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.

Quintus knows little about fashioning litters, but supposes from Ognimir's statement and example that branches will be required. He checks the dagger at his belt, then moves cautiously into the treeline and begins his own search for likely boughs. In a moment of inspiration, Quintus fetches out his dagger and carves fresh strips of bark from a pliable young sapling. Should they lack twine, perhaps the bark can be twisted into makeshift bindings for their litter: a fragile solution, but serviceable for the journey to Limm. Or so he hopes.

Unless his companions give him reason to pause....
Ognimir puts his fingers to his mouth, gives a sharp, bright, alerting whistle, and waves the workers over. Hopefully, they have a barrow or wagon or something.

Quintus reins up beside Ognimir. He is well content to let the laborers of Limm take charge of the corpse he and his fellows have brought them. Indeed, the makeshift litter they've fashioned probably won't last much longer.

"Now, sirs, we shall see if any of the locals recognize our victim. Or his accoutrements."

Should any of the farmhands approach, Quail observes their reactions to the body. Might there be any obvious sparks of recognition or familiarity?

The closer they get to the edge of the woods, the stronger the feeling Damir has come to associate with being so close to the Veil. He feels its pull, cold and dark, like a blade deep within himself. Not so much a sharp pain, but a dull unease at the edge of his awareness, the energy has become a constant in his life. It draws him and repels him in equal parts. The closer he gets, the more urgent the cold in his guts, the more palpable the pressure behind his eyes.

Seeing it now intensifies all the little discomforts it causes, the worries and dark premonitions - so Damir consciously pushes the energy back to a hazy place inside as far as possible. He needs to focus on the tasks at hand. Damir puts a hand on the muscular neck of his bay stallion, calming the animal much like himself. Then he silently continues with the group. Whatever fate has befallen the unlucky fellow behind Ognimir's steed, it might well become their job to deal with it. Gathering whatever information they can is the priority right now. The ... rest comes later.

Damir is prepared to show the unfortunate's flute to help uncover his identity if need be. For now, he is curious of the peasant's reaction. Might what's left of body and garment be enough to name the man? Have there been other incidents around these parts?

Ognimir gives a solemn frown, slowly bows his head, and turns his eyes to Quintus -- a subtle gesture to indicate this is where everyone should look.

He would like to go to them, tell them he's sorry, and explain the situation.
But when he considers his hideous arms with the unnatural Guardian tattoos that weave in and out of the disfigured skin, he knows he's the last person to share the news with these hard-working folk.

Instead, he dismounts and retreats to the side to give them privacy.

Quintus Quail raises and spreads his hands, palms upturned, as if beseeching the humble folk of Limm to approach him for comfort. It's a gesture of condolence, if a mildly theatrical one. Tattoos of tiny serpents slither across his palms and twine up his fingers; there are snake-heads on his fingertips, marking him as a Guardian as well as a weaver of unpredictable magics.

"You have our sympathies, sir," Quintus says, addressing himself to the heavy-set fellow who has identified the body. "Such a loss as this, your Tiyem..."

The bearded man trails off. A thought tickles the back of his mind. They recovered two musical instruments at the scene, in two different places, but have brought back just one body. Was the man alone there?

"We found him as you see him, good people. By the side of a forest pool with a low waterfall, not far from here. May I ask, who was he? Does anyone here know when or why he departed from Limm, or in what company?"

Ognimir, unconsciously, shuffles just a few inches away from the corpse when he learns the dead return around these parts.

Damir puts his hand on Ognimir's shoulder for a moment, lending encouragement to his companion and showing their common bond to the people around them. He is well aware of the effect his friend's appearance can have on outsiders. Sometimes a little friendliness can be disarming, though. And friendliness is easy compared to other things.

Then the man steps up to Quintus, who seems to have a knack for parley, and adds in a severe tone:
"A beast that also deals in arrows then. Make haste and build your fire." Damir crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks in the direction of the village. To whom, meanwhile, do we speak about affairs this grim?" He takes his horse's reins, indicating that it is time for them to leave the men to deal with the swift funeral and proceed to the buildings ahead. "Who is in charge here, in the village of Limm?"

For Rabban's tearful farewell, Quintus heaves a sympathetic sigh that ruffles his magnificent mustache. He dismounts, approaches the local, and places a hand upon his large and dirty shoulder.

"Rabban..." There would be more to say if Quintus knew anything about this man, or his departed nephew, or any of their relations. Still, the urge to comfort is there, and that's worth something, isn't it? Quintus certainly feels so. His serpent fingers press the man's shoulder. "Courage, sir. Your kin will need your strength in this dark time."

Quail returns to his horse, takes hold of the reins, and begins to lead the beast in the direction of the village. Then he pauses, as the skinnier fellow's question at last filters through Quintus' funereal and somewhat maudlin brood. He half-turns back.

"Examine the victim's neck, sir. At the base of the skull. The arrow's shaft..."

Ognimir moves next to the heavy-set man. While the others go on about arrows, leaning close, as he knows his hoarse voice can often get lost in the winds and the noises of conversations, he says, "You’re Rabban, then? I’m Ognimir" He puts out a hand to shake. "You mentioned beasts--when was the last time a Beast tormented Limm?

"Nor was there when we came upon him, sir," Quintus replies to the red-bearded villager, just a little tartly, for he imagines that his honor has been tacitly impugned. "Your neighbor's--" he breaks off; he would say murderer, but a glance at Rabban confirms for him that the word would be harsh just now in that poor man's ears. "Whoever did this deed, must have broken his shaft to hide it. As you seem concerned with arrows and fletching, sir, might you know... ?"

The question, Quintus Quail feels, is obvious.

Damir nods and leads his animal in the direction the man has pointed out. Here, they cannot do much more. Maybe the Padwols have more information to share. The man thinks about beasts that feast on internal organs and arrows from the other side..

Ognimir stands back as Rabban is sick. He doesn't scowl or show much empathy. Maybe his work as a Guardian has hardened him in a way.

It would be churlish of Quintus to argue with the skinny villager at this somber moment. He merely sketches half a bow and a limp flourish of one hand, as if to say, "As you will, sir." Then he turns away, and leads his stocky mountain horse after Damir's towards the village proper. Perhaps these Padwols will prove more informative than the field hands have been.

Ognimir hands the flute and harp over to Quintus.
"I'll do the first rounds, and meet you in the village after."
The thought of being cooped up in some village hovel, listening to the wails of peasants is too much for Ognimir. That's work best left for the new Guardian.

He climbs back on his horse, "I won't go too far-a-field, and I'll keep an eye out for archers."

Ognimir's first concern is to gauge the scope of the threat. Is this a single beast on the prowl or is this the first of a beast horde that warrants evacuation of Limm? Riding the perimeter is not a fun job, not a safe job, but it must be done. The chill of the tattoos on his arms grows along with his dread. The setting sun, despite its beauty, doesn't give Ognimir any comfort.

Now holding his horse's tack in one hand, and the pair of musical instruments balanced awkwardly in the crook of his other arm, Quintus Quail pauses once more and peers back round the horse's side. It takes all of the moral fortitude he can muster not to roll his eyes at the tall and skinny villager.

"Of course," Quintus assures them all, long-suffering. "And, pray sirs, when did any of you see young miss Ciara last? Is she here in the village, perhaps?"

Or might she be missing, having been separated from her harp at the edge of the wood, near the body of her slain paramour? Quail does not say it, but he can't quite restrain the softest of sighs.

Damir waits for Quintus to reach his side, so they can continue their way together. Ognimir has already started to make sure they are not in immediate danger. Now it is up to them to find out more about Limm, its leaders and the threats lurking all around.

Ognimir fishes his shield from his kit and holds it at the ready. Then approaches the glint of moving light but on horseback at a tangent, such that his shield side faces the unknown.

His mouth is dry. His nerves calm, as they always do when a target and a goal materialize. Ognimir tries not to lock his focus too much on the glint-- but will scan the area when he can. He's been on both sides of an ambush too many times to know if there is something bright and shiny in the open it means something sharp and deadly awaits in shadows.

Quintus returns to Damir the flute and harp that the other man discovered in his earlier searches. For Damir's ears alone, Quintus murmurs, "Will you speak to this elder for us, sir? I will watch the assembled crowd and try to determine which of these locals might be Ciara's father Fudreg. If she did indeed leave the village with our victim Tiyem..."

Well, it would bode ill for her. And they might have to step quickly in search of the maid, lest worse befall her.

Ognimir cries out in fear. It sounds like a guttural rasp from his dry throat. Nobody will hear that scream.
After the horse instinctively lashes with her hooves, he pivots, positioning the shield as best he can-- and then he makes a fist, loads up his arm like a whip, and flings the spell from his skin-- Stasis Enveloping! A plasmic ichor of spell-energy spins from his arm, as a spider might cast a web, or a fisher would throw a net. For a brief moment, the skin on his arm relaxes and looks normal, though he can feel it now coil and shift and tighten. He knows by morning--should he be lucky enough to make it to morning, it will wrinkle into a hideous pattern again.

Then he drives his heels hard into the horse to make a hasty retreat. The mirrored surface of the wolves might give him an advantage if he can just weave his retreat toward the setting sun. Light at strange angles will make it hard for the wolves to track him, perhaps.

Ognimir stops turns and looks at the frozen creature and the shattered creature.
He gives his horse a pat on the neck, "Well done, Maple, well done."
He cautiously circles and looks for more of them. He ponders. The shattered mirror, might be quite valuable- more than a wolf pelt for sure. Capturing a live Mirror Wolf might be even better...

Damir explains the situation.

...grins so wide his missing teeth are obvious to casual observation; but he quickly covers the smile with a cough, and a newly plastered blank face.

"Oi, is that Tiyem?" he asked a nearby onlooker. "Pity..."

He scans the crowd, eager, looking for Ciara.

Damir continues his account and presents Ibic Panwol with the flute of the unfortunate.
Then he shows the man and thus the gathered villagers the second instrument.
"This harp we found nearby the flute. A young lady's, it has been suggested.
The mood changes swiftly as if the air has left the place for a moment.
Damir observes the miens of the bystanders. Perhaps there is one who knows more than the rest?
"Nothing else was to be found. Just the instruments, one finely crafted the other one crested."

Danill listens close to Damir; he looks at the harp the Guardian holds.

His eyes narrow on the harp, then widen.

Danill shoves his way through the crowd toward Damir. "Give me that, dammit!" His composure has dropped, and if the Guardian doesn't stop him Danill will rip the Harp from his hands.

"That's Ciara's..." He looks round frantic at the gathered faces. "Has anyone seen Ciara?"

To Damir, angry. "You didnt see her? Only Tiyem? Speak Man!"

Damir faces the newcomer with effective countenance. He does neither flinch nor answer in a similar tone, but remains calm and serious.
The instrument stays with him until the rightful owner is determined. Damir purposefully ignores the spirited way the man has chosen to address him and states:

"As I said - we came across the body of your friend - Tiyem,
afterwards the instruments, no tracks, no tools, no signs of further strife.
Might you introduce yourself, declare then what you were to them?
Maybe give some insight into where it is, the girl might still be alive."

His gaze is turned on the villager expectantly. It is time they are given more detailed information.
Should Ciara breathe, time is the factor most important to see she remains so. They have to act and do so now.
As Guardians they do not have the luxury to give themselves to their emotions. They have to focus on their purpose.

And once more Damir explains the whats, hows and whys. Although he tries to remain patient, his speech is quite fast this time. He hands over the harp to the musician's father. Tells him about where they have found the boy's body, about where the instrument has been and about their findings. Suspicions and speculations the Guardians might have at this point, Damir leaves out. He stays factual and professional in his recount.

Then he pauses, looks at both men before him and awaits their reaction to the news. He adresses all bystanders, but looks directly at Ibic Panwol when he says: "Whoever has something of value to add, please speak. We must be quick to find her, or Ciara's chances are more than bleak." The Guardian is done explaining himself. Thrice is enough. He locks eyes with some of the villagers, then Ibic. Damir crosses his arms and gives the people of Limm a chance to speak.

Brusk, to Damir. "I'm Danill Krahl. Newly arrived to this backwater..."

To Ciara's father, "And I have nothing to do with this other than tryin' to keep her away from that fool Tiyem."

"I would never put her in danger, and that idiot's gone an' got himself tore up!"

To Damir again. "We should go to her house an' check on her. Her father has addled his mind with drink.. I'd not trust his judgment. "

Quintus stands aside and listens quietly as Damir queries the villagers. When Ciara's father insists that his daughter is safely home, Quintus exhales in relief. He feared the worst, but fortunately that fear now seems to be unfounded.

The matter takes on a different color! Quail suspects that the young lady did not sleep well because she did not sleep at all; indeed, she must have crept out by moonlight to dally with the flautist Tiyem. What passed between them by the side of the forest pool? What might she have seen before she came away, and why did she leave a treasured harp behind her? Did she flee the place, and if so, from whom? Or from what?

Quintus Quail thoughtfully strokes his beard. The weary Ciara must soon be wakened and made to answer.

Damir nods in Danill's direction. Then to Ibic: "We'll make sure she's safe, while you take care of your friend." The villagers have seemed eager to put Tiyem's remains to rest properly and the Guardian needs to see Ciara up and well with his own eyes. Questions will have to be asked as well. It is best the man Danill leads Quintus and himself to the house in question without too many prying eyes.

He gives their names to the leader of the village and assures him that they will come back as soon as they have found the girl. Something or someone - maybe a combination of both - has killed one of their young men. Regardless of what they find at Fudreg's house, it is their duty to deal with whatever is threatening the village of Limm. Damir tells Ibic as much, then nods to Quintus and follows Danill. "Let us hope, good folk of Limm, that this will have a happy end."


Damir looks in the direction of the fields and wonders if Ognimir has had any luck finding more evidence. Then he asks:
"You have called Tiyem a fool and did not seem too broken-hearted when you heard about his fate.
We'll talk more later, when Ciara's back with you and safe - while we walk, though, tell us about the corpse, the one you so berate."

Danill huffs and puffs slightly.

"To be clear, Tiyem ain't my friend. He's, or was, just some puffed up popinjay. He'd go about, high an' mighty acting better than everyone else. But, I don't know, folk take a likin' to people like him. People like Ciara."

He points down a lane past a well. "This way."

"Any way...he manipulated people, like Ciara, to think fondly of him. But he paid her no attention! She's a magnificent girl and he just ignored her, but didn't let her go either. Didn't let her go to better men, like me."

They stop in front of a small cottage, a layer of autumn leaves covering the ground all about.

"Here we are."

Damir raises an eyebrow and supresses a grin.
The cottage lies in front of them quite peacefully. The differently coloured leaves fit the warm light. The Guardian stops in front of the door and listens intently. He cannot hear anything.

Damir looks at Quintus and nods. With Ognimir some things have become second nature. They don't need to communicate every thought, but rather know how to handle situations intuitively by now. With Quintus, Damir isn't so confident just yet. They haven't fought side by side, like he and the big fellow have. He puts his hand on the wood tentatively and sees, if there is anything to feel. Then he knocks.

Shouldn't there be any reaction, Damir plans to enter the cottage together with his fellow Guardian.

Half expecting Danill to storm forward, Damir simplay states: "Two Guardians, Damir and Quintus, who have found your harp - it would seem. We'd like to return it, see all is well and tell you about young Tiyem." He looks over his shoulder to Quintus. Is this relief or worry on his face?

Quintus glances up to where the blue of the autumn sky has begun to deepen towards evening, then sidelong at his new companion Damir. A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.

"A late sleeper indeed," he murmurs under his breath. He sounds both amused and a little concerned.

From behind the Guardians, Danill clears his throat and positions himself to be seen. Relief, slightly, in his voice. "G'morrow Ciara. It's me, Danill. They have your harp, but I led them here. To you. To return your harp and ensure you were safe. I wanted to make sure you're safe. And give you your harp. They'll give you you're harp, but I'll make sure you're safe."

He smiles, his missing teeth conspicuous.

"Your harp and sad tidings, I'm afraid," Quintus Quail amends. "Miss, it pains me to tell you that young Tiyem of Limm has passed. We found him, or rather, what remained of him..." The bearded man pauses as he imagines, with a grimace, the cavity and the mess where the bulk of Tiyem's innards had been. "Mm. I mean to say that we recovered your instrument nearby."

So saying, he pays close attention to the maid's reaction. Is she surprised? Dismayed? Trying to appear so, one or both?

Danill shoots Quintus a glare that could drive nails--inconspicuously.

Sad tidings my ass... he thinks.

"We hoped you could tell us, Miss Ciara. Might we come inside?" Damir manages a friendly look without completely forgoing the authority that comes with his profession. "Let's talk in private. The need for answers just cannot be denied." He includes Quintus and himself in this. Ciara, he reckons, will speak more openly to outsiders than lovesick new residents.

Danill opens his mouth to interject, to force his way into the cottage as well, but closes it and looks on grim.

"No harm will come to you, while you're in our care." Damir calms the girl with a soft, but confident voice.
He lends her some of his strength by looking at the young woman with kindness and waits for her to settle down a bit.

Then he continues:

"Anything you can report,
anything you have seen,
anything you have perceived otherwise - a feeling, a smell - however small
can help us protect you and yours from whatever's out there."

Damir lets her consider his words.

Outside the cottage, Danill looks down the lane and sees no one. He quickly creeps to the cottages shuttered window, his lanky frame bent low.

He rests his back against the river-rock wall and strains to eavesdrop on the conversation inside.

Damir nods. "Understandable. Have you been at this spot before - at night? Did you meet the young man in secret? Did anybody else use the site? The man waits for her answer, then asks whether she knows of any predators around - human or otherwise, who might have had reason to single out Tiyem or herself. Damir also asks, why she did not tell anyone about what had happened when she returned.

The Guardian looks at Quintus. Does he have any questions that need to be asked?

Quintus glances at Damir, raises his eyebrows, then returns his attention to the village girl and avidly awaits her reply. All good questions! Particularly the one about her disinclination to report Tiyem's death in Limm. Perhaps the two of them meant to play at more than music beside the forest pool.

With a bag of mirror-wolf pelts in the bag, Ognimir makes his way to the village. Those bites on Maple do not look too serious, yet-- but he best get them taken care of.

He heads to the village with an eye for the stables-- and someone with more animal husbandry than an old warf-rat like himself.

Danill's scowl deepens from what he hears while eavesdropping on the conversation. Nice?! I was all an act!, he thinks.

Quintus Quail's blue eyes darken with sympathy to the hue of sapphires.

"We would never presume to meddle in the affairs of a young lady's heart," he assures Ciara. "Although I will simply say that while young men are often sweet, they are seldom sweet for long, while fathers..."

Quintus breaks off as a thought strikes him with sufficient force to stiffen him in his seat. He glances at the cottage door, then back at the girl once more.

"If we may ask, miss, and without entering upon any private details... have you had, let us say, other suitors for your attention? Any who might have been aware of your interest in Tiyem?"

Ognimir grabs the first young, able-looking person he can. He leans down from Maple's back, reaches out, and clamps his hideous hand upon their shoulder. Hard. He makes his tattoos obvious.
"Hey." He gives them a bit of a shake. When they realize he's a Guardian he then says, "Stop what you're doing. I have an injured horse here that is more important. Where are the stables? And who manages your village safety?"

All of this fuss over one dead man? This doesn't seem right, he thinks. Limm needs to get its priorities straight. Unless this talk of the dead rising is more than they have let the Guardians know....

Indeed there is, thinks Quintus Quail. He has made his feelings about our late flautist quite clear.

To Ciara, Quintus says, "Of course. Take courage, miss. You are young and have the world before you." As much of it as one can see from Limm, anyway. Turning to Damir, he adds, "Do we have anything else for her?"

Ciara's words burn in his ears: "But they couldn't compare to Tiyem. He had such a personality ... and his music!"

Well he heard enough. Danill shoots up and stalks off into the surrounding wood. Within seconds he's throwing rocks at trees--one of his favorite pasttimes when he's angry. And he's always angry.

He finds himself back at the edge of the village proper. And look, another guardian. Big fellow too, he thinks. He strides toward Ognimar.

Ognimir heaves from his horse, hands the reigns to the boy, and orders him to take Maple back to the stables. Then he marches over to Stobben and Rabban.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots Danill approaching. He looks at Stobben, then at the bier, and then to Rabban. Then he throws down the bag full of mirror-wolf pelts.
"I slayed what likely defiled your boy. Two mirror-wolves, fierce and hungry."

He drops the bag so it opens but does not spill. Letting them witness the last of the day's light dance on the sharp shards.

"The veil is weak here. There is more work to be done. If it is true those touched by the veil spawn come back, best say your goodbyes and get him on the fire."

Ognimir stands, with the attitude of impatience and disinterest in their grief.

"I am sure, your young man was special and fair. We'll honour him by finding his slayer." Damir comforts the woman as best he can. Then adds: Ciara, if I might ask and presume that you know: Among your suitors or .. protectors, is there one apt with arrow and bow?"

Danill comes in in the middle of Ognimir's conversation about the wolf pelts. His face lightens a bit and he whistles is appreciation at the Guardian's haul.

"You killed 'em yourself," he asks Ognimir. Clearly, Danill also has no interest in the villagers' grief. "An what kinda work is there to be done?"

Ognimir eyes Danill. He's seen his fair share of lazy cast-abouts while working the docks. This disheveled one makes him think of a few unfortunate souls he snatched and sent to work the seas.

"One caught Maple's hoof-- and the other, I smashed the weak spot between its ears."

He kicks the bag with his toe just a bit.

"The borders need another sweep. Who knows what else leaked from the veil. Limm isn't safe until we scout the lengths. "

Ognimir puts an emphasis on "we" to indicate he doesn't think Danill isn't good enough to be included in that group. "You from around here?" Most of the people from Limm have been hardworking farmer types-- this Danill doesn't fit in.

"It weren't wolves that did for him, miss," Quintus informs Ciara sadly. "But tell us about them." His multicolored robe rustles and shifts as he leans towards her, interested. "Are these wolves as nature intended them to be, or perhaps denizens from beyond the Veil? What time of night are they typically seen in these parts?"

Damir puts a hand on her shoulder again and waits for her to calm. He lets warmth seep into his eyes as he says:
"Girl, you have done well and helped us a lot.
Now tis time to go pay our respects at the pyre.
We'll see that the evil gets caught.
Let's go show Limm you're fine - it's what they require."
The man stands and turns to leave. He waits a moment so Quintus has opportunity to say or ask what he wishes, then moves outside towards the people of this village.

Danill closes his slightly agape mouth as he listens to Ognimir. He nods along, emphatically, as if he also rides horses into battle and patrols the Veil regularly.

In response to Ognimir asking where he's from: "Me? From round here? Nah." he makes a face of boredom.

"I'm from the city. Used to make collections for my uncle--folks who couldn't pay off their loans. I'm out here till some things quiet down."

He shrugs. "Don't much fit here though. Folk round here don't much like when ya punch others. They're impressed by things like music playin' and the like."

He scoffs. "It's as if just playing an instrument makes you nice. Eh, but I'm sure you know how it is." Danill eyes the Guardian's gear.

"I know where your friends are; I could show you if'n you like."

Quintus stands as well. He brushes down his robes with rather fastidious, snake-entwined palms, then nods his readiness to depart.

Ognimir turns his attention to Stobben and Rabban. How are they reacting to Danill? Ognimir is looking to get a sense if Danill is welcome around these parts or a nuisance. "A collector, eh?" Ognimir recalls a few bodies fished out of the wharf in his time. Those who couldn't pay up given the final collection, so to speak. Although Danill is tall and lanky, Ognimir imagines he could be formidable with a saber or knife-- with the reach his long arms afford.

Ognimir unconsciously adjusts his armor.

Danill puffs his chest out slightly--does someone finally see his worth?!

"Aye. And I was a mighty fine one at that. It ain't my fault what happens after I hit someone. Some people don't know how to fall. And if those people have powerful families it can ruin a man's career."

Danill screws up his face in annoyance at all the wailing and grieving. He gestures at the nearby villagers. "Good luck gettin' this lot to help ya with your duties. But me; I could be of use. I know these woods. I spend a lot of time there trackin'."

The fear of rejection obvious in Danill's eyes, especially considering he knows he actually just mopes in the forest most days. But the Gaurdian doesn't need to know that, he thinks.

Ognimir looks down his nose at Danill for a long beat. He looks at Stobben and Rabban, and admits the truth -- their grief has made them useless. He gathers up the bag of mirror-wolf pelts then turns to go. He takes a few steps, then turns back and looks at Danill as if to say, "well come on then."


"What sort of weapon do you have, a sword, a bow, perhaps? And what of the Panwols? You know them, are they going to be willing...and capable.." he winces as the wailing of the mourners hits a high note. "... of helping?"

Ognimir makes a special effort to watch Danill's reaction about his question about a bow.

As they leave the girl's cottage, Quintus Quail looks round for Danill. Not finding him, Quintus says apart to Damir, "I need not remind you, sir, that our recent acquaintance expressed both a fondness for this Ciara and what I must consider a troubling disdain towards the late Tiyem." He pauses, raises his eyebrows to point his dark surmise: that Danill Krahl is a suspect in the young musician's murder.

"We should also locate this Dommic fellow. If one or both of them proves to be handy with a bow..."

With a skip and a hop, Danill scurries along after Ognimir Krin.

He answers the Gaurdian as he keeps pace with him. "I've got meself a sword an' sheild I won off a merchant's guard. Ive never used a bow, but I do have a sling I've got rabbits with. I also found a beartrap in the forest once, and have it in my room at the inn."

"As for the Panwols," he shrugs, "I think ya can get 'em doing your bidding if you have an air of authority. They're just a bunch of bumpkins after all. I doubt they'll be capable though. Not like us, anyway." He snickers.

Danill gestures a lot while talking; it's clear under observation
that he doesn't have the hands, or forearms for the matter, of an archer.

Ognimir halts in his tracks. The sound from the direction of the Veil paralyzes him for a brief moment.

"Go get your sword."

He then turns and heads toward the edge of the village, in the direction of the keening. He mutters a quiet curse as he realizes he left his halberd with the horse, and thus pivots and heads to the stables at a fast trot. He figures the eerie call will summon his fellow Guardians as well, and he can't be late.

Danill nods, dumbly at Ognimir. He runs as fast as he can, breath puffing in the autumn air.

Slamming through the inn's common room, Danill ignores shouts and curses from patrons he jostles. In his room he buckles on the worn leather sword belt, securing the pin through one of the extra holes he added via his knife. He then pulls on his leather vest and shoulders his shield.

When finished he storms down the rickety stairs and back through the common room--"Make way! Outta the way! Guardian business! I said move you bumpkin!" and runs back into the chill evening, toward the where he and Ognimir had parted.

Quintus certainly doesn't relish the thought of encountering darkly the throat that would make such an unwholesome noise. He notices the firelight rising towards the center of the village and recalls Tiyem's pyre.

"The night comes on quickly, sir," he observes, as if Damir might not be perfectly well aware of this fact. "Let us return to the common, where the boy's funeral fire must now be burning, and bethink us how best to proceed."

So saying, he recovers his low and stocky horse from where it has been grazing near Ciara's cottage. With a glance at Damir, he turns the beast and moves back towards the center of Limm as calmly as he may. Which, despite his profession and oath to defy all that would cross the Veil, is not quite as calmly as one might expect of a Guardian. His robes swish about his boots. He's hustling a bit.

Damir offers his hand to the girl, should she wish to come along, then nods to Quintus and joins him.
Dommic and Danill. The father, maybe, if his affinity for drink hasn't made him useless. A former lover of the boy perhaps? Wolves alone did not kill the flutist. Did the arrow came before or after the animalistic attack,though ...
There are too many ifs and maybes still.

Damir will share what he knows with Ognimir as soon as possible and is keen on hearing what the other has found.

Once back in the heart of Limm, Quintus ties up his mount to any convenient post or spar. He takes the crossbow from his saddle and shoulders his quiver of quarrels. Then, mumbling an apology for the apparent sacrilege, he shakes loose a burning brand from the unfortunate Tiyem's pyre. With crossbow in one hand and makeshift torch in the other, he's as ready as he'll ever be; of course he'll have to throw down the brand before firing, but better that than to stalk eldritch prey in the dark of night.

Quintus looks to the other assembled Guardians. His attention pauses upon Danill, who seems to have drafted himself into their service, but given the circumstances, Quail chooses not to comment. Instead he says, "Sirs, have any of you heard that sound before? Do you know what manner of beast..." The question is certainly beyond Quintus' own experience.

Awkwardly adjusting his belted sword--he can't seem to decide if he should stand holding the hilt or not--Danill sucks at the empty spaces between his remaining teeth.

"It's a new one on me..." he replies to Quintus.

The thrill of being included tamping down the fear he should be feeling right now...

Ognimir's voice hisses out harsh and faint-- an unusual amount of talking today has worn on his vocal cords.
"I suspect the Veil cries out with rage, as whatever veil-fiend infested Tiyem's corpse succumbed to the flames."

Ognimir tells his companions of his encounter with the wolves, and about the heroics of Maple. In the dim light, should they care to look, they can see the tattoos on his arms are faint and weak-- meaning he has no spell energy.

"It's unnatural, their grief." He looks to the crowd of mourners. "Best I could do to recruit backup was this one." He rolls his eyes to Danill. "Not even the idea of a tear out of his eye."
"Quintus, do you know of any spell that could enchant an entire town like Limm? You must admit, this much adoration from such hardworking folk is unusual."

Ognimir ponders that maybe Tiyem was veiltouched before the Wolfs infested him...
The roar and flicker of the flame give him an odd comfort.

Danill nods to Quintus and Damir. "Good ta see you again fellas."
Danill sides up to Damir and lightly elbows him as Podreg headss off. "Podreg," he says to the Gaurdian. "He's an odd fellow. Always trailing after his twin Dommic. Keep yer eye on him."

"Far be it from me, Ognimir, to cast any aspersion on these humble folk," Quintus Quail says. He puffs up a little in his robes, like a strange and flightless bird. "It would be uncharitable to wonder if perhaps they gather round Tiyem's bier out of a mere desire for spectacle and respite from their dull and rustic rounds. No, sir. Let us leave them to mourn their own as they see fit."

Quintus raises his torch. He peers into the fast-descending darkness, in the direction of those unearthly cries.

"Shall we be off, then?" he asks, without stirring from his place.

Ognimir takes a moment to think of the mourning from this different perspective then quietly nods.
"Fair point, Quail. Fair point."

After hearing Ognimir agree with Quail, Danill nods sagely--even if he's unsure of the meaning of several words the robed man used.

After bringing Ognimir up to speed, praising his weapon and mare and raising an eyebrow at the support Danill and the archer twin offer, Damir leaves with the others to investigate the noise. He turns and asks the villagers to be carful, keep torches and weapons close and signal them should anything dangerous occur during the next few hours.

He then asks whether the young man with the bow knew the corpse well and about what he thought of the girl.

Danill hops over a log and keeps pace with Podreg. "Yeah, but your brother is interested in her eh?"

He huffs lightly.

"But you know she is...was....interested in Tiyem. How'd y'all feel about that?"

He watches his face, looking for clues in his response.

Damir let's himself fall back a few steps so he is positioned between Danill and Podreg, whose nervous energy the Guardian can feel all around him. He softens his voice as to create both more tension and familiarity and answers the twin with an ominous tone:

"Tis an onryō spirit,
that much is sure.
The shrieks, that cool your blood -
we've heard them before.
Tis a spirit of vengeance,
in a place of violent death.
It will know those involved,
and feed of their breath."

Here the Guardian stops for effect and listens to the men beside him.
Fear of the unnatural fiend in the dark, a terrible spectre that knows what they have done, might make them speak more of what has happened to the young flutist.

Conspiratorially he proceeds:

"Tis our duty to best the bloodthirsty spirit tonight,
before it leaves where your young man Tiyem has died.

'cause

if it can't find those responsible for the murderous deed...
it'll go on to Limm - slashing, and tearing and killing.
here Damir makes explicit gestures even the darkness can't conceal
- until after much bloodshed it has satisfied its need."

Danill cluntches his jaw against the sound then addresses Damir and Podreg.

"Whatever it is this bloody wailing is going to drive me mad".

He unshoulders his sheild and draws his short sword. And follows the Guardian's toward the pool.

Ognimir turns to Podreg. "You'd be a fool to discount Damir's wisdom. The Veil may surprise you yet."

He hunches his shoulders as if that might somehow deaden the shock of the wailing, thinking: Let's be done with it before the sound drives me mad as well.

"You have found your courage, man?
Let us ride - complete our duties then." Damir closes rank with Ognimir at the front. He looks to his friend and shrugs his shoulders as if to say Well, I tried.... Damir too has been struck by the man Podreg not answering the question about the victim earlier. This topic, should he survive the night, has to be revisited - and soon.

To his credit, Quintus does not shirk when the party moves off into the benighted wood. He keeps pace to one side of the more familiar Ognimir and Damir, carrying a flaming brand in one hand, a loaded crossbow in the other. At Damir's shrug, he half-shrugs in return; the night and the torchlight flatten the colors in the cloth over his shoulder.

It's hard to gauge Podreg's attitude with that dreadful keening going on, getting louder as they proceed in the direction of the pool. Quintus rather suspects that the 'onryo spirit' is Damir's strategic invention, never having heard of such a creature himself, but then the other man does have more experience with the Veil than he does...

Suppressing a shudder, Quail raises the torch higher and peers keenly into the darkness ahead.

Ognimir turns to Damir. "Shall we charge forth in a show of force, maybe we can drive this spirit back beyond the Veil? Or, proceed with caution, so we don't stumble into a trap?"

He looks to the flickering torchlight, knowing they don't arrive with any sense of stealth.

Danill strains to here what Damir's response to Ognimir will be.

To make himself "useful" he turns to Podreg, and whispers to the villager in a cloud of frosty breath. "Whenever whatever starts up, keep your head bumpkin. I don't fancy an arrow in the back--and I'm sure my fellows don't either."

His tough attitude dissolves as Danill finally sees the origin of the wretched keening. He stands straighter, jaw slightly slack and eyes going wide..."Gods..."

He's never actually seen a manifestation of the Veil...

...and yet his will allows him to keep his cool. He closes his jaw and crouches low again.

Quintus is too perplexed to be frightened.

"What manner of thing..."

It's beyond him. Is the cloud some sort of animal? Is it a manifestation of Tiyem's vengeful spirit, as Damir's ghost story suggested? If so, why does it have paws? The boy had no paws. Quintus Quail had a very good look at his corpse on the way to Limm, and the late flautist clearly had hands and feet like any other man. If the spirit takes the form of Tiyem's manner of death, why isn't it a floating bow, or phantom arrow, or suchlike? Might the Guardians have erred in their assessment of the scene? Perhaps... perhaps, the poor lad was still alive when something had a go at his entrails?

Lost in such ruminations, Quintus Quail stands his ground. It has, at least, the appearance of bravery.

"Proceed with caution, I should think." Damir stops, but feels his stomach turn when he beholds the creature. It has no proper physical form. These are the tricky ones, the manifestations of the veil that he, as a fighter, has only a few measures against. Damir has no sorcery at his disposal and it is moments like this that his inadequacies become clearer.

"Let us hope I will not be the weakest link..." he mutters to himself as he readies his weapons to encounter the horrific apparition with his fellow Guardians.

Ognimir squints his eyes and looks away. He can't help but put his hands to his ears.

Even though he's kept his composure, Danill's mind still recoil at the sight of the roiling cloud of claw.

He asks the Guardians, "What is this? How do we approach this...?"

Barely acknowledging the physical reaction to the sound, Damir produces a sibilant signalling Ognimir and Quintus to retreat. He contemplates shoving either villager into the thing for good measure, then decides against it - for now. This would be an overly harsh way to determine guilt... effective still...

Damir shares his knowledge as soon as they have brought some distance between themselves and the dark hole of teeth and claws, and gives the others time to process, while he changes his clothes.

His sword now sheathed, Danill rubs his hands over his arms to warm himself up. He glares daggers at Podreg, "Oh ya reckon do you?!"

Danill pushes away from the tree he was leaning on and stalks over to Podreg. He stabs his finger at the young bowman's chest. "Cut the shite Pod. What'ya know? Being that Tiyem was soooooo loved, the list of folk who'd kill 'im is pretty small. So where are you on that list?!"

It's hard to tear Quintus' attention away from the keening cloud, but if anything can do it, it's a face-off between two suspected murderers. Quail glances at Ognimir, then Damir. Then he fixes Podreg with a steely stare and raises his eyebrows, as if to say, Well? Pray continue, sir.

Quintus lets the crossbow ride casually at his hip, pointed towards the arguing pair. Just in case either should prove himself in need of some urging towards the vengeful spirit.

Danill throws his arms wide, a 'look at me' gesture.

"Oh ho! Ya got me! You got me Pod." He turns in a slow circle looking at each Guardian in turn. "Aye. I fancy Ciara. Who doesn't! But I'm a realistic fellow. I'm not," his voice oozes contempt, "niiiiice enough for her. Because I don't," his voice oozes mockery, "play a bloody instrument."

He watches the Guardians out of the corner of his eye, hoping he's impressing them. "But I don't care. I ain't jealous of no one. An' ya know what I am good at Pod? I'm good at punchin' folk. So speak up 'fore I throw you in that swirling cloud to settle this outright. What did you an' your bumpkin brother do?!"

Ognimir turns to both Danill and Podreg. He touches his throat, worried that they won't hear his raspy voice over the cacophony.
"You understand Limm will be destroyed or at least rendered uninhabitable. So if either of you is guilty, and you don't want to sacrifice yourself, your only other option is to run for it. Walking into it, however, would be complete proof of one's love for Ciara, though."

Ognimir turns to Quintus. "There's no telling how fast this thing will grow--we may only have days. We should get back to Limm and begin the evacuation."

"Who then?" Damir growls and takes a step towards the twin?
"Who can save your family's lives? - Do you ken?"

Leaves crunch under Danill's boots as he shifts his weight. He watches Podreg's knife point, gleaming in the moonlight.

Adrenaline surging, his chest fluttering. Danill turns to gravely voiced Ognimir: "An' if we didn't commit the murder...then the spirit won't hurt us?"

He looks at the obviously educated Quintus. He asks him: "Is it true?"

"Have you not been listening, boy?
T'is sparing Tiyem's murderer that will destroy -
all of Limm and what you hold dear.
For everybody the end might be near.
So if you know something and don't tell ....
t'is as if you yourself cast all of Limm to hell."

Damir enunciates the last bit. He wants Podreg to support them by telling what he knows, but Damir feels himself grow impatient. Ognimir, of course, speaks true. If they are at a dead end, all they can do is help the people flee this cursed place and make them pray to their Gods that the evil remains where the unfortunate fell.

Ognimir grimaces "The Veil feeds on the injustice and amplifies this spirit-thing's lament. The Veil is malice and suffering made real-- the spirit might ignore the innocent-- but the Veil....will take its toll."

Quintus feels some stirring of conscience that urges him to forestall, if he can, a bloody combat between the two denizens of Limm. To Danill's query-- "Is it true?"-- and Ognimir's brooding upon the evil properties of the Veil, Quintus offers a bemused, "It's a good question, actually."

The robed man would stroke his beard, if he had a free hand with which to stroke it. Instead, he turns to Damir.

"Have you heard tell of what might befall an innocent man in the midst of this..." Quintus' torch bobs as he fishes in the air for a proper term. What to call the angry and sorrowful thing? 'Keening cloud' seems scarcely to cover either its feral appearance or the sound that sets Quail's teeth on edge and rattles the bones in his skull.

At any rate, Damir will surely know what he means.

Damir shares his knowledge. He says that those innocent will not be harmed and that walking into the fiend is an effective way to prove one's innocence. Only Ognimir can read his fellow Guardian well enough to know that Damir might have exaggerated on how dependable this piece of information is.

The fair haired man asks Danill and Podreg if they are suspicious of anybody else in the village, aside from each other.

As the Guardian grows more impatient - lots of innocent lives are at stake here - he finds himself not too concerned about Podreg's and Danill's health. Either they bolt or they walk into the creature. Either they are redeemed beyond doubt - or ... not. Whether the creature stops afterwards is what interests Damir above all.

His moment of heroism arrived--yet, he doesn't feel as thrilled as he thought he would...

He answers Podreg with a fair amount of bravado. "Aye. I ain't guilty. I am gonna walk right in to that thing. An' you're damn well coming with me."

Cruel fate, he thinks. Why can't Ciara be here to see this! I suppose I can recount it later...

He moves toward the Podreg, unconcerned with the blade the archer holds. He ain't gonna use it anyway, he thinks. "Let's go Pod. Time to show our worth."

Danill leans in to the run, and when they are just a few steps away, he leaps at the whirlwind cloud of claw.

He closes his eyes and holds his breath as he hits it.

"Well done, sirs!" Quintus Quail shouts after the pair, loud enough to be heard over the spirit's terrible din. "Try yourselves in the crucible of vengeance, and may the gods favor the innocent!"

As Danill and Podreg run toward the spirit, Ognimir asks Quail and Damir:
"What if Tiyem actually deserved what he got? Just because a spirit feels the need for vengeance doesn't mean . . . "

But then the drama of what is to unfold distracts him, and he doesn't complete his thought.

"Very good, sirs!" Quintus cries. "I applaud your bravery." If he could clap his hands, he would; as matters stand, the pair from Limm will have to settle for verbal plaudits. "We know now that this spirit of vengeance will spare the innocent, who cannot bring it rest."

And, of course, they know that they can safely drag any suspects out here and toss them into it. This Quintus does not say, for the next suspect on their list is Podreg's brother Dommic. It would be indelicate to sully the youth's family name so soon after such a bold gesture.

"Shall we return? The good people of Limm should hear our report."

Danill sits stunned in the icy water for a moment. He responds to Podreg's exclamation. "Aye...so you did."

He wades after the bowman, ringing out the bottom of his shirt. The chill of the evening already causing him to shiver.

He listens to Quintus as he hits solid ground and nods in agreement at his plan. He's ready to follow the Guardian back to the village.

Ognimir plods down to the waters to help Podreg and Danill.
He then turns to the swirling spirit mass and shouts as best he can with his empty voice.
"Who, then?! Who did this to you?"

He doesn't expect anything other than more keening, but he figures it is at least a try.

Ognimir approaches.
"I trust Tiyem received a good funeral? Any activity here while we investigated the . . . "
He shrugs his shoulder in the direction of the keening. He fumbles for words that could describe what is out there.

Upon their return to Limm, Quintus goes to find his tethered horse. He returns his crossbow and quiver to their places, affixed to his saddle pack, then makes his way by torchlight back to Ognimir and the remaining villagers. By now the brand is burning low, almost at his fingers. Soon he'll have to toss it aside.

He nods to the folk from Limm and awaits their answer to Ognimir's question.

Danill hustles back to the inn, through the dark village. He's going upstairs to grab his cloak and the rest of his gear.

"I don't understand it, myself. We feared an aspect of The Veil. But it seems, Tiyem's spirit -- in some sense-- remains."

Ognimir tries to explain what it is and what it demands, but his dry throat and exhaustion get the better of him. When he feels like he's not making sense he turns to Damir and Quail to save him.

Damir takes over in a calm manner. The man again appreciates Ognimir at his side. They both work well with each other and he can easily emphasise the gravity of the situation after Ognimir's initial explanations. He informs the villagers of the demands as well as the dangers of refusing the cursed apparition. The Guardian asks for a town meeting and sincere information on Tiyem's standing in Limm before his tragic death.

The well being of many depends on what happens in the next hours, on who is willing to come forward.

Danill has returned to hear the tail end of Damir's explanation. He raises his voice in cooperation with the Guardian.

"It's relatively painless." He holds is arm up to show small punctures. "See? You have nothing to fear, to prove your innocence. "

Quintus abandons his sputtering brand and steps up to Ibic Panwol. In the darkness, he speaks aside to the village headman, softly so that Podreg won't overhear.

"If I may, sir, we have some concern regarding a young man named Dommic. I do not accuse him, but it remains the case that he has shown an interest in your Ciara, and may therefore have had cause to resent Tiyem for the girl's own interest in that unfortunate musician. When you announce to the village that the spirit cries out for justice, you would do well to observe the lad's reaction. And, perhaps, stand ready to arrest his flight."

Quintus looks from Ibic Panwol to Damir. To the latter, he says, "If you wish to remain here with your partner, sir, I can go with these good people back to the pool. But as our authority on the matter of vengeful spirits, you must make the choice. Should you prefer to accompany them..."

Then Quintus will stay behind, obviously. And protect the village youth as honor requires.

Damir exchanges looks with Ognimir. They should go with the villagers in case anything goes wrong.
He doesn't mind staying back and protecting the little ones - moving to another location, someplace easier to defend might be wise, though.

The Guardian crosses his arms in front of his chest and moves his head in Ognimir's direction asking his opinion without using words.

Ognimir, when given the chance not to scare the children with his grotesque skin, moves to head out with the villagers.
"Right then, let's go."

Danill overhears Podreg and curses. But he waits to see how Damir wants to play it out.

Ognimir turns to Ibic Panwol and gestures his hand toward the spirit.
"Set an example for your people. You understand now what Quintus was saying. Go. Let's get this over with."

Ognimir knows, with his raspy voice, and distorted skin, none of these fine people of Limm will listen to him enough to brave that horror.
No, it must come from one of their own.

Quintus Quail has no children. He has never wished to have children. There is no emotion in him that could be likened to paternal affection. Still, having been left with the little ones of Limm, he is duty-bound to make sure that they come to no harm.

"Well," Quintus says at last. "I suppose we should get them in out of the night air."

Choosing a child entirely at random, Quail bends down and places his hands on his thighs. "Hello, little... person," he hails the youngster, with what would be a winning smile when shared amongst adults. "Can you show me where Ibic Panwol's house is? Let's all go in together, just until your parents..."

Well. Almost all of them will be coming back, anyway. And if there is one very sad child, or brace of children, in Limm, then such are tragic consequences of crime.

"Ibic, you have proven your honor at this place,
now please take your comrades and return, your grace,
to Limm to warn Quintus of Dommic's absence and quick.
We shall continue our duty, and end this vile trick."

Damir watches Ibic leave with the folks who have made it through mostly unharmed. Then another two go through the apparition. The Guardian exchanges another conflict-laden gaze with Ognimir. Then he shouts out for all to hear:

"Halt, good people of Limm.
It seems the fiend is far too grim
to be patient enough for y'all to walk through.
If there are some with tight alibi,
speak so we'll have to test only a few."

Damir approaches Ognimir and talks in a voice almost a whisper.
"What say you, old friend?
I feel the evil here might not come to an end.
It grows unsteady with every soul,
should we abandon our tactics and alter our role?"

His old friend seems equally mystified, so Damir again asked the people of Limm to help with the investigation before getting tested. He thinks Dommic might be the key to this case, but for now he cannot abandon the villagers. Hopefully Ibic will be quick to warn the third Guardian. Damir asks Ognimir whether he wants to try and find Dommic or stay, then he proceeds with the business at hand.

First he tries to weed out those with tight alibis at the time of the deed. Then he asks all who cannot shoot a bow for health or age-related reasons to take a step back. Should able-bodied villagers state that they aren't any good with bow and arrow, Damir will ask others to confirm this, then ask them to wait.

All that remain are people who cannot prove their innocence. How many could that be?

"Good people of Limm!
If your word is true, none remains but him.
T'is the brother that must take the test.
Our trials here are put to rest."

Damir asks whether the villagers know of any places in which Dommic might be hiding out,
then leaves to fetch the most likely perpetrator.

When Quintus' chosen child declines to point out Ibic Panwol's house, the man creeps up out of his crouch.

"Right, then..." He taps his fingertips together, arrhythmically, feeling rather at a loss. Quintus Quail has been several things in his time, but ignored wasn't one of them. How does one go about speaking to children? You say things, and they say nothing, and then... what?

A puzzle.

"I suppose we'll stay here," Quintus pretends to decide. He does his best to ignore the occasional tugs on his colored robes. With what he imagines to be a steely gaze, he scans the darkness for any sign of danger to his strange, rude charges.

Ognimir is glad to make distance from the howling nightmare and shares Damir's fears that the test, though useful, might have brought it more power. Dommic must be found.

Ognimir thinks back, with a sense of guilt. Sometimes, nobody knew what happened with the poor sods that he sapped and sent to sea. Families would arrive, wondering and curious.
Invariably they would go to whatever hovel or apartment the poor lad lived in, looking for a clue or a reason for their disappearance. Perhaps Dommic's place could offer up some context.

Ognimir asks the people of Limm where Dommic lives, and then goes there to take a look around.

Damir asks for directions to the usual hunting spots. Dommic might also return to his family or the girl, so it might - once more - be wise to split up their efforts. The Guardian asks of a house big enough to host the women and children for the night, as well as Dommics family and Ciara. Then he asks his companions whether they wanted to wait out the rest of the night or battle the uninviting darkness out there. He doubts sleep is much of an option since the eerie sounds can still be heard now and then. On the other hand things can seem a lot less powerful when brought to the light...

Danill leaves the inn, bundled and packed. Long strides take him across the grassy field of the common--headed for Ciara's cottage. But he stops. I thinks for a moment, his foggy breath carried on the autumn breeze.

No... I don't need her approval. Or, at least not yet...

He turns and heads back toward the commotion caused by the village children in search of his fellow Guardians.

Quintus is saddened, but not surprised, to learn that Dommic has gone missing. His impulse is to search for the lad at once, and so forestall the accursed howling of the clawed spirit, but the dark of night gives him pause.

"It may be wise, sirs, to await the break of day," he says to Damir and Ognimir-- and to Danill, one supposes, insofar as he also appears to be standing about. "The youth already has the start of us. If we fumble for him in the dark we may miss him, and if we go with torches, we shall make ourselves targets for an archer such as our murderer must be."

Ognimir nods. "It has been an exhausting day of travel and trials. Let us head out first thing in the morning."

Quintus emerges from his allotted place of rest, shrugging into his colorful robes and scratching sleepily at his beard. The haze of sleep dissipates when it dawns on him that the apparition in the forest no longer wails. Puzzled, he seeks his fellow Guardians at the center of town.

"The spirit..." Quintus merely gestures pool-wards, for the observation he would make is clear enough. "Do you suppose, sirs, that it comes and goes with the setting or rising sun?"

Glancing at Podreg, he says gravely, "No man should be made to pursue his own kin. I assure you that we will make every effort to return your brother here, alive and unharmed, to face a just tribunal."