Quest Jebediah's In Trouble [Closed]

[Twister]

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Castle Commons - 24th of Winter, 513 AV

It really wasn't very common to see Jebediah in a place like this. He usually stayed up in the Dust Bed with his silent friends and the city liked it that way. Mothers sometimes told tales of the pale man who tended to the lost generations and lived in the past together with the lonesome spirits of the long dead and most of the city knew who Jebediah was, as a result, even if he hadn't been such a public figure in the city for all that long. Part of peoples' suspicion against him came from his consorting with the ghosts and overall rate of success in actually doing so, but he was harmless as few unless you disturbed the resting places of the deceased. Therefore, most people had the good sense to stay out of the graveyard unless they had business with lost family, or Jebediah himself. ... as rare as that was.

Today, he was down in Sunberth's core. It was an unusual sight, and one that unsettled more than several. People gave him a wide berth, letting the phantom of a man stand on his own in the midst of the crowd. His shoulders slouched and his pale complexion on top of this made him look like a walking dead man, or something close to it. His overall complexion and tired, distant look only served to enhance this impression and keep people at a greater distance. He was silent, for the most part, except for when he wasn't; "I think they're angry with me!," he called out. It was noon, and it was the sixth time he'd called. None had really dared approaching him to ask him for more information, however, so his call never changed. He just repeated himself, tiredly following the onlookers with his eyes as they circled around him and vanished into the crowd, stepping away from the town square and departing the Castle Commons entirely. Jebediah remained, not moving an inch from the spot he'd found himself.

"I really think they're angry! I need help!"

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OOCA bit on the short side, maybe, but this is just to give an opening for participants to approach him and ask any questions they have about the trouble he's found himself in. Post in whichever order you like, but we'll be maintaining the order you set now throughout the thread. I will respond as soon as everyone else has, or I'll post again in a week if not everyone has posted.

[Remaello]

Remaello labouriously slogged through the snowbound square of the Castle Commons, his little frame bent beneath the weight of a comically large burlap sack held upon his back. How a bag of sparkly sequins could weigh so much the Pycon did not know, but he did know that Brega eagerly awaited the arrival of the metal beads for sewing onto various skimpy dancing outfits, and that his beautiful mistress was greatly excited about their arrival. Remaello smiled as he daydreamed about his heroic return to the brothel with this treasure of fashion; the cheers and squeals of delight, the girls lifting him up on their shoulders, showering him with kisses and affection, and of course, the opportunity to help them fit into their sparkly costumes once the sequins had been sewed on…

His daydreaming was interrupted by the outburst in the centre of the square, and the gathering of a crowd around the distraught man. Remaello could not see who it was who was caterwauling about someone being angry, but his curiousity led him to abandon his delivery mission for the moment. He skipped to a stall nearest to the commotion, one selling bread and scones whose proprietor had joined the gathered throng, and secreted his precious cargo just behind the counter. Clambering up, he could see over a few heads to the man at the centre of the commotion, and he could not help but shiver at the sight of him.

Remaello knew who Jebediah was, and what he was about, and he had always harboured a healthy fear of the gravekeeper. The Dust Beds terrified the Pycon, for whom the death experienced by tallfolk was grotesquely unnatural. When his people left the world, their forms remained, forever an edifice to their lives and experiences. For most Pycons, death was the ultimate achievement, for it came for the clay folk upon achieving their final form. The corpses of tallfolk rotted away to nothing, leaving no such physical memory beyond old bones, which one day too shall turn to dust. Remaello shuddered again. Such a vast and terrifying idea to lose one’s body, and it brought up uncomfortable thoughts.

As the strange, frightening man raved, Remaello waved his hand in disgust. There was no help the Pycon could offer, and he had no interest in anything to do with the Dustman and his graves.

He turned to jump down from the stall, when a sudden flutter of many wings assaulted him from all sides. Seeing the bread stall unguarded by the inattentive baker, a clutch of Pigeons dove from the sky like cooing meteorites, and the onslaught of feathers and beaks knocked the Pycon back. He fumbled to fight off the birds, swearing and spitting, and did not see the edge of the counter dangerously close behind him. Just as he reached to draw his little toy sword, his foot slipped, and he felt the solid counter disappear beneath him. The Pycon crashed straight into the open mouth of his burlap sack, buried beneath a pile of glittering sequins, glass beads and other scintillating baubles within.


"Petch. Well...at least I probably look pretty. "

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[Garret Sawyer]

Garret had awoken only a bell or so earlier, the stench of cheap ale and vomit clung to him like an expensive perfume. His head throbbed violently and his temper was all the worst for it, his usual scowl had deepened considerably when he had been awoken from the tavern and chucked out. "I must have fallen asleep" he reasoned as he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sun as it bore down on him. He wasn't a pretty sight that much was evident; his normally clear sharp green eyes were raw and bloodshot from heavy drinking, his now grimy hair was tangled and ruffled, truly needing to be washed and brushed, but worst of all were the very suspicious stains that ran down his top and onto his trousers, they were a mixture of mouldy yellow and dark red. What was stranger though was the fierce ringing that echoed through his head demanding help.

"What the fuck is going on?" He thought as he approached the edge of the crowd that circled around some godforsaken preacher, but as he saw the preacher he stopped dead in his tracks. "What the Hai is he doing?"

Garret approached the distressed man tentatively, he was the only person as far as he could tell who was willing to step forward and face the man. It had taken him a while to summon up the courage to do so; he knew the reputation that Jebediah carried, how he was a recluse who had an unusual attachment to the dead, how he tried to commune with the dead and the fact he actually did so amongst other more depraved rumours that no doubt were the result of tall drunken tales in scummy taverns.

He glanced back at the few onlookers that had chosen to remain around the town square, choosing to form a wide circle around the man as he called out into the city with his distressed requests.
"Am I the only with balls here?" He asked as stared accusingly at the crowd who had remained silent so far, afraid that the tales their mothers' told had even a grain of truth within a field of lies "Apparently so" he muttered as he turned back to face Jebediah.

In truth Garret was just a worried as all of them, and it wasn't a feeling he liked. Normally he would dismiss stories of ghosts and demons with a snort of derision followed by a mocking comment but secretly he feared that these tales were, true after all, in a world full of magic and monsters where did a simple thug like him fit in? "In a grave" he thought darkly.

Only the possibility of treasure and gold kept from running as he closed in on him, his sweaty hand gripping the morningstar that always hung in his belt like a child seeking comfort from a teddy bear. When a man asked for help it meant he would be indebted to you if you decided to help him, and gold was always the quickest way of clearing a debt, or so Garret hoped.

"Who is angry with you?" He asked, his voice quivering ever so slightly as his breath streamed out in a vaporous fog "What do you need help with?" The man's empty eyes and almost translucent, pale skin made Garret feel uneasy and was eager for answers to his question so he pressed on "Answer me man?! Are you looking to hire help?"

[Daedalus Dagwood]

From Daedalus's view the cold winds of winter were far from his mind. The foundry burned savagely causing a sweltering heat to linger within the air. The heat caused trickling droplets of sweat to collect on his brow which he wiped away with the back of his hand. As he stood in front of the large blast furnace, his younger sister Gwendoline settled on a work bench watching Dae as he checked on the furnace.

“Not to be a nag, but don't you think I should have gone with Darik to see if any Blacksmiths in the area needed metal? He is not exactly suited for 'civil' tasks.” Dea's lips pulled to one side of his mouth while he mused on the thought. “I needed you here for the shop, besides I trust him to not get into a fight so early in the work day.” His response caused the two siblings to chuckle in a knowing manner.

Darik walked into the foundry as if on cue. His serious eyes glancing at the two curiously, however before he could say anything Daedalus lifted a hand to cut him off. “Who needs what where?” Darik looked confused for a moment as his hands rested on the Rapier on the mans hip. “What?” His brothers response caused Dae to run his hand along the top of his head in agitation. His eyes shifted to his sister to watch as her body language shifted to say 'I told you so'. “Shyke Darik. I gave you one thing to do. One thing!”

Darik shook his head. “You sure do love it up on your high horse don't you brother? I just came back to see if you knew that Dusty'Jeb is in town?” Daedalus's brow quirked slightly. Ever since his run in with ghost and grave robbers during the Fall, he had a slight interest in whatever news came floated down from the Dust Bed. “So where is he?” He asked while walking towards his sister to collect his things which laid on his work table. The younger Dagwood brother drew one of his Rapiers from its sheath as he leaned against a wall. "Last I saw he was yelling about something or another down at the Castle Commons."

Daedalus slipped on his long coat, set his rapier onto his hip, and slipped on his backpack to make his way out of Dagwood Metal. He glanced over his shoulder to spoke to his sister before leaving. "Look after things." As he exited the building he saw a group of beggars huddled around the outside of his shop that made him stop in his tracks. "Petching Hail. Ever since the storm they think they can seek refuge here." He yelled back into the shop. "Brother, deal with this." As he continued to walk away he could hear the sounds of his younger brother removing the homeless from the front of the building.

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The walk to the Castle Commons was a relatively short trip. He had arrived in time to see a man shout "Am I the only with balls here?". It caused Daedalus's golden hazel brown eyes to set on him. As interested as he was in Jeb and the ruggedly dirty warrior, his attention was pulled towards a flock of birds flying away from a small figure inside of a burlap sack. "Anyway." He thought to himself as he walked forward towards Jebediah.

"What is wrong my friend?" Daedalus spoke with false familiarity. "Who's ire have you attained?"

[Adam King]

Adam was happy, having made two horndust pouch sales that morning, as well as a couple of weapons sales at twice the supply cost. Still, one could never deny the favour of the gods, and it was his duty to keep pitching while the selling was good. Few things people would brave the cold for, but drugs or selling problematic stolen goods were two of them. Walking towards a gathering crowd, a likely place to make another sale for the day, he tilted his head in inspection. This wasn't the regular 'someone's fighting' huddle. Huh, is that...? Garr'y, checking on corpsepetcher Jebediah, the chivalrous-sounding blacksmith-gladiator fellow making his way in. What was the name? Dagwood. Well, on most days. On some days, the kids would be sure to use coal to scribble the name into 'Sagwood'. The idiotic humour always made Adam smile. I wonder if there's some sort of a bigger business opportunity to approach here along with Gar' - Oh hello unattended bag. Without the sligthest thought, King's eyes scanned for his pick-up not to be noticed while his body acted to lean down and grab the discarded bag in a natural gesture as though he had just dropped it. A second quick movement expertly tied the bag tightly against his belt. He was already slightly dismayed that he hadn't heard the bag clink of coin, but alas, lucky bastards can't be choosers. The fence's steps had already taken him into the huddled crowd and so he decided that checking the actual contents of the bag would have to wait considering how many folk were around. It was tied tight enough. His gaze focused and narrowed on the interraction as he advanced, now a couple of meters from Garret, nodding in quick greeting at the mercenary when eyes met. He otherwise looked to the frantic gravekeeper.