Questions unanswered and answers unquestioned (solo)

[Wrenmae]

54th of Summer 512 AV

“Tell me about Mikey.”

The nurse sighed, placing a medical chart down on the bed of a wounded dock worker before turning back to Murdock. She was a tired woman, greying hair and wrinkles setting in, cracking from the corners of her eyes. Shadows touched her skin, the pallor of exhaustion was on her. She worked herself to vulnerability here, and soon she too would fill a bed.

“What does the Waveguard want with the boy?”

“Nothing,” Murdock answered with a shrug, “I had heard from Doctor Willam that he took a turn for the worst. I’m not an expert on what’s happening in Zeltiva, but this rash of illnesses seems to be crippling us all. Would it be impossible for me to see the child?”

Two days ago, Murdock had begun his inquiries into Tock Zipporah. Her reputation had been rising around town, somewhat for her strange attendants and more steadily for her impressive work. According to a man on East Street, she was building a Monument in Zeltiva, seeking out advice from the people. After the Djed storm and this plague of illnesses and infection, something to look forward to was a blessing. The people clung to her idea as a drowning man might a floating spar of driftwood. The Doctor was seen speaking to Tock in the infirmary after a puppet show and revealed she had visited one child, a boy named Mikey, several times.
“I’m not his attending physician,” the doctor had said forlornly, “But the boy does not seem to be getting better.”

“I’m afraid he’s too weak to see visitors,” the nurse insisted with a sigh, “Honestly, his condition worsens by the day. I don’t know what to make of it. He came here with a flu toward the beginning of the season and despite the healers and our best efforts, he only seems to get worse.” Murdock frowned, thinking distantly of his own sister, dying in the back of a frozen wagon, illness eating away at her. He nodded, a brief understanding of the situation. “I understand,” he said at last, “Does the boy have any relatives?” She seemed reluctant; turning back to the bed of a sniffling child, but Murdock caught her shoulder and turned her. There was a moment of resistance, her eyes went wide, but Murdock only smiled.

[Wrenmae]

A lash of hypnotic Djed struck from his eyes into her aura, invoking a sense of calm and relief, to take faith in this picture of health and vibrancy. If he could beat the illnesses, perhaps all of them could. After all, he was Waveguard, and that alone made it alright for him to inquire. Was his purpose not to safeguard theirs?

“Oh…alright,” she said at last, “Randall the Netmender, he lives down near East Street…not in, but near. He’s the boy’s Uncle and guardian since his parents passed away.”

“Thank you,” Murdock said to her, smoothing out the wrinkles his fingers had made on her dress, “What you’re doing here is truly a service to Rak’Keli, I’m sure your patients will weather through the worst.”

“Thank you sir,” she replied, smiling, “You have a kind heart.”

Without a word, Murdock bowed and departed the infirmary, leaving the sick and injured behind…now bathed in the aura of his Blight. Not a one of them would truly pull through, now that he’d visited. But such sacrifices were necessary, that he might further his plans.

[Wrenmae]

Outside the Infirmary, Murdock strode toward East Street. The blue of his uniform blazed in the midafternoon light and glittered from the pommel of both his rapier and long dagger strapped to both hips. A smile curled across his face and he slowed as he neared the infamous stretch of road to wave down a local sitting outside their home.

“Ho there!” he called out, waving, “Do you have a moment to spare?”
The young man looked up, startled from his carving and almost snapped, but the blue of the uniform kept his tone in check. Instead he forced a hasty smile and nodded, setting the knife and wood aside. “Of course, Wave Guard, what can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a man,” Murdock explained, “A Randall, near to East street. They call him the Net mender.”

“Oh, yes, old man Randall? I know him.” The young man nodded, leaning back on his chair to think, “I recall him living a little north of here, a home with a small side garden and an unfinished wood fence. Maybe it’s completed now, but it wasn’t when I saw it.”

“Thank you, anything you can tell me of him or Mikey?”

“Them? Well, Mikey’s sick isn’t he? Holed up in the infirmary since season beginning. His Uncle’s taken badly as well, stopped bringing nets out to the docks I heard. They say he’s sick, but too stubborn to leave the home. I think that was several days ago though, might be feeling better.”

“Have you seen him since then?” Murdock asked, intrigued.

“Can’t say I have,” the young man said, shaking his head “But I usually get so absorbed in my work that I don’t pay much attention to anything.” Murdock nodded, eyeing the carving.

“Do you make a profession of your craft?”

“Most days.”

“Do you know of a girl, then? Also a builder of some repute. She calls herself Tock.”

Head lolling on the back of the chair, the young man sighed and sat forward, “Do I…I don’t think anyone could forget a girl like that.”
“What do you know of her?”

“Why?” He was suddenly suspicious, “She in trouble?”

“Would that surprise you?”

He paused a moment, scrutinizing the Waveguard before sighing again, dropping his head and rubbing its back, “No, no, I guess not. She has a temper, I’ll tell you that, and doesn’t get along well with a lot of the other workers. Can’t say I blame em. Her automations are a little unnerving, honestly.”

[Wrenmae]

“Would you say she’s a compassionate person?”

“I’d say she’s passionate…dunno about the other one. I’ve never seen her actually show much concern for anything other than her moving tools.” He shivered, “A little creepy if you ask me, but don’t tell I said that.”

“I won’t,” Murdock promised, “What of any human contact? Does she take a lover?”

“Why?” he asked, looking the Waveguard up and down, “You want to have a go at her?” Murdock scowled and the man laughed, picking up his carving again and brushing some wood peels off, “Trust me, she’s not your type. I don’t think anyone is. Girl has too much fire in her for anyone. I heard she was with some pretty fellow from the University, but just a few days ago a friend of mine said he saw her in a bar kissing up the new Vantha girl at the Tattoo place. Guess it shows you can’t know what source to trust. Wouldn’t surprise me if she enjoyed female company over ours,” he looked up and shrugged, “She seems to have a powerful hate going for us menfolk.”

“Thank you for your time, and answers,” Murdock said with a nod, “Best of luck finishing your carving.”

“Aye, and luck to your investigation, or whatever you’re doing.” He said with a nod and a half wave.

Turning away, Murdock thought about the new information he’d acquired. He began his way toward Randall’s house, turning over the rumors with idle interest. Vantha girl at the tattoo place…must be talking about Swarthy, no other like her in Zeltiva. Well, he may want some touchup work to his tattoo anyways, so he’d stop by the shop later today. It always helped to follow every lead given, false or true. To dismiss outright would be to deny the possibility of discovery, and in Sunberth, discovery was essential.

The fence was indeed unfinished, a stack of old wood in slats beside it to mark the progress. Flowers and vegetables wilted in the side garden, untended and dying. Taking in the scene, Murdock knocked twice on the door.

What are we doing here?

Following up a lead.

A lead to what? We’re talking about a dying kid!

Since when did you grow a sense of empathy?

I just fail to see the purpose here.

Shall I explain in big words, or little?

Har, har. What are we doing?

The psychopath has a soft spot for sick children, I aim to find out why.

Psychopath? A little bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?

Let’s not stoop to name calling.

You’re insufferable.

And yet you suffer me.

Barely.

With flying colors.

[Wrenmae]

The door creaked, opening slowly, pausing both of their arguments. An older man stood at the door, shaking, wobbling on his own two feet. Boils had pushed up from his skin, a deathly pallor settling on his face. Despite his weaknesses, he smiled as though Murdock’s visit was the most natural and welcome thing in the world.

“Ah! A Waveguard! Thank you for visiting my humble home. I-“ he coughed, hacking, holding himself steady by the doorframe before wiping a mixture of saliva and blood on his already dirty shirt, “I apologize, young man, I’m not well at the moment. If you could stand to come in, though, I’d welcome a little conversation. No one visits as much anymore, and without my nephew around, I’m afraid my home is so very quiet.”

Murdock said nothing, his eyes wide, staring past the old man and somehow into him. He was smiling, despite his health failures, despite his loneliness, despite it all…he was smiling. Ingesting death as his killer stood but a few feet from him and INVITED him in.

The shock of the simple gesture alone shuddered within the mage, unsettled him within the very marrow of his bones.

He’s gonna die.

Murdock did not disagree. Instead, he tried to speak, uttered only a squeak, a dry and pathetic mewling noise, before clearing his throat, coughing into his hand, and thrusting pity from his body as it curdled in knots within his stomach. He’d seen the sick before, he’d seen them dying. But who, besides his sister, wasting away in the frozen Kalea mountains, had ever smiled at him while she died? Who else found joy in simple visitations as they stood upon Dira’s palm? The shock of it alone almost shattered his resolve, a worm of question crawling into his mind.

What had he become?

“Of course,” He managed to choke out, at last, “I’d be happy to.”

[Wrenmae]

The inside of the home was a musty epitaph to death’s lingering presence. The smell of sickness hung heavy in the air, shadowed corners, filled empty bowls. Murdock took the seat offered to him and the old man poured him a glass of water and cut a little slice from a wedge of cheese to offer. In a day or two, this cheese would grow mold, just by virtue of his presence here. Rather than refuse the kindness, he took it and ate it, chewing thoughtfully. Those who had little and still offered were not to be disrespected, he knew this from his father. The poor folk valued the little they had more than any other man alive.

“Tell me,” the old man coughed, “What brings a Waveguard to my humble home?” He seemed eager to know the news, and Murdock sat back against the chair, reconsidering his entire approach. “Your nephew, Mikey, requests your presence in the Infirmary…perhaps you would not do yourself a disfavor by letting the medics check you over as well.”

“Ah, Mikey, yes,” The old man smiled, holding back a hacking cough, “Such a helpful boy. I don’t think my old bones can make the journey in my state. Perhaps when I’m feeling better.”

“Could not the healers assist you with that?”

“Pardon, Waveguard, but I pray to Rak’Keli every day to give my boy his health again. I can’t waste their time on me and I won’t waste Her time either.”

“Noble,” Murdock commented through gritted teeth, closing his eyes, “But if the boy recovers, what of you?”

“I’ll be fine,” the old man assured him, waving off the concern, “I’m still living, aint I?”

But for how long?

Murdock said nothing, swallowing the water without tasting it. This was more than enough, he had no business here. Standing, he gave a short bow to the old man. “Your hospitality was appreciated it. I just wanted to check in on you. The men at the docks mentioned they hadn’t seen you in some time.”

“Ha! And they said I was too old for the nets! Now that I’m out, they’ll raise their wailin, won’t they? Tell em to be patient. I’ve licked worse than this.”

Murdock nodded, a hollow smile spread haphazardly across his face. “My blessings on you then,” he murmured, “May you find yourself strong enough.”

He wasn’t. He was going to die. Murdock’s presence here sealed that.

Following the old man to the door, he paused only to clap the sick man on the shoulder, smile and walk out. He bobbed his head in respect, but didn’t let his eyes linger on the pallor of his parchment skin, the bones pushing against limp skin like the prows of strange boats.

[Wrenmae]

Stepping out onto the street, Murdock thrust his shoulders up, trying to discard the burrowing doubt seeping into his body. Perhaps terrorizing the gadgeteer wasn’t the best use of his time. Eventually the diseases would reach an almost unbearable level. He’d have to leave eventually, or at least somehow sequester himself from the general population long enough for the cases to level out. A plagueman must be careful where to spread his pinions and roost. In that sense, no place could truly be his home for long. Where would he go next? Back to Sunberth to play at bandit king? Certainly that place suffered without any of his help. In any case, there were those with their noses to the ground on this illness epidemic and he’d be the suspicious party if it sprang again when he returned.

Tock was a name quickly gaining weight in Zeltiva. Whispers had her at his rank, at a Trident Champion, and others maintained she would gain even greater prominence within the Zeltivan court as time went on. It would be her mind he needed to addle, her thoughts he’d need to clutter with inconsistent theories and half-truths. When he controlled the information, he prevented her from arriving at it on her own. Especially with her focus on building bigger and more dangerous automations, it would help to have a wild card like Zipporah in his pocket.

Pacing away from the house he’d left, Murdock approached the quarters of the Waveguard. The ordinarily active cell had consolidated a few of their own in the courtyard outside, crossing blades and shields in a midafternoon sparring session. Several raised their hands in greeting as Murdock stepped across the edge of the divide separating the courtyard from the commons. He returned their wave with a nod, setting his bag down and drawing out his rapier. This blade was not his favorite, but the extra reach it afforded him promised an advantage over the fast but close quarters long dagger.

Admittedly, the long dagger was a surprisingly versatile weapon. He’d used it against longer blades before and found that the longer the sword, the more blind spots it naturally generated. Reach was a disadvantage if your opponent always closed the distance. The rapier compensated by being agile and quick, but a broadsword rarely did much more than cleave the empty air between his movements.

Long dagger at his waist, shield on his left arm, Murdock waded through the sweat drenched recruits till he spied out Splinter. The larger man was instructing a few newly hired about the versatility of the shield, sending them out to practice bashing each other with them as Murdock approached.

“Ah, the boy returns,” Splinter acknowledged, scratching the back of his neck, “Learn a thing or two in the streets?”

“No more than I’ve already been taught,” Murdock answered, “I’ve come for a few more lessons.”

Splinter nodded, spit, and cracked his neck, “The usual way, then? Teach you some disarming and fancy footwork then, I think. See if your dagger reaches me better than your wee sword.”

“We can hope, I’ve a way to go yet with this blade.”

[Wrenmae]

Splinter waved his arms, prompting the others to clear a space for him and the Waveguard. Warily they circled each other, blades up, shields glistening in the noonlight. “Here’s a lesson for you,” Splinter offered, looking him up and down, “Aint no use blocking the blade where it swings. The sword can swing anywhere. You want to block where the sword is going to be. Parry, not where I turn my wrist, but where my eyes focus.” Out came the blade and Murdock wildly parried it. The swords clanged together and discharged, the vibration numbing the Waveguard’s hand as he pulled his sword back.

“Nervous?” Splinter teased, stepping around him again.

It was more than that, really. The old man, the way he’d smiled in the face of death, the unsettling comparison to his own past…Murdock was less focused than he’d wanted to be. Out came the sword again, once more barely avoided with a wild swing. Murdock tried to focus on the movements, on where his trainer’s eyes went. It really wasn’t all that different from fighting with his long dagger, but the way the sword bent and whipped, its weight, its shape…there were so many disparities between the two styles that Murdock found it hard to compensate fully. Sighing, he tried to put the thoughts out of his mind. What made sense now was the act of training, of intercepting the blade and making himself that much better of a Waveguard.

Not watching the end of the sword was hard. That weaving silver head, that mosquito mouth ever hungry, ever weaving. It took him a bit to watch the eyes of his opponent, where they went, how they evaluated him. All the while, Splinter forced him on a dance. Acrobatics was an important aspect in every fight, really. The weaving, the ducking, the rolling, and the jumping were all pivotal examples of a swordsman’s code. The whole of it was focused on the movement of the body, the nearly unwavering indication that movement superceded strength. In these sorts of fights, it was not the weapon wielded that carried the most deadly consequence, it was the wielder that bent it to a purpose.

Right shoulder.

Murdock raised his blade and intercepted Splinter’s sword, turning it aside. He used the momentum and advantage to press forward, forcing the older Waveguard back on his foot and pegleg, stomping to regain distance. Murdock gave no inch, pulling back the blade and thrusting toward his gut. Across came Splinter’s shield, clanging off the blade as he pivoted. Murdock overstepped past him, putting himself in close quarters. Before he could turn, Splinter had brought the shield up and tapped it against the side of his head. “Careful boy,” the older one cautioned, “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. You had a lucky parry, but no fight is so easily won against a skilled opponent. Think of fighting like you might a game. Your opponent has a strategy they will try to execute without fail. If it does fail, he will immediately compensate, make a new plan, and execute that. You win when your opponent has no more moves to make.”

Murdock nodded, sighing, stepping back and bringing his blade up.

“Now, like I taught you before, intercept, parry, and disarm.”

Bringing up their blades again, the two warriors circled.

[Wrenmae]

Splinter charged first, thrusting his blade up and then sweeping it down toward Murdock’s side. The Waveguard hissed, bringing his blade down quickly to intercept, catching the sword and holding it there, blades locked. Remembering what Splinter had taught him the first night he’d joined the Waveguard, Murdock pressed his sword up and then swept it down, twisting the blade in Splinter’s hand. In response, Splinter stepped back, disengaging before he was forced to drop the blade. Holding it up, he circled and swept it in again. Up came Murdock’s shield, catching and repelling the blade, creating a small opening for him to step in and clumsily stab up at his opponent. Splinter responded by stepping into the path of the blade, bringing the hilt of his rapier around to glance Murdock’s head, sending him sideways.

Not so easily defeated, the murderer responded by thrusting his shield arm out, swinging up for Splinter’s face, avoiding the edge of his beard by inches. Wheeling, bringing his blade up again. The two fighters once more circled. By now, several other Waveguard had gathered to watch the bout. It helped morality to see two skilled fighters in the ring…even if Murdock was hardly the level of the instructor. The way the blades clashed, shields flashing in the afternoon light, their determination set fire to young minds and inspired similar breakout duels across the yard.

Murdock wasn’t paying attention, he led strong, whipping his rapier across towards Splinter’s face. Up came his shield and across came his blade, Murdock hopped backwards, swinging his shield around to catch the blade and turn the point, continuing his spin in an attempt to take the older man off balanced.

But the momentum was too much and Murdock spun off his feet, crashing to the ground. His sword was lost in the impact, but he rolled and came up with his long dagger, a more familiar blade flashing in the sunlight. The tide of the fight turned when Murdock held that long dagger blade. In came Splinter, thrusting toward his gut. Up came the long dagger, intercepting the blade, pushing it up as Murdock strode forward. The quick advance forced Splinter to swing across with his shield, meeting it against Murdock’s own and his momentum sending the peg-legged instructor spinning to keep his footing. Pushing Splinter back, Murdock brought up his foot, aiming a sideways kick, pivoting his grounded foot just a bit. Splinter brought his shield down toward the leg, hoping to deal jarring damage to the younger Waveguard, but Murdock pivoted hard, swinging his leg away from the shield and using the momentum to extend his dagger forward from its coiled position. Thrusting out, Splinter had no choice but to intercept with his rapier and as Murdock’s foot hit earth, he ground both in and pushing against the old man, bending the rapier at the blade. Trying to compensate by bringing his shield up, Splinter could not move fast enough to counter Murdock bringing his own shield hard against his chest, pushing the old man off his feet and onto the ground. Blade askew, shield up, Murdock stepped on the glimmering steel face of his shield and pressed it down to Splinter’s chest, bringing his long dagger down to tickle the nape of his neck.

“Match, I think,” Murdock grinned, his narrow chest rising and falling harshly with the rigors of the exercise, “Well fought, old man.”

“Aye, same ter you,” Splinter conceded, the hint of a smile playing about the corner of his mouth, “Don’t let a little victory dull your blade though. Could have gone either way.”

“Next time I beat you, then,” Murdock whispered, “I’ll make sure there isn’t room for question on which way the match could go.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” his instructor complimented, clapping him on the shoulder, “We’ll make you a real Waveguard yet.”

A smile touched Murdock’s face, genuine. It was the first in a long time…quickly buried under his plots and ambitions, crowding around to destroy the integrity of that flickering pride. The manacle at his wrist hummed, drawing the mind closer to completion, to oneness.

Murdock twitched.

Then sheathed his blades.

[Cascade]

Adventurer's Loot Wrenmae's Loot : Skill XP Reward Familiary +1 Interrogation +2 Intelligence +1 Weapon: Rapier +3 Shield +2 Acrobatics +1 Weapon: Long Dagger +1 Lore: Mikey: Too Sick for Visitors Randall the Netmender: Mikey's Uncle Mikey's Uncle Is Also Sick Rumours: Tock Enjoys Female Company The Vantha Girl at the Tattoo Place Block Where The Sword Will Be Notes: I didn't give you Hypnotism XP for hypnotizing the nurse, for the reason that you're an expert in the skill and what Wren did would be too easy for him. Such a good read. I'm curious as to why your PC seems to be so interested in Tock... quite ominous. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me!