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| − | [ST] Icehome is bursting with people. After five weeks of war, refugees have packed the city to the gills. The streets are full of Outwallers and sailors from the White Sea that have never gone further than a few steps into an Emerald. Refugees from the hundreds of abandoned Emeralds pack the city.
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| − | [ST] Inns, taverns, and teahouses burst at the seams. At the Immaculate Temple, Brother Thunder and the others work themselves to exhaustion trying to make room for those who have nowhere else to go; visiting Scavenger Lords, diplomats, and others unsuited to rough Haslanti hospitality. The brothels are even more crowded. Ralinona wrestles with the difficulty of negotiating the trade of sex for
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| − | [ST] hides. In the past week, she has broken up three fights.
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| − | [ST] Tents sprout like toadstools on the outskirts of the city - at night, the cookfires gleam like stars. Smog clings low over the city, staining the snow a sooty gray.
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| − | [ST] The news from the war is fractured, but bad. Large numbers of wolfmen are said to be advancing all along the southern half of the League, unhampered by the cold. Their numbers are too many for even the League airboats to suppress. The flying Dragon Kings have been on the attack as well. The Fellai and the Shanarinarans are said to be on the move.
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| − | [ST] Soon, a pitched battle must come, and the strength of the two sides will be fully tested. Dark murmurings suggest the League may be found wanting.
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| − | [Kekk] Kekkonen gets to the door early, eager to prove himself again. They hadn't given him much of a chance after the last mission. As if he should have expected an ambush!
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal slinks in warily. He had been alone when the message came, in an small personal refuge he has claimed, a narrow cell hidden behind a grim statue. By virtue of his new position, he had managed to heavily imply that it is on Soldas's orders he had the chamber, and he put to useful purpose as an alchemy lab. Iscal is as usual vaguely unkempt- unshaved, his tunic spotted and burned from alchemical accidents.
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| − | [Iscal] But his nails are neatly trimmed.
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| − | [ST] A few moments after Iscal and Kekkonen arrive at the door to Soldas's office, which is tightly shut and locked, footsteps sound further down the hall, one set slow and plodding, one set rapid.
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| − | [Kekk] He gives the other man a wary glance. Small man. Probably tricksy. "You're the one they're assigning to me, eh?" Best to set him in his place early. A silly grin waved accross his face for a moment
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| − | [Iscal] "Maybe," Iscal says uncommunicately. His hands twitch as he waits for Soldas.
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| − | [ST] A moment later, two more of the scale round the corner. In front, hastening, is the lithe form of Snow Peacock. Even in a hurry, she looks well-kept, with clean, straight blond hair, an attractive face but for the unfortunate sneer, and a pair of bright blue eyes.
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| − | [ST] Behind her, dragging slightly, shorter, sallow, her eyes rimed with dark circles, her hair like brittle straw, comes Pallid Rose, the one called Morta. Some say she misses the maggots that are a staple of Shadowland diets.
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| − | [ST] Peacock pulls up short, her glance taking in Kekkonen and Iscal. She doesn't look back at Morta. "Great."
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| − | [Kekk] He turned from her slightly. He had an ugly, scarred face, but he thought it might look better in profile.
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| − | [ST] "I've heard of you," Morta says to Kekkonen flatly. "The Black Boar gang kicked the shit out of you."
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal glances at them. Could have been worse.
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| − | [Kekk] He scowled. "Hurt them good." It was all he could really say. They had kicked the shit out of him, at the same time. Fish always said it was best to be thought less of. Least thats what he'd said after calming down over the matter.
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| − | [Iscal] There is a key to the door in Iscal's pocket, but he lets them all wait. Better for Soldas to have his privacy, should he need it.
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| − | [Iscal] He raps tenatively on the door.
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| − | [ST] "Is this all of us?" Peacock asks. She pointedly doesn't really make eye contact with any of them. "I thought maybe this would have something to do with the war."
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| − | [ST] There is no response to Iscal's knock.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal shrugs.
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| − | [Kekk] He shrugged, tensing his arms a bit given the excuse. The whores always complimented his arms. "Could be a scout."
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| − | [ST] "I've heard of you, too," Morta says to Iscal. "They say you want to steal Soldas away like a war bride." She scratches at her strawlike hair. "I don't know what a war bride is."
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal's eyes flick up to meet hers, then away. For a moment, he had almost glared at her. "Just stupid gossip," he murmurs. "You know these people. Worse then old crones."
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| − | [Iscal] Perhaps, if it got much worse, it would be appropriate to remind them of other parts of his reputation.
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| − | [ST] "So what did you hear about me?" Peacock asks, leaning back against the wall, voice tinged with annoyance.
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| − | [ST] "Nothing, really."
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| − | [ST] Another set of footsteps sounds out, sharp and hurried, and Soldas hustles down the hall, hair disheveled. His collar is dark with sweat, his skin unusually pale. "M-my apologies," he says, fumbling the key into the lock and opening the door to his office. "I was in a meeting. Enter."
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| − | [Iscal] "Yes, sir." Iscal sets a respectful example for the others, and follows Soldas into the room, faithful as a dog.
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| − | [ST] Soldas moves into the dark office, knocking over an inkwell as he fumbles to light the lamps. Iscal could doubtlessly do the job better, but Soldas seems to want to do this himself. Once the office is dimly lit, flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls, Soldas seats himself. His fingers drum nervously on the desktop.
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| − | [Kekk] He sniffed. Not the scent of a meeting. He grinned, looking forward to retirement.
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| − | [ST] "I- ah- th-the m-mission I have for you will not be easy," Soldas begins, voice creaking a bit. "But I told them I was confident of your ability to achieve it, Iscal."
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| − | [Kekk] Good thing he hadn't brought Beast to the meeting, or he'd be sniffing too close at Soldas's legs.
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| − | [Kekk] He frowned. Iscal leading. They didn't trust him again yet. Well, he'd show them.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal shifts a bit uneasily. "Thank you sir. I will...I will vindicate that confidence."
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| − | [ST] "I am sure you will. There-" Soldas takes a deep breath. "There has been a m-major outbreak of cholera in Ice Home. Among the refugees. It is spreading by the day. The shamans can't contain it." He grunts in frustration, the tension seeming to depart for a moment. "You know how these Outwallers are. Half of them ready to stab the others, the other half still angry over half-remembered
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| − | [ST] stabbings from a generation ago. Can't cooperate."
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| − | [ST] He laughs, a nervous, high pitched giggle.
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| − | [ST] "The Ears are too busy with the w-war and covert operations. It's up to you to get to the bottom of this outbreak and help the city contain it."
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| − | [Kekk] He scowled. "Thats work for Once Dead?' he asked incredulous.
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| − | [Iscal] "Yes sir. What is the scope of our authority to contain the outbreak? May we clear refugees out of vulnerable areas?"
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| − | [ST] "It is a job for the Once Dead," Soldas says. "Even the Outwallers will listen to you. There's something to be said for reputation. You have the authority to quarantine as you may need, and the city watch should work with you in this task."
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| − | [Iscal] "And we may pacify any spirits as needed?"
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| − | [Kekk] He brightened a bit. It'd be fun to order round those prisses. Normally saw the wrong end of their law.
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| − | [ST] "Yes." He shakes his head. "If you can. We haven't received any definite reports of spirits at work, but we haven't received much news at all. The outbreak only began in the camps three days ago. We don't know where it even started.
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| − | [ST] "
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| − | [Iscal] "Yes sir." Iscal bows his head deferentially and clasps his hands behind his back. "Who should I- we contact in the camps? Are there any political considerations we should be aware of?"
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| − | [ST] "Whoever you can find. We know sickness exists in the Rabbit, Frost Bear, and Elk tribe encampments. Perhaps the others. The concerns are no different than usual - tread carefully and do not offend."
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| − | [ST] "Once you discover the source of the outbreak, isolate and contain it. If this gets out of control, with the city as overcrowded as it is..." He doesn't finish the sentence, running a hand through his sweaty hair.
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| − | [ST] "Is there a-anything else? I have work to a-attend to."
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| − | [Iscal] Do not offend? Disease control needed a strong hand. But he ducks his head again. "Yes sir. We will report directly, once the outbreak is contained." He might have pressed for more explanation for why Soldas looked so haggard were they alone, but not in front of the others.
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| − | [Iscal] He backs out of the office, head still bowed.
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| − | [ST] As the Once Dead file out of the office, Peacock brings up the rear, closing the door behind her. Her voice is incredulous.
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| − | [ST] "Cholera?"
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| − | [ST] "You shit yourself to death," Morta supplies.
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| − | [Kekk] Kekk laughs.
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| − | [Iscal] "It's passed through water, usually," Iscal says mildly. "Watch what you drink. Or disease spirits- can't help you there."
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| − | [Kekk] "Where do the refugees get their water then?"
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| − | [Iscal] He hesitates. Normally, he does not like to thrust himself forward- the head that popped up got cut off- but the others were clearly hopeless. "Shitpails, perhaps. We should find out. And talk to the Shamans, if they have any."
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| − | [ST] "I know what it is," Peacock snaps irritably. "You're not talking to Vulgar Oda. I just don't know why we're the ones in charge of containing it. Maybe the rest of you are different, but I'm not thrilled about the idea of wading through shit."
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal shrugs.
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| − | [Iscal] "I suggest light armor, though of course everyone must suit themselves..."
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| − | [ST] "Where do we start?" Peacock blows a puff of air over the hair that dangles in her eyes. "Just follow the stench?"
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| − | [Kekk] "If shit made people sick, most of the slums'd be dead long since. Can't tell me refugees are that much worse off. Maybe enemy agents?" he adds, hopefully.
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| − | [Iscal] "We might talk to people. I am sure you know how to get along with these people, yes?"
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| − | [Iscal] "Could be the work of a sorcerer. More likely to be poor sanitation and an angry local spirit," Iscal says dampeningly. "But perhaps the tribals will take offense at being asked to clean up their filth."
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| − | [ST] Peacock's glance travels first to the muscled Kekkonen, then over Iscal, then to Morta, who is busily gnawing at her thumbnail. "You're asking me that question?"
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| − | [Iscal] " A lady as well-liked as yourself must surely have many friends..." It is impossible to say whether he intends to give offense.
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| − | [ST] "Not that you'll ever find out." Peacock grunts. It's rumored she spends her time amongst the perfumed ladies and men of the outlander brothels.
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| − | [Iscal] "Not likely, no. We'll talk to the tribal's healers and shamans first," Iscal says, suddenly decisive-sounding. "Formulate our next step after we hear what they know."
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| − | [Kekk] He nods, knowingly. Formulate, a good word that. "Give me moment to go get beast." And a few other odds and ends. He didn't carry his javelins in the Tomb, just the gloves.
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| − | [Iscal] "Front of the Tomb in twenty minutes." He seems to recall his role then, and almost cringes, looking at Peacock warily. He seems to have identified her as the greatest threat for some reason. "...if that's convenient."
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| − | [ST] "Convenience is not the reason we exist," Morta says. Peacock just scoffs.
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| − | -----
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| − | [ST] It's difficult to tell where one encampment ends and the other begins. Night has fallen by the time the Once Dead make their way out of the city proper, and with it biting, knifelike winds. The cookfires arranged between tents gutter and then burst high into the sky. As with every night, there is revelry, dancing, shouting, singing, fighting, and fucking, but things are strangely subdued now.
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| − | [ST] Perhaps it is the news from the South, or the sickness that infects the camps.
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| − | [ST] The Once Dead hear more than one tribesman muttering that the League should be taking the fight to the wolf bitch, and whispered rumors of taboos broken and spirits incensed.
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| − | [ST] Following the rumors and ignoring the more contentious leads the Once Dead through the confusing tangle of tents to the encampment of the Rabbit tribe. There is a small empty space around the camp. Others have drawn away, but not quite far enough to give offense.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal crunches through the snow. His hands are shoveled into his pockets, and his eyes dart right and left. He wondered why Soldas had sent the others. His back itched.
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| − | [ST] Peacock walks with her shoulders hunched and her hood pulled close, ignoring the whistles of approval she draws during the journey and grumbling to herself. Morta receives no calls of appreciation. Snow has collected in her strawlike hair, and the tip of her nose is turning red. She sniffles.
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| − | [ST] As the Once Dead approach the Rabbit encampment, a scream rises into the night, sharp and shrill.
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| − | [ST] "PLEASE!"
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| − | [ST] Other voices smother it.
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| − | [ST] "LIAR! CHEAT! SCUM!"
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal hesitates, then heads toward the noise. He lets the others move a little ahead of him.
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| − | [ST] "CHEAT!"
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| − | [ST] "MURDERER!"
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| − | [Kekk] Kekk saunters along, a hand hooked in his belt by the gloves. Beast trotted at his side, whuffling happily at all the new scents. The bad sides of the city always got him happier, much more interesting there. Same as his master.
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| − | [ST] A young man, no older than twenty, lies on his back in the snow. He wears a cumbersome fur coat and mittens. A woman in doeskin leggings kneels on his chest, a knife pressed to his throat. Iscal is close enough to see a line of blood trickling from its edge. A circle of tribespeople surround them, jeering. Tears run down the young man's face.
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| − | [Kekk] He grins, quickening a bit, and slipping on the gloves. Couldn't wear them all the time - the spiky bits made his hands a bit awkward, but it sounded like he'd need fists for this. Want, anyways.
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| − | [ST] Nearby, a pack lies open, its contents scattered across the snow - bottles, tinctures, and a collection of woven grass charms.
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| − | [ST] "I should cut your tongue out and make you eat it for your lies!" the woman snarls.
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| − | [ST] The young man gurgles miserably.
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| − | [Iscal] "Oh dear." Iscal approaches the pair, somehow ignoring the jeering tribesmen until he has to push his way through. He crouches by the young man. "Are you a shaman?"
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| − | [ST] The crowd murmurs uneasily as Iscal shifts through him, all of them recognizing him as an outsider. The young man looks up, eyes rolling with terror in his pockmarked face.
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| − | [ST] "N-no, no, NO, I don't know ANY of these people, PLEASE-"
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| − | [Iscal] "Ah. Healer?"
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| − | [ST] "Healer?" The woman snarls. "Vulture. Carrion bird." She spits in his face. He recoils as the others jeer.
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| − | [ST] "He comes among us, peddling charms against illness which do not work. He thinks to add insult to our injury. I should expect nothing better from the Guild."
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| − | [ST] "Take his tongue!" Someone shouts. "That he may lie no more."
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| − | [ST] "Take his eyes that he may know the darkness of those he has killed."
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| − | [ST] "His hands!"
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| − | [ST] "His head!"
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| − | [Kekk] "Fake charms?" he asks, affronted. Probably money in it, but he wouldn't have stooped so low.
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| − | [Kekk] Well, he hadn't.
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| − | [Iscal] "You can't take his tongue, I need to talk to him," Iscal interjects mildly. "You too, if you have a moment."
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| − | [ST] The woman nods. "Only the Guild could do such things." She does not look at Iscal while she speaks, casually shifting position to dig her knee into the man's ribs. "I do not care what you need, stranger. We need justice for this man's lies. Five children lie dead of the cholera with his charms around their necks."
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| − | [ST] "Please," the young man whimpers. "They're real charms. I swear. I SWEAR - oh gods, you- you have to get me out of here, these people are going to kill me."
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| − | [ST] "Not for a while." The woman presses the knife into his throat. He gurgles.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal glances at him without much interest, then at one of the charms. He picks it up, turning it over idly in his hands. "Do you know where cholera is, Guildsmen?"
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| − | [ST] "I-it's all over in the c-camps here." The Guildsman trembles as the knife bites into his flesh. "I d-don't know where it came from."
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| − | [Iscal] "Oh." Iscal stands, pocketing the charm. "Then nevermind. I don't need to talk to him. Are you a shaman, woman?"
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| − | [ST] "Our shaman is Stands-Tall-in-Snow," the woman says tightly. "I am only a mother."
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| − | [ST] "If she cuts him there, it'll make a lot of blood," Morta tells Kekkonen at the fringes of the crowd, as if sharing some conspiratorial secret.
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| − | [ST] Beast growls softly, not liking the smell of her.
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| − | [ST] The Guildsman twitches, eyes bugging. "Please, sir, you can't just leave me here. I don't know who you are b-but they're going to kill me-"
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| − | [Iscal] "Take me to Stands-Tall-in-Snow." The Guildsman may as well not exist.
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| − | [Kekk] One less Guildsman, less competition. Unless this one knew he owed him. "They're gonna do worse than that. Got enough to offer me for me to drop you off with a watchman?"
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| − | [Kekk] He puts a hand to Beast's ruff, to keep him from doing anything drastic. Didn't have to bend at all to do it. Beast was big even for an omen dog.
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| − | [Kekk] Better fed than the wild ones, probably
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| − | [ST] "Come on, man," the Guildsman pleads. He looks up at Kekkonen, desperate. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, take it, take everything I've got. I- kkkkkkkkkkk-" The woman swipes the knife through his neck in a quick motion, opening his throat like a calf's. She leans against him, holding him down as he kicks. Blood sprays across the snow and the onlookers.
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| − | [ST] The woman stands, steaming with the blood that has sprayed upon her. "Take the Guildsman's goods if you wish," she tells Kekkonen. "They helped him little enough."
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| − | [ST] "See?" Morta seems oblivious to Beast's discomfort. At Kekkonen's other elbow, Peacock pulls a sour face.
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| − | [Kekk] He spits. "He should thank me - saved him from some pain for free." He glared at the woman. Beast licked the blood spray off his jowls, and sniffed at the ground.
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal flinches a little as a bit of blood sprays on his hands. He wipes them fastidiously. "The charms are real enough," he says in a detached way, looking at the poor slaughtered lamb. "The markings were right, at least."
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| − | [ST] The crowd trembles, on the verge of rushing to gather the man's fallen goods, but Eyes-Like-Stone has promised them to the outsider. "You are a liar," the woman tells Iscal. "Or heartless, for not speaking in his favor before. Regardless, stranger, why should I take you to Stands-Tall-in-Snow?"
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| − | [Iscal] "I didn't realize you would be so quick to cut his throat." Iscal shrugs. "I've been tasked to track down the source of the cholera. We have," he corrects himself, regarding his companions dubiously.
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| − | [Kekk] He raises an eyebrow at Iscal, and bends to retrieve a charm for himself. And wipe the blood off his hands. Blood didn't seem something to fool about with when a sickness was about.
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| − | [ST] "I should not have. A clean death is better than his kind deserve. Creation will not miss one less Guildsman." Eyes-Like-Stone shakes her head, long, blond braids swinging behind her. "Who has sent you?"
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| − | [Kekk] He let Iscal do the talking - his job, not Kekk's. He started poking abotu teh corpse with a javelin, looking at the man's goods.
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| − | [Iscal] The gives him pause. "Soldas, perhaps. I don't rightly know. We are Once Dead. Someone evidently hopes that whatever is causing this can be beaten up."
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| − | [ST] "Corpses," the woman snarls. "Very well. Perhaps the dead can get to the root of this sickness. Stands Tall is with the afflicted. You may follow me."
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| − | [Iscal] Iscal nods and follows.
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| − | [Kekk] He bends to collect the man's pack before following, brushing the blood off with snow. As much attention as Iscal had drawn, it wasn't too hard to figure out where he'd gone, and no point letting the refugees pick ove rthe corpse before he took what was his.
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| − | [ST] The crowd disperses as the woman leads the way through the subdued camp. She leads Iscal to a large aghar seperate from the rest, lit by flickering fire from within, standing back to hold the flap open for Iscal. THe smell of hot, close sickness boils from within, intermingled with incense and burning pine needles.
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| − | [ST] Peacock turns aside, dropping to her knees to retch in the snow. Morta pats her shoulder absently.
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| − | [ST] Beast halts on the threshold of the tent, whining.
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| − | [Kekk] He wrinkles his nose at the stench, and ties a kerchief round his face. Sometimes it hurt, having a sensitive nose. "Don't want none of them to get better, eh?"
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| − | [ST] Within, the tent is close and cramped. The ill lie in rows, moaning, thrashing, or simply lying horribly still. Men, women, and children, their hands and faces covered with running sores. The stink of blood, shit, and incense mingles. A pair of women move up and down the line of the ill, offering them water and bread.
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| − | [ST] At least half of the afflicted figures are wearing charms against disease, which appear to be helping little, if at all. An older man moves behind the women, shaking a staff, chanting prayers of mercy to the gods of the Rabbit Tribe. These seem to help little, either.
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| − | * Iscal has quit IRC (Ping timeout)
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| − | [Kekk] He gives Beast a good scratch behind the ears. Really, he knew how he felt. "Anyone get better yet?"
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| − | * Sara_ has joined #exalted1220
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| − | [ST] The nearer of the women turns to him, shaking her head.
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| − | [ST] Outside, Peacock continues to vomit. Morta moves in past Kekkonen, eyes wide as she takes in the scene.
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| − | [Kekk] He looks into the tent uncomfortably, still outside. "Maybe you should just knife em. Keep it from spreading, then."
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| − | [ST] The shaman stops in his prayer, furrowing bushy eyebrows. His nose is red and swollen with age. "Who has come to this place to question our methods?"
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] At the ship, Iscal plumbed the depths of possible disgust. He merely blinks. "Not contangious from person, unless there is a disease spirit; and if there is, you may as well not bother." He states it neutrally, as one who generally informed.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Iscal feels a tug at his pant leg. One of the fallen, a boy who can't be older than ten, has grabbed him. A glance shows he is delirious, eyes glazed and unseeing. Sores cover his hands and face.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I do not know you," Stands Tall says. "But if you are ill, I will treat you. Though I can promise little. Our remedies are not working, and rabbit has not answered our prayers in a long time."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal carefully removes his pant leg. He crouches by the boy, though he does not touch him. "It is only information I seek from you, shaman," he says absently, unhooking a small vile from his belt. He holds the boy's mouth open with one hand and pours it down the boy's throat, then wipes his hands distastefully on his shirt.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The boy sighs and closes his eyes. "Have you angered any spirits? Do the victims share tents and wells? Where did the first cases appear?"
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He glances at Iscal, but since he didn't seem to be asserting himself properly, Kekk might as well. "We're here to stop all this. Experts, ya?"
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "We have angered no spirits," Stands Tall says, though he looks dubious at Kekkonen's claim of skill. "It was the Frost Bear Tribe who did so. They brought this illness into our midst by defiling the springs in their camp. It is their way."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "How did they do this?" Iscal asks. "Why?"
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Morta kneels over an unattended patient, gently poking the forehead of an unconscious woman. Peacock remains outside. Every now and then, she retches again.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I do not know why. An accident, I am sure," the man shakes his head. "I do not believe that even they are so deliberately foolhardy. But they do not think, and their mistake has cost us dearly."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] The child that Iscal examines suddenly convulses, clawing at his chest. He opens his mouth as if to scream, and a stream of blood flies forth, splattering over Iscal's hands, arms, and chest.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal has begun unconsciously to frown. His frown deepens the more he looks at the sores. "Specifics," he says, suddenly authoritative. "And you- whatever your name is, get me some-"
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Morta hurriedly draws back from the woman she is poking.
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He grimaces and spits, heedless of being in, or next to anyway, a sick tent.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] But before his order to Eyes-of-Stone was even completed, he jerks back, then freezes, breathing calmly in and out. "Water. Bring me water, and redclaw root." He takes off his shirt and wipes at his hands with it. "Morta. Stay the fuck away from the sick." He scowls. "Tell Peacock to fetch a hundred or so militia and have them park themselves within reach."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "It's not cholera like we heard. It's gutwrack." He glances at Kekk, and adds kindly: "that's worse."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Gutwrack?" Morta looks at the ill blankly.
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| − | [Iscal] "Leads to death within days. You see the sypmtoms." He nods to the lesions and sores. "Contagious, too."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "You did well to quarantine the sick here," he tells Stands Tall. "Did you know? Have you experience with the illness?"
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| − | [Kekk] He nods, in what he thought was a wise manner.
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] "Knife em?"
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "No. No." Stands Tall has turned pale. "Can it really be? The spirits must be... offended. Greatly offended. It explains why the Guild charms did not work."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Pity about the Guildsmen," Iscal observes in an abstract way. "Yes. It is. What did the Frost Bears do?"
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He glances at Kekk. "No, you fool. Not unless you think it's easier to treat an illness with half the tribes rioting, and the other half hiding the sick until they become ill themselves. Besides, I can treat it."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I do not know, but the sickness began with them. May it end here." He glances, alarmed, between the two men. "We will not give over our sick for your Greenfield butchers, not if there is a chance."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He studies Kekk a moment more and revises his opinion of the man's intelligence downward. "It doesn't make it easier."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "There, you see? We won't harm them, shaman. Have you gathered all the ill here? Are there any others who may be holding out?"
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| − | [Kekk] He growls, his hands half curling into fists. Fool! Seemed a good idea to him. Refugees in a riot? He could handle himself, and what were guardsmen prissies for anyway? Better than half the city getting sick with this.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "All our ill are here, so far as I know," Stands Tall moves over to the boy, shaking his staff. "But I cannot speak for the other tribes. This sickness goes beyond us. It may still spread from the Frost Bears."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Outside, Peacock has stopped retching. In fact, no one hears her at all.
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| − | [Iscal] "Keep them in here." He snarls suddenly to the tent at large. "And someone bring me redroot!"
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "And boiling water!" These northerners were such incompetents.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] One of the women hastens away to fulfill Iscal's orders. The patients continue to thrash and moan.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "We will go to the Frost Bears, then, in just a moment." He picks out a handful of the more intelligent-looking caretakers. "I'm going to show you how you may- perhaps- stand a chance at treating this thing. The evil of this disease comes from the element of water; therefore, the evil vapours must be extracted from the lungs and mouth..."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He makes his lecture as quick as he dares, as he demonstrates making a tincture of boiled redroot and wilted iceleaf and laying it carefully on the patient. He gives them a few basic hygiene tips and tells them not to leave the tent. Stands Tall seems competent, and is on the recieving end of most of the lecture.
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| − | [Kekk] Beast nudges his leg and his head snaps around, then up. Peacock was gone. "You deal with the sick," he tells Iscal vaguely, and lopes off along the track she'd left.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Kekkonen runs nearly a hundred yards before he finds Peacock, kneeling in the snow, her armor and heavy jacket discarded. She is reaching into the snow, grabbing handfuls of it, and reaching beneath her shirt to rub it on her bare skin.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Fuck, fuck, FUCK."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] As Kekkonen approaches, her head snaps up. "Stay BACK! Stay away from me! I heard what Curly said back there!"
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| − | [Iscal] Finally, when he has done all he can for the sleeping boy, Iscal looks up. "Do you know any spirits that COULD have done this?"
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He spreads his hands, forgetting that he still had his gloves on. Didn't make it look so peaceful a gesture. "Think you're catching? You didn't even go in the tent, same as me."
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He stopped himself from whistling appreciatively. He liked life uncastrated.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Peacock looks at Kekk's hand pointedly, refusing to take it. Perhaps fear of infection, perhaps it's just him. "You were closer than me. Gutwrack, that's bad stuff. We could ALL have it."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Stands Tall shrugs. "Few. A river spirit or a strong well spirit might be able to, but it would take a powerful insult. We have no spirits that powerful in our camp. Perhaps it is different for the Frost Bears."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal frowns and wonders if it could be related to the war. Spirits were not supposed to involve themselves so directly, but who knew what powers the Anathema commanded?
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I will go there. You should consider the sick- and yourself- under quarantine. No one wants to take extreme measures. I will return later to see how the sick get on."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Besides the Frost Bears, who is afflicted?"
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He holds his ground, not willing to back up. "We've been here five minutes. If it'd infected you that fast, half the camp would be dead days ago. Rolling in the snow isn't going to make you less sick."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "This will spread," Stands Tall walks to the next patient, humming a few words as he places a compress on a woman's forehead. "With the disease so prevalent, Gutwrack disease spirits may begin to appear. The Elk Tribe also has the sickness, and it may have spread beyond them. I have been busy here. I do not know more."
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] It wasn't the least contradictory way to finish the short speech.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Peacock grunts, grudgingly rebuttoning her shirt. She's shaking with the cold, her fingers moving numbly to rebuckle her armor and refasten her coat.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Enjoying the show?" she asks acidly.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Then I will begin with the Frost Bears." He fastens on the only remaining minion. "Morta. Go gather guardsmen- we will need at least a hundred. Put them somewhere convenient. If other tribes do not adopt quarantine, we will need to force it on them."
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He shrugs. "Can't blame me." Course, she could. But he would run scared of her like that. "Beast'd smell if we got sick. He's got a good nose to 'im. I'll tell if you need to go clean off again."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "He doesn't look like she has a good ANYTHING to him," Peacock sniffs, but she stands again, flexing her hands. "I'm not going back in there."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Morta nods. "I'll do it, Iscal," she says, as if she could respond any other way.
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] "I never went in in the first place. We can get orders from Iscal from the tentflap. Like as not, he'll want us setting guards around the camp. Don't want any of the sick escaping to the city."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal nods. "Find me when you're done." He glances at his hands again, recalling that one way diseases spread was by the doctors. It would be best to pacify the spirit, if they could find it.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Morta slips off on her errand.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He leaves the tent without saying goodbye, speculating not on whether there would be bloodshed- but on how much. Outside, the guildsman's body as disappeared already.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He glances around for Kekk. Frost Bears sounded like the sort to be impressed by a thug.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] Peacock nods at Kekkonen, brushing a few errant clumps of snow off her armor
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] With her nod he starts moving back to the sicktent, striding with slightly less haste, but still fast. See if they didn't put him in charge next time, talking her in like that. he grins.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "There you are," Iscal says vaguely. "I'll respect your privacy, of course. Now- we need to get the Frost Bears contained."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Good luck with that," Peacock grumbles. "One of them bit the nipple off a man at ah- er-, this place I visit."
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] "Gathered her back up," he tells him, ignoring her privacy. "Want me to go over and tell em myself, or round up some guards first?"
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I didn't go anywhere," Peacock insists.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "That's why you two are here." Iscal gives them a sharp look. "Bite back you if you have to. This could be a disaster if it's not contained. Morta's gone for guards; I want muscle with me when we tell the Frost Bears what they have to do. Peacock, no one cares about your tryst with Kekk. Then we'll likely have to go tent-to-tent to identify victims and make sure they stay put, if you can squeeze the cause of all
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] this out of the Bears."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Set up guardposts...clear the paths and make everyone stay at home...Train them in treatment..."
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Tryst?" Peacock's voice rises, but she trails off as Iscal continues.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "When the guards get here I'll likely put you two in charge of getting different camps knit up tight. I'll send Morta to fetch fresh water by the barrel from the city until we identify the source here; guards can deliver it individually to each home.
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] A thin smile cuts across Iscal's face. "Meanwhile- we go to the Frost Bears."
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He nods. Iscal'd need them to put some fear up the Bear's backsides. Well, him. Neither of the other two looked like so much.
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| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Great. The Frost Bears. All this sickness, and they smell great, too."
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| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Not worse than Kekk," Iscal says, casually.
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| − | | |
| − | [Kekk] He growls. He was clean! Couldn't get close to animals hunting if you weren't. Well, dirt didn't smell, so no bother there, but clean to the nose.
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