(1868-05-24) Stew and Sorcery
Stew and Sorcery
Summary: Havelock meets Saren Augustus, and has a quiet word with Myrana regarding her sorcerous moment.
Date: 1868-05-24
Related: Anything related to the Inn 'brawl' at Green Bluff.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Saren  Myrana  Havelock  

Greens Bluff Camp
Muddy camp.
1868-05-24

After the disastrous, and nearly MORE disastrous events at the Inn in Green Bluff, Myrana slept. She slept, and didn't wake up till the next day at nearly four in the afternoon, by the lowering sun, and rose with something like the strangest hangover. Her head is fine, and thankfully, there's no sickness to speak of- but the healer (likely Dario) who checked on her in her private tent would be able to say that she suddenly sat up, weak but-

"Starving!"

Myrana growls this to herself and tries not to rub her incredibly hollow-feeling stomach as she heads towards the walls, a little wobbly but determined. She's going to fall on someone's cookfire like the wreck of the hesperus.

Perhaps seeking a sly audience with Myrana, perhaps just thinking of her health, Sir Havelock moves to intercept Myrana as she exits her tent and moves towards the walls. Within his hands a small and dented crockpot of rich and meaty stew. And a small flagon of some local beer, "Lady Myrana!" The robed Reliant calls out, clad not in his usual armour, but the monkish robes of his Order, "Lady Myrana, I have got you some food! You need to build up your strength, you're as bad as Sir Bertram." And with that chiding spoken, the healer moves to offer the sneaky little scamp an arm, with a guiding nudge towards a suitably vacant and fading campfire that seems to have been deserted for one reason or another.

Outside among the tents Saren is cooking dinner for himself. A pot of rice hangs in a tripod over his fire, smelling as though he has added some rather delicious herbs and spices to it. Vegetables that he convinced a d'Kemp farmer to part with are being fried in oil in a pan below that on the rocks around his fire. The smell is divine and as Saren adds the vegetables to the pot of seasoned rice he spots the hungry looking Myrana. He looks at her in concern. "My Lady there is food enough over here if you are hungry. I will gladly share. You are welcome too join as well Sir Havelock." He smiles faintly at the pair his gaze somewhat curious as he stirs the pot and removes it from the heat. There is no meat but ever since Saren's empathy skills felt the fear and pain of a rabbit before he killed it he has been unable to look at dead animals or meat without feeling slightly ill. However this is unknown to all save him and really the food smells wonderful even without meat.

Myrana gasps as Havelock appears, laaahhhh, sparkling and glorious bearing the one thing in the world she needs right now. She gives him a look of wondering amazement, then tries to just take the hot crock with her bare hands.

But nope; gotta get lectured. This is the problem with holymen, in her experience. Buuuuut, she's also a good and pious young woman (well, a young pious woman anyway) and Havelock is not so easy to trick or distract so she can just EAT the FOOD.

"Yes, Doctor," she says, taking his arm- and then immediately and unapologetically attempting with a deft hip pivot that BOMPS into him while she leans like a masterful dancefloor manipulator, to turn their path towards the SECOND SOURCE OF FOOD.

"What are you cooking, master Saren?"

Havelock is deftly pivoted, never has he been so pivoted, pivoted expertly at that, yet pivoted he is and for a brief moment, the Reliant's eyes narrow faintly as he casts his eyes upon the newcomer, "Saren Augustus." If ever two words were spoken with a certain emptiness, it is indeed those two words. But speak he does, offering the man a faint nod by way of greeting before moving to aid the glutton-to-be to a suitable seat at Saren's fire. While Havelock himself, only settles once Myrana is settled, putting the crockpot beside Myrana, and setting down the jug of beer within reach also. For a moment or two, Havelock remains quiet, gazing into the flames for a brief moment, "I hear you cut down the bodies?" A simple enough question. Ideal for dinner time!

Saren picks up a bowl and ladles some of the spiced rice and vegetable mixture into it before passing it to Myrana along with a spoon. "Try it. Its seasoned rice and vegetables. A local farmer was kind enough to sell me some fresh root vegetables and squash. It isn't too spicy I promise but it does have a little kick to it." He smiles and then looks to Havelock and arches a brow. "Yes. And they received proper funeral rites as they deserved. May the One God protect thier souls…they are with Him now." His tone is quiet and reverent as he speaks of the One, its the tone of a feirce believer. His grey eyes study Havelock intensely, neither disapproving nor approving just oh so carefully neutral. "Would you like to try some of my cooking Sir?" He begins filling up another bowl for himself and will fill one for Havelock too if he wishes it.

Myrana sits down with distinct relief and gratefulness for the help; she feels like she's marched for days on no rations, though this is of course untrue. She thanks Saren for the bowl of rice, and scooting the fragrant rice and vegetables to one half of the bowl, ladles a heaping portion of stew next to it like it were curry. She sighs happily and wolfs it down, tilting the bowl up and genteely using her fingers to eat. It's not that uncommon in the civilized west, after all, to eat without utensils, even among nobility, though most Aequoran nobles find it highly unfashionable, and not to be done at Court. It tends to get sauce on one's sleeves.

The contents of the bowl vanish. Myra is a magician. She uses a kerchief to dab her face. Its a miracle there weren't grains of rice and bits of beef flying everywhere, or a cookie-monster type gnashing and belching.

"Rhm." Myrana pours more stew into her bowl. "Wh…what bodies?"

Havelock raises a hand, while shaking his head, "I ate at the Inn, they are getting back to normal… after what was probably the shortest and oddest battle to take place in this whole war." The be-robed Reliant tucks his hands into his sleeves, pretty much ensuring that nothing can be given or indeed offered, but for the most part his hands are warm! To Myrana's feasting, Havelock remains silent, allowing both to eat their share without interruption, though Myrana's question soon changes that approach to sharing the campfire, "I hung the d'Kemp men, it was necessary. What with the confusion about the Inn, the destruction and Master Croix's insistence that that wasn't quite what he had in mind… well, it was the best course. They were traitors, some might say heretics." Though at that, Havelock smirks faintly, if indeed wolfishly, he clearly doesn't think that, but the way things are, well, "No point carting prisoners about with us. Clean, efficient, dealt with."

Myrana's fingers hover above her bowl with a piece of beef and some spring onions. "The prisoners were hanged?" she asks, confused. "But wh-" then it dawns on her; the Inn. She almost blew up the whole Inn. Thank goodness for provincial beer. She looks at her bowl and seems to try and reorder her thoughts. "…If they were heretics, that is sensible," she mumbles, and eats the food she's holding, rather more uncertainly, but still famished. "This rice is very good, master Saren," she says. "Thank you for the stew, Doctor; you can have the beer." Beer is gross.

Saren hands Myrana a wineskin when she refuses to drink the beer. "Here. Its wine. I am not fond of beer either." He grins faintly. "And I'm very glad my attempts at cooking meet your approval. Though that could just be because you seem so hungry today perhaps?"

"So…" Havelock rumbles for a moment, clearly trying to ponder a 'safe' question to ask, ".. you just feel rather ravenous after the fight yesterday, you took a good blow to the head." Which technically is kind of what happened, given the worried expression that flits across Havelock's features, not to mention a quick glance to the back of Myrana's bonce, as if to reassure himself. After a moment or two, Havelock decides to avail himself of the beer and takes a healthy swig straight from the flagon, which if anything washes away the sawdust from his earlier endeavours within the Inn, "Master Saren, I don't believe I got an answer yesterday, just why are you with our army?"

"When I was thrown at the backside of the bar, yes," says Myra. She, on the other hand, is an incredibly skilled liar, and as skilled liars know: the best lie is really just cropped truth. She doesn't feel much up to deception today, though. Not in the least. "I do- oh, thank you," she says, and pours some wine into her cup, which dangles from her loosely fixed belt. Its kind of a miracle she's fully dressed, though her white hair is all up on one side from where she slept like the dead. "I feel as if I could eat a whole platter of roasted eels from Master Vinko's restaurant, and all the hot noodles and mussels and prawns with ginger and chilis and fruit."

"Master Saren is here to help us sway Kemp's sister from his treachery so that she might escape the noose," says Myra, drinking a cup.

Saren eyes Havelock a long moment eating his food and swallowing a bite before looking to Myrana as she responds for him. "That is the main part of the truth yes. I am also here as a healer to help with the wounded." He studies Havelock intently. "Do you trust him Lady Myrana?" He never takes his eyes off Havelock, those calm grey eyes quietly assessing the man.

Myrana blinks. "Of course I do." What a weird question.

Saren nods. "Then I shall give him the benefit of the doubt." He says calmly. Looking to Myrana he asks. "Would you like more rice?"

Myrana has eaten two plates now, and holds her bowl out politely for a third serving. This amount of food going into someone her size is not normal, but for Havelock, who witnessed what happened yesterday and is a student of medicine, its pretty clear that whatever that explosion was, it ate up huge swathes of her caloric stores. Or, I mean, she has ringworm. But its probably not that. Gross.

"There's no harm in giving them rites, Doctor, is there?" She asks, trying to make peace now that she's starting to feel a little less starved.

"A healer?" Havelock inclines his head lightly, that in itself warrants some small measure of respect. A tiny measure, for the moment at least, "Well if there's one thing war requires, it is healers. Good healers preferably." The Reliant's hands remain shoved way up inside those baggy monkish sleeves, the red and white of his robes certainly ensuring the healer stands out amidst the many. Saren's question however warrants a faint twitch of Havelock's upper lip, an almost curling that is half feral, half amused, though he says little until Myrana speaks of the rites, "No harm at all, they received their punishment in this life, what happens to them after depends on the lives they have lead up until now, and who can say how they lived? Probably good men, just serving the wrong leader. Unfortunate, but the poor have little choice in who they serve."

"When I'm the countess of Fiorello, I'll open up a school in Four Corners," says Myrana, relaxing with the much more agreeable sensation of a stomach starting to be pleasantly full of food and wine. "And I'll have my weavers and shipbuilders and mathemeticians and scribes teach children their trades." Smiling, she eats the rice left over more normally, rather than gobbling it down in a rush. She's put away as much as someone Ramius' size would, and isn't falling over in a food coma. There's colour back in her cheeks and hands. "And I'll use one of our warehouses to do it, so that I only need to pay the Instructors and provide them a place to live. And Four Corners will be better for it."

"A noble initiative, I hope that upon my return… my hospital is still standing, though I should be able to find the time to repair those holes in the wall left by the Church's last visit." Havelock replies, grinning faintly at the odd memory of being shot at and taking cover behind the decrepit walls, "Though with all that is going on, perhaps it would be better to just take my place as a Blue Cavalier, seems an interesting role to take to fully… that Octavian certainly makes it look more interesting than it probably is." The food being consumed by Myrana is watched, almost weighed mentally, but a healthy appetite is indeed a good thing, and another ladle full of stew is slopped onto Myrana's bowl. Topped up. Nicely! Splotch! "Sir Bertram needs your appetite."

"Sir Bert didn't get thrown into the back of a bar," says Myrana with a grin. "Tavi is a scoundrel; don't believe anything he tells you." She eats from the edge of the bowl in contentment. "Did I ever tell you how he once kidnapped Ramius?"

Myrana stands up, and thanking Saren for the rice, makes to walk off with the food, apologizing and saying there are things she needs to do. If Havelock follows her and her steaming bowl of food, they might confer.

Havelock grins faintly, "Just the flux, I have a feeling he'd prefer to have been thrown into the wall of an Inn." Though as to the story concerning Tavi, Havelock lets slip a faint snort of laughter, "I don't believe I have heard that tale, though I can well believe it. I'm certainly glad the man pulled through, he's a strong fellow." As Myrana rises and leaves, Havelock spends but a few moments staring uncomfortably at Saren, before rising himself and offering the man a cursory nod before taking his leave. And a few short footsteps later, Havelock is once again by Myrana's side, his voice lowered noticeably, "Though it wasn't quite the fact that you got thrown into a wall, more that you expelled… forced… flung, whatever the word, yourself at it… not a fight I would have chosen, though given all that followed, it seems you worked up an appetite for all the energy, power… you expelled, why my cloak upon which I rolled you, has a hole burnt right through."

Myrana gives Havelock a very contrite look. "Do you need wool to patch it with? B..but yes, yes that was alarming." She sips at the stew and keeps walking, much improved now. She could still eat a great deal more, but at least she's slowed down. "…I don't know how to go about telling you, but I suppose I need to try." She pitches her voice low, and leads them on a less crowded walk through the clusters of Arrani soldier tents. "Do you remember that book I told you about? The one I stole from Cardinal Teleko's house in Four Corners? He tried to take it back; you remember. Tavi led us into a parley with him, where we were attacked by his guards."

"Ramius has the book now; he took it from me after the siege at Fiorello." Myrana sighs. "I couldn't find it after the, uh, wedding, and then I realized he must have done something with it so I couldn't get it, and so Teleko wouldn't be able to find it, either." Myra rolls her eyes a little in exasperation. "But I made a translation, and I gave it to Mother Viola to put in the vault."

Havelock glances about as if to ensure that there are none too close, before looking back to Myrana, "It is fine, I needed a new cloak anyways." Though he soon falls silent as Myrana recounts the book and the events that seem to follow it, "I believe so, though from what I witnessed, there is a great power within you… raw power, given my arm still tingles as if numbed by a shock, simply from touching your brow." The relief is evident though as Viola's name is spoken, at least if she is involved somehow, in Havelock's mind, it can't be all bad. Possibly! But all the same, Havelock nods, "Go on… this book is to do with your… your… whatever it is?"

Myrana nods, and looks miserable. She stops in a mess of guylines between tents that're empty by day, as there are drills and work to be done all over to secure the town and keep the army fed and housed. "I've done something terrible, Havelock. There were three words at the end of the book; I didn't write them down, and I wished I hadn't read them at all. After the siege, I started hearing…" Myra takes a breath, and looks as though she knows how incredibly crazy what she's saying is. "This woman's voice, telling me to speak them. And she didn't leave me alone, till the end of the battle a few days ago, when she appeared before Ramius and Zayne, Countess Kaedon and myself, and gripped Ramius by his armor; he started turning blue. I had to say them, or she would've killed him."

Myrana looks up at Havelock, distraught but keeping it together with delicate tenacity. "She was there too when we were fighting Kemp's son in the throne room. She is Terrible."

"Given all I have seen in the last few years, I don't doubt you… I'm awed that this vision, this spectre, this demon hasn't been spoken of by any of those present, and thankful. Though whatever it was, I'm sure it was more than capable, and it found perhaps your one weakness." Havelock offers as he reaches out to rest a hand on a taut line leading from the top of the tent to the ground, "Was she? So she is quite embroiled in whatever has beset this world of ours, I fail to see how it could only affect you and you alone." The mention of her presence back then, it has Havelock furrow his brow some, though the slightly scarred features soon relax, "And needless to say you spoke those three words."

Myrana nods. "There are others," she says. "At least one other, who was affected. Master Altair, the man I hired as a bodyguard. He is in Four Corners now, investigating things for me." Thinking back, she frowns. "Whatever it was that happened, I felt it go out in every direction. Who knows how many people are suffering from… well," she puffs herself up with courage and air like a bird about to explode with breadcrumbs. "From what seems like magic. Was Kemp's son one of them? That woman wouldn't let me sleep; she wanted whatever those words would cause to happen. Now I'm afraid that the Inquisition will come after me, and my House." She turns her face up again.

Myrana says, "Is that why you hanged those men, Havelock?"

Havelock listens and barely takes his eyes from Myrana, if only to blink, "Magic. Still somewhat raw… untempered… I fear that in the weeks and months to come, the Inquisition will be putting a good many villages to the torch. Or will it? I know from what happened during the Sealing, that Rikton is governed by evil, I'm no heretic, I'm no murderer. But to Rikton I am, my brother and sister Reliants are just as tainted, because we fought, we refused to yield and we ran." Havelock's voice quavers for a moment, "Whatever that evil in Rikton wanted, it got it. A fractured Church is no defence against whatever is to come, and I have no idea if the other Order to which I belong even exists any more, perhaps just as fractured as the Church." To that, Havelock pauses and inhales, "I am a Vigilant, this you know. We deal with the supernatural, we deal with evil." And again he pauses, offering Myrana a somewhat crooked smile, "But even with these powers, you aren't evil. Which is why I hung those men, one called you out as a sorceror, and if one did that, it was but a matter of time before one voice became many. So I hung every last one and silenced those voices, we must be careful. And I do mean 'we', you aren't alone."

"…Thank you, Havelock," Myrana is grave, and trying to hide that she's distraut. Sorcerer! She knew if she spoke those words her soul would go straight to hell, according to the Church, and she's still afraid of it. But moreso, being burned at the stake. That spectre hangs over her head like a heavy cloud, and there's a faint odor of ozone coming off of her skin for a bare minute before she grips the bowl in her hands and gets control of herself. "I will be careful. With Prince Sylvain accused of witchcraft, it would be… it would be terrible theatre, if by m- by our folly, their majesties were linked by some evidence for the inquisition to use against them, though I know he's innocent. And I cannot help but shake the feeling that someone saw me, when I stole that book. I felt it on my back while I was leaving by the window; they let me run with it, like they wanted someone to read it."

"But then why did Teleko want it back?" She scowls into the stew remnants, of which there are maybe two little pieces of potato and a few grains of rice left. She demolished three bowls of food. Normally just one would put her into a logey nap. "And does he still want it back, or will he know that something has happened?"

Havelock almost reaches out to squeeze Myrana's shoulder, but pauses as he given the arm numbing shock he received the last time, that and the whiff of ozone, Havelock's hand sort of hovers momentarily, before settling back against the taut rope, "Whatever these things wanted, it seems they got it, and I doubt that we could even begin to unravel what has been done, which given how untamed this power seems… perhaps in time you will come to control it, and not expell yourself against walls." A faintly mischievous smirk is offered, as if to try and lighten the weight of the situation, that is before Teleko's name is mentioned, "There's no point pondering that for now, though I'm sure he'll find out soon enough if what you say is true, there could be any number exposing their newfound powers, and we're stuck dealing with d'Kemp… but once all this is over, perhaps our war will take us to Rikton's walls. Now that would provide answers."

Myrana nods, and straightening up, eats the last few bites of stew and drinks the rest of her wine. She reaches out impulsively and pats Havelock's tabard with the barest little snipsnap! of static. "Thank you for the stew, doctor. I have been avoiding having my brother Dario giving me a checkup, but I feel that I should trust him. You should too; he is heartbroken, but a good man. I just haven't told him what happened, yet. But that is why Zayne knew to warn you; he was there when it happened. So was Ramius, though I haven't asked him about what happened… I am honestly afraid of the talking-to I'm about to get for my poor brig coat." The one she tried fixing with rocks several times. It went through so much. RIP. "I'll go with you and help with the Inn; I know a few things about crockery, and I know I broke a lot of it."

"…Actually, I should find him a boyfriend…" Myrana muses, walking on again and polishing the plate with her fingers to get every last bit of good off of it. "What kind of men does Dario even like, I wonder…?"

Havelock nods lightly and pushes away from the tent as the little crackle of static sparks against his monkish robes, "Oh the Innkeeper makes a fine stew, I'm sure there'll be much more… they are getting many a tip from those who eat and drink in there, so they aren't asking any questions, they have probably seen a brawl or two, and ours was spectacular, and as for your brother, I am sure he will be just as protective, and perhaps he might well find out what is going on within Rikton long before any of us, which'll be a boon." The Reliant steps away, offering his arm as he makes ready to head back to the Inn and the ample amount of carpentry that awaits, "As for the coat, I guess you'll need to find one that doesn't explode, not something any northern lady has had to consider before I'll wager, and as for your brother, send a cheap one and work your way up."

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