IC - Village of Limm

Aware of the stranger on the other side of the lagoon Damir kneels down and washes his hands in the cool water. The man keeps staring at the figure while ridding himself of some of the dust and grime. He briefly washes his face and neck feeling the pleasantness of the cold liquid on his skin.

From the altered perspective he looks at the surroundings trying to determine whether or not the man on the other side is indeed what he seems: a lonely traveller they have come upon by coincidence. There are other possibilities, after all. With the help of both hands he then takes a few sips, stands up and exchanges a glance with his broad-shouldered companion.

Oginimir too is aware of the person. So is Quintus. Damir once again feels aware of the advantages their pack provides. Accepting help, being able to trust has not come natural for the battle-hardened fighter, but he has learned to rely on them – first Oginimir, whom he has known since their days at the harbour, then Quintus, who has come into his life a little later. Together – and as guardians nonetheless – they are more than capable.

Damir shrugs his shoulders and begins to walk the edge of the pool in the stranger’s direction. He neither sneaks nor is particularly loud. Right now, he feels more curious than worried and wants to see how and why this person has picked this spot to rest. If he is resting indeed…

Quintus Quail reins in his horse by the side of the pool, then swings a leg over and dismounts. He pats dust from his thick and colorful robes. As the grit drifts down around him, he claps his hands together to clean them. The man sends a curious glance across the water towards the sleeping figure, and then an uneasy one towards Damir as he rounds the water's edge in the stranger's direction.

"Careful there, sir," he calls after Damir. "It's, ah..." What is it, really? A brisk fall afternoon, a peaceful, forest pool, a lone sleeper; where is the harm, after all? Quintus' natural caution is getting the better of him, for no good reason. "Well, be on guard, is all."

Which Damir obviously is, already. But Quintus feels vaguely as if he is helping.

Oginmir breathes in the cool air of the fall afternoon. He admires the waterfall and the pool which would otherwise be a charming wooded scene. But he knows the veil ripples near. He knows the dangers it invites. He takes another breath of the mountain air. One thing he’ll never miss is the stench of the docks. He dismounts and leads his horse to the water next to Quintus. He looks at the wrinkled and discolored skin of his hands. He ponders his dreams from the night before. "Feels like we should be close to Limm by now. What do you know of the village-- have you ever been here before?" He asks Quintus.

Quintus remains where he is, but follows Damir's progress with his eyes. To Ognimir he says, "I haven't had the pleasure, sir. Had I known that we would be welcomed with such generosity..."

Quail trails off. Something is tickling the back of his mind: the old magic, the half-formed compulsion. The subtle urge to do, to make, although he can't be quite sure what until the symbols are spinning from the tip of his finger. That which is only real in the moment of its execution.

He notices Damir pause and that look on his face. The situation just got more serious.
Ognimir puts his hand to his brow, to shade away the light. With a snort, he tries to clear the stench of death from his nose. It doesn’t work.
He considers the large birds.
He looks up to the height of the falls.
He looks around the area-- gazing long and focused as he looks in the direction of the veil. His hand absently goes to the cold marking on his skin. "Ay. Seems our first job together will be grim and full of sorrow." He replies to Quintus.

Damir reaches the body and nudges it with the tip of his foot. To his companions he states:
"A corpse it is and not a sleeper.
His mid is open, eyes stare wide.
Sharp teeth left marks, a beast his reaper,
Whatever it is - it may still hide."
He then focuses on the brush again and the woods, before examinig the dead flesh further. Are there broken bones or missing body parts? Any indication as to who the person has been or what he has been doing here? The warrior goes through what's left of the clothes and the pockets.

Quintus frowns beneath his luxurious beard. He tethers his horse near the waterfall, away from the corpse, so that the stench of death won't spook the poor animal. Then he circles the pond to stand beside Damir, over the body.

His fingers itch. Here, on this dead flesh, the symbols of his dream might be drawn. Their dark purpose might somehow be served. But something else within him preaches caution. Not yet, it whispers. Save your strength.

Instead, Quintus peers curiously at the stone around the body. "How did the poor fellow get here?" he muses, scanning the area for signs of a struggle, or perhaps a trail of blood and tissue leading from the forest nearby. After a moment, Quintus squints into the cool blue sky above them.

"Limm’s not too far now. I suspect this poor man’s kin will be missing him. We can’t leave him here." Ognimir squints and looks at the crows.

"What do you think, Damir? Do you think he’s a local or a wanderer? Does your gut say this is veil related? Either way, I can gather some branches and fashion something to help the horse bring him to the village."

Ognimir looks about the woodland for what he would need.

"Some archer felled this man, then took care to hide the fact." Quintus gestures at the back of the unfortunate fellow's head. "Look, the murderer has taken away his fletching." And then there's the matter of the ruptured torso. Quail thoughtfully strokes his beard from chin to chest. "I wonder..."

Might the animal have been under the archer's control? A hunting dog of some sort? Or was it simply some wild beast that found the corpse afterwards and took the opportunity to feast? There seems no way of knowing, now.

With a sigh, Quintus Quail sinks down in his robes and gingerly grasps the departed fellow by the chin. He turns the corpse's head this way and that, taking note of the man's features so that he may describe them later to the folk in Limm. As he works, he says, "We should take away the poor man's instrument as well, sirs. His family, you know..."

Damir nods and picks up the flute examining it much like Quintus had done with the man's features. He looks for a name or etching, anything out of the ordinary. "Hard to say. ... A wretched end. To die like this..." Either the alleged archer has brought a dog, or the bite marks have come later in the night. One might hope the man has died before the carnage.

As they do not find anything else that could help identify the man or the cause of his demise, Damir turns to help Ognimir gather what is needed. Personally, he would not mind leaving the remains. Dead is dead and rot is not the most pleasant smell, but he knows his companion is driven by convictions he will not easily throw overboard. "Let's proceed. Some caution, I think, won't be amiss." He looks around suspiciously one more time, then directs his steps towards the thicket.

As he collects the branches for the litter, Ognimir looks around the area, thinking of his days as a kidnapper, where he was always planning a good ambush.