[Mkguild] Merry Marriage RR: Under Wraps

[Rimme the Weasel]

I apologize for filling our lighthearted wedding round robin with unrelated
character subplots. I'm sure we'll figure out a way to tie them together,
somehow.

----

June 19, 708 CR

The early morning in Midtown was quiet only by comparison to the evening
before. Though the conversations were hushed, footsteps still crunched the
ground, crickets still chirped, livestock still groaned and barked moodily,
and campfires still sparked and snapped to life. It was the whistling of a
tea kettle that woke up Timios that morning. At home he often slept soundly
until well past sunrise, but here, on this exciting adventure, so far from
home, the slightest disturbances roused him. The kettle was lifted and
quieted within seconds, but Timios's eyes were wide open by then, and
refused to let themselves stay shut.

He turned himself over and carefully lifted the canvas sheet covering the
wagon. A trickle of firelight peeked in at him and his companion, asleep on
the other half of the compartment. Her face had the slightest glow, barely
tracing the darkest edges of her lips and eyebrows. She reminded Timios of
a brief glimpse he had one night of a fox who had stumbled on their
campsite. Curious, fearful, yet bold enough to catch a glimpse of the
strange world she set foot upon. Not for the first time did Timios's heart
stir at her courage and compassion for her brother that had carried her
here.

Once she and he were reunited, though, what did she plan to do? Much
depended upon which curse befell Darrel, and what his current status was.
That he had been trapped in Metamor was always a possibility, but a more
welcome one than his death. Still, what good would it do for her or her
family if he were unable to leave?

Timios shrugged off those thoughts and crept out of the wagon. He had his
own affairs to worry about. He pulled his precious books out from the pack
he had slept upon and closed the cover. Looking up, he carefully readjusted
the canvas atop his device. He was loath to leave it unattended for too
long; it was too heavy and bulky for a common gang of thieves, but a
particularly cunning rogue could sneak into its workings and sabotage its
operation. He had never trusted Freya enough to divulge the secrets of his
machine, but she carried herself professionally and never faltered in her
stated purpose of traveling to Metamor. If she had tampered with the bound
wrappings while they slept, it was a most precise replacement. With her
gone, anyway, it now fell to him to protect his property. Timios hoped he
wouldn't have to put his courage to the test.

He jumped as he heard the sudden crackle of sparks on the nearby fire.
Timios turned saw the outline of a man in ragged furs stir it with another
block of wood. Isador, the wagon leader, had camped their wagon next to the
caravan that had been just ahead of them yesterday, and Timios clearly
remembered the strangely-garbed guard from there. The man looked like a
seasoned outdoorsman, and likely outmatched him in speed and physique.
Still, curiosities were his passion, and Timios was glad to meet another
insomniac. He walked over.

"Another early riser?" he spoke to him.

The man turned, his eyebrows raised. He had the slightest of frowns that he
pressed into a half-hearted smile. "More of a light sleeper." His dark hair
glistened slightly, as did his coat of furs that he wrapped around him. The
man must have just washed himself. From the dampness of his legs, it seemed
that he had also washed his coat, without taking it off.

Perhaps that was for the best. There was a rank odor surrounding him that
seemed to come from under his coat. Timios could only imagine how bad it
would be otherwise.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit by your fire," Timios said, glancing
around. "I heard a tea kettle go off. I don't suppose that was you."

"Hardly. I haven't drunk tea since I came down this way. I drank a spruce
and whiteleaf tea at home, before and after a hunt."

"Are you a long way from home?"

The man's eyes flickered in the campfire. "For some time, yes." He motioned
to a heavy log nearby. "Take a seat. I'm Howel."

Timios smiled and sat. "Timios. Clockmaker of Kelewair."

"Kelewair, of the Outer Midlands? Where they make all those tapestries?"

"Finest in the world," Timios said, with a slight grumble at his homeland's
famous reputation. "And you're a hunter, then, from the Giantdowns?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I'm from the Giantdowns?"

"Just a hunch. The two plants you mentioned grow in cold climates. You said
you had been far from home in a long while, which excludes you from being
in the North Midlands. You could have come from the mountains of the Outer
Midlands, but Gallus mentioned yesterday that this caravan travels north
and south through Sathmore. Either you were already a long way from home
when they picked you up, or you were traveling south already and simply
tagged along."

Howel tilted his head slightly. "An interesting theory."

"Not that I'm here to pry," Timios leaned backwards. "There are plenty of
good reasons to flee the Giantdowns. Is it true, though -- if you can
scratch just one small itch in my mind -- that Agemnos has been expanding
his forces alongside Lilith's?"

Howel stood up suddenly. "Please excuse me, I must get started on breakfast
for my men. Feel free to warm yourself by the fire." He picked up a copper
pot by the stove and set off towards the village well.

Once Howel had disappeared, Timios pulled out his green book and idly
thumbed through the pages. Perhaps he had played his hand too soon. Timios
had never been much for gambling or bluffing games; often his mouth got
carried away before his brain could take command. Still, his hunch had been
proven right, by Howel's reaction. But if he wanted to eke out any more
information of the beasts of the Giantdowns, he would have to be more
subtle in the future.

He closed his book. Howel was going to make for a very interesting study.
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