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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 23, 2010 4:09:23 GMT -5
I hate going to the marketplace.
I know there will be eyes on me the moment I set foot outside Balm’s doorstep. That’s a given; any adept draws the eye to themselves, by virtue of their very calling. People watch and wonder: what errand might take me away from my House? Is someone in need of healing, or do I go to meet a lover? Do I wind my way to the marquist, or is it whim that draws me out on a day when the weather favors a walk through the streets? I know that they mean no harm, but still I feel afraid the moment I leave the House, because I don’t know that among those many eyes there won’t be a pair that is waiting merely for the opportunity to destroy me. And so I hurry onwards, even though my face and my body betray nothing. My training allows for nothing else. I’m naught but an adept in a slight hurry, wherever my day’s errands might take me.
There was a time I enjoyed visiting the marketplace. The hope of new herbs, seeds, roots, spices unknown from places too exotic for my mind to wrap itself around their nature. Oh, I loved it, I loved the stories to go with them, I loved the bargaining, I loved the search for that new treasure to bring home to my small room, mayhaps to watch it grow in another clay pot. Buying the phials and small vessels I use to bottle my mixtures, that was but the work of a moment, the least of the adventures to be had at the marketplace. Now, that task alone is a dreaded pilgrimage.
The afternoon is bright, but not unduly uncomfortable. Waiting overlong to run my errand, from sheer lack of courage, means the early shoppers have already gone home. I even take the time to chat lightly with the stall-keeper, and I’m surprised at how glad he seems to be at my greeting, at even a bit of haggling over the phials and small stained bottles. No perfume-maker would be caught dead using them, of course, but they serve me and my mixes well enough.
I tuck a box under one arm and dangle a small bag from my free hand, and oh… I cannot help but turn my steps towards the spice stalls. Every time I tell myself I should return as swiftly as I can, and every time, until today, I’ve done so. It’s not until I see the stall-keepers lighting lamps to tend to the last of their customers that I realize how late I’ve stayed out of the protection of the House’s walls. It’s almost dark. Blessed Elua, it’s almost dark. I feel an immediate frisson of fear, like a sudden illness around my heart, and so I cut behind the stalls, my steps made hasty with the need to get back to safety. Some small part of my mind warns that it might not be safe to leave the lighted area. I don’t care, I must get home!
From the dark comes a squeal of pain, and coarse laughter. I’m moving in that direction before I know what’s happened; the healer in me knows it’s not a human cry, but still I move to the dirty alleyway between two building. I’m terrified, yes. But I’m also of Eisheth’s blood.
There’s five of them, not D’Angelines, very drunk. One of the buildings next to us must be a tavern. One of them has a broken leg bone that’s healed badly over the years, and another will have very bad joint pain as he grows old. They’re prodding with one old cutlass and a few sharp sticks a poor donkey tied to a slop cart that wants nothing more of mean drunks than any other creature on Blessed Elua’s soil. There’s five of them. Five of them. They are not D’Angelines. They are drunk. At least one of them is armed. Every part of me screams that I should turn around and leave. Every part, but the healer. “You there!” My voice sounds strange to me, but at least, I hope, it doesn’t sound as terrified as I am. Volume, I hope, might disguise some of that. “Leave the poor beast alone, it’s done nothing to you!”
They turn. It takes them a moment to process my presence and my words, I can follow the effort through their liquor-hazed eyes (one of them is courting early blindness, too). Then they move, speaking in their tongue, which I don’t recognize. But I can read their posture, their expressions: I am the new donkey. Blessed Eisheth, sweet Namaah, please watch over your servant. Because I don’t know how to get out of this.
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Post by Yves Chevalier on Mar 23, 2010 20:32:43 GMT -5
I had discovered at one time a talent for dice. Not a rich man, not anymore, at any rate, I had managed to parlay my salary into something more livable in some of the taverns here in Night's Doorstep. Unfortunately, I was becoming well known in those places, and I would soon have to find another haunt, or no one would dice with me. Ah, the perils of being too good at one's game!
Today I was strolling through the many stalls, not looking for anything in particular, simply enjoying the day. The air was crisp and a bit chill, but I was not the type to be bothered by inclement weather. Not to mention that unlike most of the fools around here I did not go in for bare arms and showy vests, so I was amply dressed in breeches and a long-sleeved tunic, black as was my wont, with green embroidery.
Today I found myself wandering the marketplace, as I did from time to time, poking about for something on which to spend my ill-gotten gains. I bought a small bag of chocolates for the girls at the bath house, something that made me rather popular amongst them, some spices I had wanted to try, and a large ham bone that I knew the cook needed for soup.
I was running my fingers over the smooth silk of a gold scarf when I heard shouting. Frowning, I glanced up though the shopkeeper tried to keep my attention. I was nothing if not too curious for my own good, so I let the silk fall and followed my ears down an alley next to the self-same tavern I had worn out my welcome from.
There was a donkey, five men who looked foreign, and a D'Angeline who did not seem ready to take them on. They had formed a semi-circle around him and were walking toward him aggressively. I frowned, I hated bullies.
I loosened my sword in its scabbard and took several quick steps forward, stepping up next to the D'Angeline. "Is this a private game, or can anyone play?" I asked, resting my hand on the hilt of my blade and doing my best to look dangerous. Which was not terribly dangerous, as I was indeed rather dangerous.
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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 23, 2010 23:04:53 GMT -5
I can taste the copper of fear in the back of my mouth, and I don't even know I'm backing away until a stray piece of refuse threatens my feet out from under me. Everything is so much sharper, the faint tinkling of the phials under my arm, the mixed scent of sweat, grime and alcohol from the men, the wind funneled into the alleway, chill and fitful.
By comparison, the man suddenly at my side is so much a wraith that I nearly jump at his presence. The hand on that sword is calloused, the pommel well-kept, and he walks with that subtle sway of the experienced swordsman. His clothes are well-cut, but not overtly expensive. I hope he's not a mercenary expecting quick coin, or he'll be sore disappointed.
The other men, drunk as they are, take a little longer to size him up. The alcohol dulls their surprise, and fills in the void that common sense ought to be taking up on their skulls; if they were sober they would see they're no match for the stranger. As they're both drunk and have numbers on their side, they close in on us with nasty grins.
"I'm more than passing glad of the aid, sir. I'm no fighter..." My voice is steady, at least. It sounds strange, but blessed Elua grant me that at least it's steady so I can let him know how far over my head I'm in. My fear needs to stay out of the way. "... and I'm not armed."
I get that far before those sharpened sticks start swinging like clubs, and duck as low and as far out of the way as the narrow alley will allow.
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Post by Yves Chevalier on Mar 23, 2010 23:18:42 GMT -5
I could have told him that I knew he was no fighter, which was of course why these ruffians sought to toy with him. Perhaps they wished to rob him, or perhaps other sport, but I did not mean to give them the chance.
Why, oh why, do I always do this?
I sighed inwardly as the men took a second look, but then decided to take their chances. Why did the drunk always think they were better than they were? I pulled my sword from the sheath and executed a neat flourish with it, hoping again to dissuade them. Despite my prowess in a fight, I did not actually enjoy this sort of thing.
"Just stay out of the way!" I called to the unfortunate young man as the fray was suddenly thrust upon me. The fact that I had a sword and they had sticks struck me as ridiculous and it was no matter for me to disarm two of them in moments. However, I had no wish to do permanent harm to anyone, even these foolish jackasses who roundly deserved it, which made things more difficult.
Allowing them to push me back a few feet, I suddenly feinted left and lifted my sword, bringing the pommel down squarely on the head of the nearest man, knocking him out cold. He dropped like a stone, but the position I was in allowed one of the others a lucky strike and for a moment I could hardly breath as I heard one of my ribs crack.
Cursing, I whirled around and brought my foot out to sweep the man's feet out from under him, causing him to fall all over his friend. While I was clearly a better fighter than these fools, I was beginning to realize that I was not going to come out of this unscathed.
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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 24, 2010 0:00:18 GMT -5
The sounds of violence chilled me, a harsh, unpleasant feeling creeping over the whole of my body. Violence begets harm, always. The healer in me loathes the sound, the sight, the presence of it, even if I can understand the need for it.
The sounds of the fight were all I could follow of it. The stranger was moving faster than a leaf caught in a whirlwind, and the five men -- no, four... no, three, were stumbling around in patterns I couldn't predict, and falling so quickly to the man's skill that I didn't even know who was still standing. The gods at last favored two of them with the gift of wits, and they took off running further into the alleway and out of sight. The last one, armed with the battered old cutlass, was in too high-and-hot a mood to accept a graceful retreat.
I heard the stranger catch his breath sharply and winced. I had no idea what had happened, but I knew the sounds of pain to a nicety. Well, at least he'd have a healer at hand once the dust settled down, I thought in some misery.
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Post by Yves Chevalier on Mar 24, 2010 15:22:31 GMT -5
It was one-to-one now, and I much preferred those odds, though the fact that I was operating on a cracked rib and the desire not to kill anyone severely hampered my effectiveness.
I parried several blows in a row, knocking the man back; he had to know by now that he was hopelessly outcast. I was no Cassiline but I had practically been born with a blade in my hand and I had held my own in far deadlier situations than this.
"Stand down, man, and take the advice of your fellows!" I called out to him, shaking my head. Of course if the man had any brains at all he would have left with his friends, so I did not really expect him to heed my warning. Still, I was a gentleman and I gave him the chance.
As expected, he ignored me and at length I disarmed him, sending the cutlass flying through the air and landing in a heap of trash next to what was surely the back door of one or another tavern of ill-repute in this neighborhood. He lost his bravery without his sword, and he took off then, cursing in his native tongue and giving me a look that told me he would remember me and that I might have more trouble after this.
I leaned against the wall, allowing myself to rest and breathe heavily for a few moments, despite the pain it caused me. Then I looked up to see if the young man I had "rescued" had remained in attendance.
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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 24, 2010 16:05:40 GMT -5
The last man was outclassed. I knew it; the stranger knew it; the only one who hadn't noticed was the man in question. If ever I'd needed a lesson about minding my drinking, it was painted to me clearly as the sword went flying into a trash heap and the man slunk away like an angry feral mongrel, not merely defeated but soundly humiliated even through the haze of alcohol.
I turned to look at the stranger who'd lent me such unexpected aid, and for a moment I felt fear trying to sour my gratitude. There was much I hadn't noticed on those first few hurried moments. He didn't have a Cassiline knot, for example. He didn't wear Guard colors, though he could have just been off-duty...
It lasted about as long as it took for him to lean against a wall and try to drag in a few deep breaths. I heard in them the unmistakable catch of pain, and moved to stand from where I'd tried to tuck myself out of his way, settling down my small burdens to approach him, hands open. Not that I expected him to think I was any sort of threat to one like him, but better safe than sorry, after all. "Let me have a look at those ribs." I kept my voice calm; no patient likes to hear their healer panic, and no patron likes a shrill adept.
Though, belatedly, I realized I could have opened the conversation somewhat more politely...
"Ah... thank you. For dealing with those men. I'm in your debt, sir." Truly the essence of courtesy, I was. I should have fled in shame if I weren't sure he was injured for my sake; I'd left the most basic of courtesies for last. "I'm Faisan. Faisan no Balm."
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Post by Yves Chevalier on Mar 24, 2010 18:46:35 GMT -5
Normally I might have waved him off, gone back to the Bath House and had one of the girls tend my wounds - which tended to end in an interesting fashion - but I was in too much pain to bother. And then he said his name, and I was more at ease, who better to look at my wounds than a Balm adept?
"Well met, Faisan no Balm," I said, gritting my teeth and pulling my tunic over my head to reveal an already purpling area of my side. An old scar cut across my chest and another one, thicker, marred my hip. I was not self-conscious of such things, however. "And no debt is incurred; I simply am too chivalrous for my own good."
I smiled ruefully and then realized that I myself had given no introduction. "And I am Yves Chevalier, at your service, as it were."
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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 25, 2010 0:03:41 GMT -5
His scars caught my attention, but only for the time needed to see them and classify them as harmless. The stitching in one could have used better work, once upon a time, but it was the spreading bruise over his ribs that concerned me.
I ran my fingers as lightly as I could over it. His reactive twitch told me what I needed to know: light or not, if the ribs had been broken, instinct would have forced a much more peremptory response from him. "One of your ribs is cracked, maybe two", I said, trying to keep the misery from my tone. "I can tend them, if... Is there a place I can take you, nearby? With better light and clean water?" I had nothing on my satchel but what little coin I had left, and some emergency mixtures, but all I really could do was dull the pain and bind his chest, and those were things better left to good lighting and clean environments.
"I can do something to ease your way there." I dug into my satchel and got a small, round wooden box. I took it just about anywhere I went, as it was a patron (and patient) favorite, a mild mixtured rendered from clear tallow to numb aching joints. In truth, it could numb fingers and everything else just as well, though it wouldn't completely deaden the pain of a cracked rib. "I hope you don't mind smelling as if you've been to a lady's bedchamber", I said, and only belatedly realized the potential humor of the remark. I'd meant it as a warning, not a joke, and decided to focus instead on spreading a coating of it on the bruise as gently as I could.
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Post by Yves Chevalier on Mar 25, 2010 0:15:01 GMT -5
I bit back a gasp of pain as his fingers probed, albeit gently, over my ribs. He had the hands of a healer, I'd give him that, and while the pain was irksome I wasn't going to whine like a little girl over it.
"I live not far from here," I said, wondering what Beatrice or the girls would say when they saw this. "Or we could go to Balm, but I don't have that kind of coin," I said, half in jest, though I wondered if they would even charge me as my injuries had come about defending one of their own.
I laughed at his next remark, shaking my head, "No, I don't mind ... it won't be the first time, at any rate. Although, the way I feel right now, it might be some time before I find myself smelling like a lady's bedchamber again!"
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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 25, 2010 0:36:46 GMT -5
He laughed, and the sound made me smile. It was good to know he wasn't angry at my inability to defend myself, or even aid him in the endeavor.
"Balm is a very long walk away, and that would cost you more dear than coin right now." I worked the salve in as gently as I could. "And if need be I'll make sure you can smell of such every time you'd like." I grinned, teasing.
My fingers were going numb, so I could only hope his injury was at least a little easier, and pulled back, seeing if I could help him with the shirt and offering my arm and shoulder to steady him, tucking my box under the other and picking up my bag with my free hand. "Lead on. The sooner we get those ribs secured, the sooner they'll heal, messire Chevalier."
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Post by Yves Chevalier on Mar 25, 2010 0:57:46 GMT -5
"Home it is," I said, sighing with relieve as the salve he had spread over my ribs sank in and gave me some relief. "Hmm, I might have to get some of that," I said, smiling. "The girls at home would love it."
I chuckled at his teasing, getting back into my shirt with about as much grace as the donkey who had watched this entire affair with an expression of bored indifference. "I may hold you to that!"
At first I did not take him up on the aid he offered but several feet later I realized that I was going to tire before we reached home at this rate, so I did lean on him gratefully.
"Just Yves, please," I said, grimacing as we began the walk to the bathhouse. "It's a good thing I held onto the chocolates," I muttered, trying to take my mind off of the pain, "or the girls might not let us in."
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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 25, 2010 1:14:06 GMT -5
Girls? Was he a brothel bouncer? I certainly hadn't seen him working at any of the Houses as a guard. Or did he mean his own family? ... Which, in hindsight, made me glad I hadn't voiced my questions aloud before thinking them through.
Pride, or the salve's numbing agent, let him think for a few moments that he could go on unaided. His rib decided for him otherwise, and quickly. As I steadied him and let him lead, I smiled. "I shall get you some of your own, mes- Yves. It's the least I can do."
Well, if bribery was needed, in the form of candy of all things, it had to be a place where he was either family, or almost counted as such. "I will vouch that you didn't abandon them for a Balm. Even if you did spend time with said Balm in a dark alleyway." I kept my voice solemn, only the undertone of it giving sound to the humor I meant. "Where... are we going?"
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Post by Yves Chevalier on Mar 25, 2010 1:34:39 GMT -5
"Thank you," I said as we limped along. I certainly hoped there were no more ruffians where the others had come from - it would be a lot more difficult to deal with them in this position.
Luckily, the bath house wasn't far and as we turned a corner I could see it down the street a ways. "Just there," I said, jerking my chin in the direction of home. "I hope you don't mind brothels," I said, wondering if he would. Most adepts that I had met looked down their noses at simple women like those I protected, especially ones like Elodie, who had once been adepts themselves. "I promise, the girls don't bite," I said, laughing and grimacing all at once.
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Post by Faisan nó Balm on Mar 25, 2010 1:46:21 GMT -5
I felt a renewed touch of nervousness at his words. I'd never been to a brothel. I didn't know... Would the women who worked there resent an Adept? I wasn't looking to make enemies, only amends for getting Yves injured.
Of course, bringing back one of their own with cracked ribs was surely going to make a wonderful first impression. My chagrin, however, was best kept to myself. "As long as there's clean water and a few lights, I don't mind. I hope... they don't mind me, given the circumstances."
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