Chapter 7: Forward Scouting Thread

Swan draws his rapier. "This cannot be tolerated. Defend yourself, miscreant!" He poses in a manner to evoke sparring practice.

Verrian simply continues her careful brushing, applying the creme as needed to untangle the knots and mats. They seem to think she's doing this to make the girl presentable to others. What she's really doing is helping the girl to reclaim her lost background, her identity as a human girl. She knows how hard it will be to show up in Viamard after so many years living as a... well, as whatever it was Gresha had been or was becoming, and it will be harder if people look at her as some kind of wild human-animal hybrid.

I am well fed and you are well bathed. I don't need a duel to know I win.

Swan swishes his blade. " Ho! Ha ha! Guard! Turn! Parry! Dodge! Spin! Ha! Thrust! "

if I draw my weapons I can put them away until they taste your blood. Wil says in an exaggeratedly dramatic way.

He draws dagger and rapier.

I smell flowers, my mortal enemy Swan the Scented must be nearby.

Gresha's hair finally brushed and gleaming, Verrian begins to load the horses.

Swan will duel in a sort of exaggerated theatre performance for Gresha's benefit. He boasts mightily, playing the knave to Wil's hero, and delivers a soliloquy or two about the "lady fair who watches from yonder precipice" from whom he seems determined to pluck a lock of her hair for some magical mischief.

In the end, due to Wil's superior skill or not, he takes a rapier to the chest (preferably just caught under the arm) and delivers a death speech.

"Alas, thy blade doth pierce my barren heart
My wretched plan for love unreqited run afoul
For in my death your freedom is found a start
Last breath seeps from my villains scowl.".

Wil bows to Verrian and Gresha.

There once was a villain named Swan.
About bathing he would often go on.
Then the hero appeared.
Who Swan much feared.
Due to Wil The Well Fed, Swan was gone.

Verrian applauds the "combatants," then says, "Now that the villain is thoroughly vanquished, shall we mount up and get to Viamard?"

Zhaar looks on, thoroughly unimpressed.

"For the sanity of my ancestors watching over me and inadvertently seeing this, I'll actually even say please."

Swan gets up and bows, "Please, no, your adoration is all the coin we require."

At first, when weapons are drawn, Gresha gasps and shrinks away in worry. The jest slowly dawns on her, and by the end, she's clapping and laughing happily. "I suppose it'll have to be a good meal first then," she says as she stands up. "Poor Swan and his barren heart."

She turns and impulsively hugs Verrian. "Thank you," she says, then turns to face everyone. "All of you."

---

The trip to Viamard takes about half a day. The weather is calm, as is the countryside. From the crest of a hill where the forest thins, the lakeshore is visible. The shape of the Shining City and the island it occupies can be seen in the distance, but it's far enough that details can't be made out. Clouds are gathered over the island itself, but they seem to be typical spring clouds threatening a rain shower, thankfully.

Approaching the city walls, there are certainly more signs of activity than when Wil and Verrian were last here. The gates stand open, and enterprising farmers have started preparing the fields outside the walls for planting. A few townsfolk are scattered about the fields, and some stop their work and watch silently as the small group approaches. One or two people smile or wave, but most wear cautious expressions, not sure what to make of these newcomers at first.

One boy, though, not more than 9 or 10 years old, breaks away from his mother and father and runs toward you. "Wil! You're back!" he cries, and looks back over his shoulder at his parents. "Mama! It's Wil!"

He comes up next to Atticus the pony and beams up at Wil. "Do you have new stories to tell us? How long are you staying? Can you tell the story about the man and his pet frog again? I tried to tell it to my sister Cordelia, but I forgot part of it," he says, words tumbling over themselves in a rush to get them all out.

At the boy's cries, the townsfolk nearby relax and break into friendly smiles, approaching the group with welcome in their eyes.

Wil is moved by the reception.

Connor, look at you. I have been gone a short time and you already looking more like a man. I will tell you the frog story, and there will be others...but first, we have business with the old people.

He hands over the reins to the boy.

Can I trust Atticus to your care? Give him a good brushing. And a treat, but just one.

Connor beams. Wil could've given him a sack full of coins and an ancient magical sword, and the boy wouldn't look happier than he does right at this moment. "Just one. I promise, Wil. I'll take good care of him!"

He reaches up to scratch behind the pony's ears, grinning wide enough to split his face in two as he murmurs happily to his new charge. The boy comes back to the moment suddenly, and says, "You probably want to go to the Citadel. That's where the mayor is these days. I'll make sure Atticus gets to the stables there."

Connor leads Atticus in through the gates, walking tall and proud.

Wil smiles at the departing boy.

Atticus will be full of treats tonight.

He chuckles and starts toward the citadel.

Shall we go see the mayor?

Swan follows, nodding as necessary. He knows Wil and Verrian have been here before, and Wil has a way with people. He concentrates on helping Gresha keep from being overwhelmed by the strange sights and sounds. And smells.

Zhaar follows along, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as a 6’4" Half Orc covered in tribal tattoos and carrying a weapon the size of the average human can be.

It's true that some of the townsfolk approach Wil and to a smaller degree Verrian, but nearly everyone looks uncertainly at Zhaar. One older fellow, working on repairs to one of the shopfronts along the main road toward the citadel, does turn to watch the half-orc curiously, eyebrows raising in surprise as he spots the tribal tattoos. Watching the strange procession pass, he shakes his head in evident wonderment at what he sees. He doesn't, however, speak up, and the moment passes.

The streets of Viamard are mostly clean, a far cry from the abandonment that lay over the town like a heavy blanket when last Wil and Verrian saw the place. Evidence of spring is everywhere: trees are leafing out and some are even starting to bloom. A few early spring wildflowers -- or maybe just weeds -- have colonized neglected patches of ground. The breeze that licks around the edges of buildings and dances headlong down alleyways has a fragrance and warmth to it. The gates of the citadel are visible from here, down the broad road, standing open in welcome.

Gresha is trying to look everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. Too shy to make eye contact or speak with anyone, she remains close to Swan, head bowed, eyes lowered but constantly moving.