.

In the evening gloom, one could not make out the ‘R’ device on the shield in front of the farmhouse unless one held a candle right up to it, but Darius and Oram were both sure they were at the right place as soon as they caught sight of it. The entire farmstead was silent under the Cylus snow, and nothing stirred that either Oram or Darius could see; reassuringly, however, there were lights in the windows, so somebody was presumably awake within. A dog barked from somewhere in the bowels of the house when Oram knocked. Then, what seemed like breaks later, the door opened to reveal a white-haired man, about as tall as Oram and as broad-shouldered as Darius, and thicker in girth than either.

Holding a torch out to one side of the doorway, he regarded the strange night visitors from under bushy white eyebrows that overshadowed his eyes in the flickering torchlight. Oram didn’t even have time to open his mouth before the man said: ”You’re here from Scalvoris about the black owl. Who else would you be? I’m Rorn. Welcome. Come in.”

They entered a cozy front room dimly lit with rushlights -dimly, that is, once Rorn put out the torch. There was one interior door leading deeper into the house, which was closed. From behind it they could hear the barking dog more clearly. A woman’s muffled voice came from the door asking if everything was alright. ”I’ve got visitors asking about the owl,” Rorn called out. ”Everything’s fine. Shut the damned dog up.”

Rorn gestured for Darius and Oram to sit on one of the benches arranged along the length of the room. There were pegs on the walls and boots on the floor behind the benches; this was clearly a mudroom. ”You’ll pardon my hospitality, I hope,” Rorn explained. ”We don’t usually entertain uninvited visitors after supper. You fellas need anything before we talk owls?”

Oram shook his head. ”We ate at the inn just before coming here; we’ll be fine to make our way back, I think.” He looked questioningly over at Darius to see if he had anything to add.

Rorn didn’t. ”Owl’s real,” he stated laconically, as if he were reading Oram’s doubts. ”It’s been picking at my chicken coop last several nights.” The farmer spit. ”Last arc this time it got some of my chickens. This time I got the coop better-prepared, so it hasn’t gotten in, but that didn’t stop it from trying. This season, on account of it’s dark all trial round, the owl will hunt practically any time. I’ve seen it on my fence posts, watching when I go into the coop, all brazen and unafraid like. Biggest owl I ever seen, an’ black as you please. Not just dark on account of it being gloomy, *black*. I got feathers to prove it. You can have ‘em if it’ll mean anything to that Professor fellah that sent you.”

Rorn sat back and grinned. ”I pegged it with a rock, couple trials back. Hit it pretty good, too. It flew away, but I think I might have hurt it, at least some. Haven’t seen it since, but I know it’s still around somewhere.”

The farmer peered from under his white eyebrows at the two men. ”So, what are your questions?”

Oram nodded in response to Rorn’s asking if the pair wanted to see the owl’s feathers, though he might just as easily have shrugged. They wouldn’t actually be much help tracking down the owl, and if the farmer was telling it true, wouldn’t be needed to identify it. He reckoned they might be of interest to Seams, though, especially if he and Darius ended up otherwise empty-handed.

Rorn answered the hunter’s nod with one of his own, and excused himself to go into the back part of the house. He cracked open the door cautiously and was greeted by an eager flurry of scrabbling and snuffling. ”Get back, you!” he growled warningly, as he pushed the unseen dog back from the doorway and closed the door again quickly behind him.

His equally unseen wife must have gotten the dog in hand in the interval, for when Rorn reappeared, he opened the door and entered the room easily. In his free hand he held a large flight feather, at least the size of a swan’s. When he handed it to Darius, he also had a couple smaller downy feathers in his palm. Oram peered over to look. All the feathers were deeply, utterly black. In the firelight the large plume looked almost like a feather-shaped void; only the bases of the shafts were a lighter color.

”You can keep those,” offered Rorn. ”I only kept them in case somebody came, anyway.”

After a moment of examining the feathers, Oram looked up at the farmer. ”Could you take us to the spot where you struck it?” he asked. Rorn grumbled a bit. ”It’s late,” he pointed out. ”And dark. Why don’t you boys come by tomorrow during daytime. Even in Cylus, it’ll be more light out then.”

That made sense to Oram, and he said so. His tired mind also couldn’t think of any helpful questions to ask just then, either. Perhaps he would have more after a few breaks’ sleep. What did Darius think?

Darius’ amazed expression as he regarded the black feather was amusing to watch, though hardly out-of-place. The black feather was indeed a strange and striking thing, as must be any beast it might have come from. Somehow, just looking at it, Oram knew that catching the owl would be no mean feat, and not just because of its apparent size.

The hunter and the mariner took leave from the farmer, and tramped through the cold darkness back towards the distant lights of Egilrun. Oram’s mind was buzzing with thoughts and questions, and he hardly spoke until they reached the inn; neither did Darius, who Oram guessed was just as preoccupied with what they had just learned as he was. That and they were both pretty tired, Oram guessed.

As they warmed up in the room, Oram started to feel like he was soaking in a warm bath of drowsiness. Darius’ question roused him. It took a few trills to turn his sullen mind away from sleep towards forming some coherent thoughts. ”Well, Rorn’s expecting us so obviously we should go out there first thing after breakfast,” he suggested. ”Early enough so he can get on with his day, and we with ours.” Oram yawned, blinked, shoved his reluctant brain towards a couple more ideas.

”Owl that big can’t be visiting just one farm,” he resumed, as he rubbed his temples. ”Others have seen this owl, Darius, I know it. Question is: how do we get people talking? Maybe showing the feather around will jog some memories and loosen some tongues?” Oram shrugged. Getting stuff out of other people wasn’t the hunter’s strong suit. ”We can work out the details after we’ve had some sleep and some breakfast.”

After saying this, he got ready to go to bed. Maybe he would remember whatever Darius said after that point, maybe not, but for now, he was getting some sleep. Intriguing as the events of the trial were, Oram’s thoughts had no trouble shutting off, and he was sound asleep not long after his head hit the pillow.

In spite of his fatigue, and the incessant gloom, Oram woke up early enough the next morning, although he still did not feel entirely refreshed as he rose. Breakfast, coffee, and a quick, bracing trot around the snowy innyard with Mule roused him more fully, and by the time he and Darius set out to revisit Rorn’s farm in the somewhat-better light, the hunter was feeling more like himself than he had since they had set out from Scalvoris. ”Any ideas who else we should talk to?” he asked Darius, as they neared Rorn’s farm. ”I reckon we should find out who else raises chickens around here, and he would know.”

Near Rorn’s farmhouse was a shed with a door that stood open. Next to it stood a largish, shaggy brown dog, which spotted Darius and Oram as they approached and started barking; it was clearly the same dog they had heard in the house the night before. Rorn emerged from the shed and peered in the visitors’ direction for a moment before waving them forward. The farmer then said something to the dog that made it stop barking and sit, though it continued to watch them.

”There you are!” called out Rorn heartily. ”Wasn’t sure when you’d show. You guys want anything to eat or drink?” Oram glanced at Darius and shook his head. ”I think we’re alright, thanks. We had breakfast already.”

The farmer nodded. ”Right, well, let’s show you what you came for so we can both be on our way.” With an effortful grunt, he tugged the shed door closed and then started off towards a lone snow-laden spruce about fifty paces away. The dog trotted after him without taking its eyes off of the strangers. ”Winged the bird in a low branch of that tree,” he explained, pointing. ”The chicken coop it keeps trying to raid is just the other side of it.”

As he examined the ground under the tree, Oram asked: ”Who else around here raises chickens, Rorn? People act like you’re the only one in Egilrun that’s seen this bird. Now that I’m sure it’s real, I find that hard to believe.”

Rorn snorted. ”So do I. Folks in town like Cornelia make out to visitors that it’s just crazy ol’ Rorn with his wild owl tales, but they know it ain’t. Chickens are dying, and it’s not foxes or ferrets, but most of the other farmers insist it’s just regular owls or hawks; if they’ve seen the big black owl, they aren’t admitting it.”

Oram searched the needle-sprinkled snow under the tree for spoor, but was not initially having any luck. Periodic dumps of snow from the branches above meant that anything more than a couple trials old was likely buried. Having gone once around the tree and finding nothing useful on the surface, he looked for recently-dropped piles of snow. Finding one, Oram dropped down to one knee and started poking around in it.

Rorn hadn’t answered his question, so he asked it again. ”So who else raises chickens?”

The farmer started and seemed sheepish; he wasn’t being evasive, apparently, just forgetful. ”Oh! Sorry, yes, well…lots of people raise some chickens, especially closer in to town. Out here, though, only me and Donni Tahreke raise ‘em in any numbers. His farm’s about three miles east of here. He keeps lots of livestock, so he’s got a big, green barn an’ hay rick that you can’t miss. He hasn’t told me that he lost many chickens, though I never asked him, either. Perhaps the owl’s shy of all his other animals, but I doubt it. Apart from him,” Rorn shrugged: ”…just wander the outskirts of town and look for coops. Anybody with a yard can raise a couple chickens, and a lot of ‘em do. Couldn’t tell you who’d be good to ask except Donni, though.”

Oram nodded as he poked his fingers through a likely-looking pile. Finding dirty white masses of bird poop in dirty white masses of snow was every bit as hard as it sounded, but Oram was looking for something else, and eventually, he found it. He dug out a messy, shaggy-looking oblong mass, just longer than his gloved palm was wide. Embedded in the mass were small feathers and bones. Oram peered at these closely. Not chick down or bones, he guessed. Some small wild bird. He stood up and showed Darius and Rorn. The dog came over and peered at it as well, nostrils flaring as it tried to catch some scent.

”Pellet,” he announced.

Rorn nodded. ”That’s a big one. Just about what I’d expect your owl might cough up. You wanna see the coop now, or do you want to poke around here some more?”

Oram pulled out a napkin he’d borrowed from the inn and wrapped the pellet in it. ”I think I’m done here for now. Let’s go look at the coop.”

Looking at the coop didn’t tell Oram much, aside from the obvious: that Rorn had recently reinforced its sides with newer, thicker planks. When Darius suggested that they go on to see Donni Tahreke, the hunter nodded; when the farmer remarked that Tahreke probably wouldn’t tell them much, he shrugged.

”We should try, anyway,” he responded. ”It’s what we’re here for.” Speaking of which, it looked like they had finished whatever they had come back to Rorn’s farm for, it was time to thank him and take their leave, heading on from there to Donni Tahreke’s farm.

The walk took the pair across a league or so of largely trackless, snow-covered terrain. Although they did not get lost on the way, it was easy to wander off the unseen road; more than once Oram found himself unexpectedly stepping into soft snow and sinking into it nearly up to his knee. Each time he did so strengthened his resolve to get himself a pair of snowshoes, not to mention his tendency to mutter to himself to that effect. If he couldn’t afford to buy a pair, then by Karem, Oram would make them himself.

They had trudged for nearly two breaks from Rorn’s farm when they caught sight of the green barn. Even in the perpetual Cylus gloom it stuck out amid the snow-covered landscape; when they got a bit closer, they could make out the nearby farmhouse, as well. When they were within about ten paces of the house, a voice called out from a window: ”That’s close enough, strangers! State your business before I shoot you!”

Oram peered up at the window to see a man, clean-shaven and younger-looking than he had expected, though none-too-friendly. If the farmer had a bow or any other shooting weapon, he was not holding it where either he or Darius could see it. The hunter cleared his throat nervously, then said: ”My name’s Oram, and this here’s Darius. We came from Scalvoris because of reports about an enormous black owl seen hereabouts lately. Your neighbor Rorn says he’s seen it, and that it’s bothered his chickens. We were wondering if you’d seen something similar.”

He looked up at the man at the window, whom he assumed to be Donni Tahreke, and waited for an answer. It was not long coming. The farmer scowled and snorted. ”Rorn and his owl!” he scoffed. ”He’s a fool who makes up stories, and you’re a fool to listen to him!”

Oram nodded. ”That may well be, sir. But he didn’t make up this feather.” He took out the large black feather and waved it over his head. ”Nor the pellet I found next to Rorn’s coop.”

That just made Tahreke scowl even more. ”Pellet?” he demanded. ”What do you mean ‘pellet’?”

”It’s something birds cough up when they eat something that doesn’t agree with them,” Oram explained. ”I’ve been hunting since I was a boy, and I can tell you that neither this feather nor that pellet were left by anything other than a very large bird. You could not have mistaken it for aught else, if you saw it.”

Tahreke scoffed again. ”That so? Well, then you should know I ain’t mistaken when I say I have seen no such bird, nor has any such attacked my chickens. Now leave my farm, strangers!”

His denial didn’t strike Oram as all that convincing, but it sounded none the less final for it. Uncertain, he looked over at Darius with a shrug as if to ask mutely: Can you think of anything else?