CHAPTER 2.08 – THORNWOOD: IV
Anuk examines Rian closely, his expression still sombre. As he lifts a frothing tankard to his lips, she clears her throat. He looks up, instantly reacting with embarrassment as though he had been ignoring her. “D’you know what happened at the forge, Rian?” The man flushes, the slightest, muted shake of his head. He looks vulnerable, puzzlement plain in his expression. Fuck, this isn’t her forte, but she’s not sure Thae would approach the topic. Hugo hadn’t seemed to notice at all. Or, more possibly, he noticed the awkwardness of the interaction but didn’t care.
“D’you call the smith a friend, usually?” Rian ponders, shrugs. “We’ve done some business. Time to time.” She nods, waiting for the thought to catch. “And you usually deal with him in Dwarvish?” Again, the man’s silent as though the question’s tough. She tries to control her temper; feels as though this whole conversation might be too much trouble. But he has to know or be made to. Eventually, he mutters: “I’ve said a couple things, but not much.” Feeling like she might throttle him, Anuk hisses: “But was anyone else around then, Rian?”
He seems nonplussed, she watches him sorting through the words as though solving a puzzle. Gods. Eventually he shrugs. She tries to bite down on her tone but some poison seeps through. “How many clean-shaven dwarves have you seen, Rian, huh?” He looks up, guilty, shock on his face at her irritation. But it seems absent any recognition, the ‘why’ of her sternness a mystery. He shakes his head, a dumbshow of baffled contrition. “Did you look at his boots, Rian?” It’s like addressing an animal; he can read her tone, but she might as well be asking him to solve an equation.
She tries to reverse her rage, but it’s not a gear in which she’s used to running. Part of his obliviousness, she’s certain, derives from his acceptance of people. She hasn’t seen him jump to negative judgements on folk who haven’t already been set on harming them or others. Goblins, for fuck’s sake. But the naivete, the privilege, on display irritates her.
“HE WEARS LIFTS, RIAN!” She drops her voice, breathes, chewing on her anger. Thankfully, the inn is quiet, but in her peripheral vision the barman looks up, assessing whether they’re going to be trouble. It looks like it’s dawning on the big man, but too slowly, way too late for her taste. “He’s trying to pass.” She knows she’s speaking too methodically as though he’s hard of understanding. Considers that he might just be until he mutters: “To look human enough…?”
For all his ponderousness, he’s leapfrogged a couple of steps. “Why?” He rumbles. “Why d’you do it?” So, he does notice things. And apparently has the good grace to keep some shit to himself. She sighs, feeling some of her anger dissipate. But it’s a touchy subject and she’s halfway certain her residual fury seems directed at him. Fuck it, not her problem. “Don’t you remember Atheran’s story? Non-humans aren’t welcome everywhere…” The man nods slowly, but his eyes are boring into hers. He’s asking a silent question that makes her want to spit.
She breathes, drops her eyes, reaches for her drink in attempt to control the flash of…what? Dismay? Betrayal? Fury at this stupid fucking world? She almost jumps as she feels his big hand clumsily cover her own, her focus having drifted back to… She shakes her head, looks up, furious that this idiot thinks NOW is the time to try his hand. Instead, she sees empathy, concern in his gaze. Like she, too, is a person. Lamely, quietly, she mumbles “…especially not ‘half-breeds’”
-x-
The remainder of the day’s a blur. They’re called in front of the town council, a group of five merchants headed by Edra, a woman in her 60s with cropped grey hair and the most haunting violet eyes. The news they’re reporting is exciting to Thornwood and its residents, but it’s all dull rehash to Anuk. It serves to highlight the lesson she had to teach Rian, though. The woodsman is a known quantity to the council, so they know he’s not a communicator. And yet their attention focuses on the human by default
Hugo’s been primed to act as their mouthpiece, with firm strictures to anonymise as much as possible. He’s not to spill Thaesurala’s nature, identity nor location, a decision she wasn’t certain could be entrusted to such a braggart. But thus far, the little man’s done impeccable work. He’s woven a story out of scraps, reporting the flavour and severity of the magical effect they observed, deftly slipping in their certainty that it’s over. This, camouflaged by the council correcting them on the scale of the blips. Larger than the group had imagined. Seemingly, the direct effects of the dryad’s birthing didn’t reach quite this far, however the expanse of Thornwood’s trade network gave them a reasonable read on the reach of the ructions.
Hugo and Thae were relieved to hear that Caladria weathered the effect well, although she felt the halfling was more focused on diverting the council from trying to track the source of the madness. Anuk supposes she should be happy he’s kept his need for glory in check. As discussions drone on, she finds her gaze drawn to the leader woman’s eyes, reminiscent of the effect she’s seen in the mirror while manifesting her own magical effects. Or rather, she thinks, those she was gifted. Images of poor, maddened Mirry flash through her mind and she wonders if Edra could be someone she’s meant to meet. Certainly, as a silent member of the group, Anuk seems to be drawing frequent, veiled attention from the elder.
Before anyone can note that the forest madness was roughly circular, Hugo executes a double distraction, twinning together the collapse of the Iron Rams and Rian gifting his stockade to Helen Tanner. Thankfully, the merchants seem relieved that the bandits might diminish as a power in the forest. They immediately turn to planning for increased security for their waggoneers. As Edra phrases it: “A large number of ne’er do wells just lost direction.” She seems distracted, eyes drifting towards Anuk’s as she intones: “Lacking his guidance.” Those violet eyes rest on her face for a second before the woman blinks, comes back to herself. "Rudolf was a menace, but at least he kept some order to his gang.”
She’s left to crawl over this look, the veiled message, as discussion returns to supply distribution. Anuk’s group aren’t the only ones holding cards to their chests. The council hasn’t mentioned a single community beyond those referenced by the party. Hugo’d call that ‘operational security’, no doubt. Highbarrow will immediately be added to the merchants’ network. This was never in question even before Hugo sweetened the deal with a portion of their gem haul. The halfling’s gleeful as he extends a vital line of credit to the settlement. She’s certain part of this is the discomfort it’ll cause Atheran when she learns of their gesture. To feel indebted to people looking for no repayment? It would madden Anuk were she in similar position.
And throughout the dull, anonymised discussions, the elder’s eyes keep drifting. Edra’s very present, very magisterial when she’s needed to steer the discussion. And the woman seems sufficiently wise, knowledgeable of her people to predict the Tanner woman’s plans and how the council might support those. But when she isn’t directly called upon, Anuk can feel her eyes. Her brain, unbidden, falls back into some weird version of translation, seeking out references to Caiphon in anything the woman says. She rankles, feels Aspatria’s spoor as she digs conspiratorially into remarks that, if she’s honest, would otherwise bore her. As though she’s desperate for the world to be filled with hidden meanings.
For a moment, she smells Mirry’s stale breath, stares into Edra’s eyes in shock. The woman looks guilty, looks caught, does a bad pantomime of her gaze innocently passing over Anuk. And the conspiracy’s solved as the other shoe drops. For fuck’s sake.
She realises the elder’s eyes are simply an unusual colour. There’s no transformation here, no glow. It’s…the other thing. She can’t help but sigh, fails to stifle it. She forgets, sometimes. Internally, she feels ordinary, simply a person. A person who just wants to be left the fuck alone. And then everyone you encounter ascribes some value to you, something you never chose. And you can’t opt out. A part of her feels guilt at the disgust she must have shown her observer. Then again, Anuk’s truly sick of this.
She’s suddenly happy for her group. Rian and Thae don’t seem to care how she looks and that feels like a breath of freedom. Hugo, despite obviously caring, very carefully suppresses it. She’s seen him try. She does worry this might be some longer-term strategy, that he’s putting her at ease for some ‘good guy’ points, but the civility at least feels like friendship. Not that she has too much experience of that.
At last, they’re done. Edra, on behalf of the council, thanks them for their time, their information. As the woman speaks emphatically, wishing them the best on their travels, she’s dividing her attention equally across the group. She speaks well, judiciously, and Anuk senses how she attained her station. Despite the awkward rebuff, when she comes to Anuk, Edra holds her gaze. Her voice remains even, magisterial, and yet her expression is complex. Anuk’s uncertain anyone who missed the interplay would notice a thing. But she reads a hint of embarrassment, of gentle apology. And even thanks for her discretion, as by Anuk’s read, her fellow councillors remain oblivious.
The woman ends with a smile, a blessing, requesting that Athena’s guidance shine upon them. The implication that they should be moving on is obvious but doesn’t register as harsh. Thornwood’s designed for one thing, and open hospitality isn’t it. She can see that Rian’s happy with how things went, the information they brought delivered, Helen Tanner and Highbarrow looked after. Thae seems to be beaming, certainly elevated by the mention of the Goddess. But Hugo looks like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get something off his chest…
He’s circumspect, and they haven’t had anything in the way of privacy. Rian and she received news of their audience just before the Caladrian pair returned to the inn. The immediacy of the council’s availability and the urgency of their business had had them hustling to the meeting. In retrospect, the halfling had looked a little crestfallen at that, maybe some burning issue or news fuelling this repressed excitement. The little man seems to be keeping an eye on who’s observing them as they retrace their way to the forge.
-x-
Rian surprises her again when they’re ushered into Orrin’s shop. In her head, Anuk corrects ‘shop’ to ‘storage space’, although the smith has displayed some weapons and armour pieces for their arrival. The items are arrayed around a plain but fine-looking breastplate. As soon as the door to the town is closed, the big man launches into a robust apology for his earlier behaviour. She senses he might be propelled through this to obtain the breastplate for Thae. The points he covers are very clearly itemised from the considerations she handed him, but at least the man was listening and isn’t trying to shy away from his responsibility.
The dwarf, gruff by nature, isn’t swooning at the emphatic apology, but accepts that Rian’s use of his native tongue intended no disrespect. He rubs his chin ruefully, agrees that some of the town’s customers want to do business only with other humans. Hugo, of all people, seems to be sideswiped by this revelation. Standing well under 4’ tall, she was certain he’d have encountered this endlessly. Instead, his reaction makes her doubt whether he’s ever travelled beyond the great forest.
All is, apparently, forgiven as the smith’s adjusting the breastplate for Thae. The cleric’s still shellshocked by this unsought-after consideration from Rian. Surely seems ill-at-ease to have the dwarf and the forester in such intimate proximity. The smith apparently has some question, phrases it in the poetic tones of his mother tongue. Rian responds sonorously, eyes resting on a Thae who seems to be blushing rather than breathing. The moment passes, the dwarf nodding as he adjusts a strap at the half-elf’s waist, Rian seeming to relax. The big man even offers their comrade a smile, mutters that they’re almost done.
Aside from the acute embarrassment of one half-elf, all seems right with the world.
