Private Tales Deep Cuts & Brighter Wounds

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Monroe

Monroe

mean-roe, at your service
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Fools.

That was the only thought Monroe had after hauling the last crate of carrots off the wagon, staring down at the crate as if it weighed the heaviest of all things she had to have carried in her life. It was the last one, but fuck this had not been something she signed up for.

Really, they both didn't know what they were in for after agreeing to aid the captain of the guard in this town. They had been on their way back to Astenvale, needed a little coffee break and bite to eat before continuing on, but news of the two Knights of the Order spread quick. Firstly, many had thanked them for the work they had done in a neighbouring town, some of the younger crowd asking for stories. Monroe had been too tired and rundown to even fathom the best way to tell a story of her last battle, unsure if their mamas would be happy their children got to hear about decapitating creatures...

Secondly, she was in no mood to even speak, let alone be the new shiny thing in whatever town this was called.

Her fellow knight had successfully and politely convinced the people to leave them be, their food and drink now arrived to their table, before the Captain sauntered over with a joyous laugh.

To hide her scowl and grumbles, Monroe drowned herself in the strong and spiced coffee she ordered.

So how did the Captain's grating and annoying laugh, turned sob story, that got the two Knights being wrangled into helping out on an investigation?

Fools.

Monroe sighed and crouched down to pick up the crate, hoping the few seconds she called a break would have given her the strength to carry it towards the market stall. With a loud exhale, she lifted it onto the table and felt herself slouch a little. "That's the last one. Now... now will you tell us why you believe hunter is responsible for the surge in bad omens?"

It was taking so much of her to not roll her eyes, but she charged her expression with incredulity and cynicism when sharing a look to the other Knight accompanying her.
 
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It had been awfully pleasant, somehow. Perhaps it was the silence that had often reigned betwixt them on their way, the sort he minded none. If neither of them had anything to say, why speak merely for some sense of unity or feigned interest. Camaraderie, he felt, was a given and sometimes wholly wordless.

But there was no such peace here, serenity of a homecoming left to the last twist in the road before the town. Though it took restraint, he had managed to keep pleasant appearances even as they’d been promptly bothered throughout what was supposed to be a passing-through, an all too optimistic thought.

At least he wasn’t alone in his notions, for once, if Syr Cathmore’s barely veiled dismay was anything to go by. They made a rather grim pair, her with an amount of world-weariness writ to every sigh and expression, himself with his general unaffected air and unrelenting frown. The last of the crates were hauled over, but there wasn’t relief nor triumph in it.

Just a — sinking feeling. He straightened in a huff, meeting eyes with Monroe in the wake of her inquiry. In approval of her tone, for he shared in the implied impatience, he nodded firmly and shift his look to regard the local guard Captain in turn.

” Yeah. Out with it at once, if you will. ” Squinting in the warm glare of the day, he hooked an index into the collar of his gambeson, loosening it in a forcible yank.

Monroe
 
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The Captain nudged the farmer, who tried to busy himself by needlessly fussing with the carrots Monroe had fetched from the wagon. His left arm was held in a sling, and the aged man huffed at the Captain's insistence. "That hunter is no good to this town! Hear me? Our crops are suffering ever since he made camp some miles from here." He wagged a carrot before the Knights, as if there truly was a reckoning about to befall them all. "I warned everyone! I told them, I told them he was a sorcerer leeching on our good faith! Aye, it took them until now to begin listening to me." And the man shook his head, taking an aggressive bite from the end of the carrot.

Monroe made a face as some of the hanging root seemed to rest between his lips, and the unwashed vegetable still clinging some soil.

"So... your crops are... suffering, and you, Captain... you saw a twin you do not have behind your own reflection in the mirror —"

"—which broke, mind you—"

"—which broke." The smile was so strained on her lips, trying to keep some semblance of patience in her consciousness. Monroe looked to Syr Kaarle, a silent but dead pleading in her eyes. The two had made good companionship on their assistance of helping rebuild the orphanage few days ago, enough to let Monroe come to reason that she would tolerate working with him in future again.

"Just the other day, miss Sera had a difficult delivery! You cannot tell me that isn't the doing of the bad man!" The farmer raved, and the Captain sighed and pacified him by holding him back.

"Please, kinds Syrs... we ask that you help bring clarity to this situation. Not many of us are well versed in magicks and the like. We are a peaceful town, and don't often see a lot of action which cases like this..." The Captain, who's eyes were still red with his earlier cries and pleas, looked to Monroe again, as if she were the easiest to convince. He had been at his wits end.

It did not matter that he pleaded to her again, but the fact they knew they were Knights of the Order had her drawing up a large inhale of breath to sigh in exasperation. "Alright." The muscles in her face straining to keep the feigned smile to hold. "We will talk with other townspeople and start an investigation. We really cannot delay our return to Astenvale anymore than a day..."

The Captain had told them to go to the bakery, knock very loudly to wake Terrence from his despair and hear his account of bad omens. From there, they will be able to paint a great many happenings in the two weeks of this surge of bad luck hitting the town.
 
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He listened expressionlessly as the situation was explained, stare bouncing betwixt the brandished root vegetable and the man himself.

A sorcerer. A usual accusation, one he was rather familiar with himself for having been at the receiving end of it. He spared no effort keeping a residual amusement from his face, eyes scanning the distant treeline like in search of the fabled magician. Kind Syrs, indeed.

” Suppose we are qualified — Being a brand of sorcerers ourselves. ” You want one caught, send another. Or several. ” And as we’ve just the day, eluded to by Syr Cathmore here, we’d best get busy. I imagine we’ll manage from here, so — ”

Shrugging, he gave both old farmer and captain a final look.

” Thank you for your help and goodbye. ”

With that he turned on heel swiftly, beginning down to the bakery that’d been suggested as their first stop. And towards which he would, for the time being, pretend to go. He would speak no sooner than whence they were out of earshot of whom he’d aimed to leave in their dust. And even then, it was in a low mutter and a discreet sidelong glance to his fellow knight.

” I will admit I find it curious that we’ve yet to hear more accounts of whatever ill has befallen the folk. More of the same— ” He huffed out, resisting the urge to glare past his shoulder.

” They seem awfully sure of his guilt and I don’t much fancy the feeling I might be manipulated to an opinion. Why shouldn’t we seek the hunter out at once, be it to banish or question? ” Or just warn him of the faults being assigned to him.

By the sound of it the folk didn’t even know his name. Or if they did, it had gone unmentioned for whatever reason. It was all too easy to point fingers, then.

” If we can find him, that is. ”

Monroe
 
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"If we can find him, that is."

Cathmore skewed her mouth, head tilting in consideration of her companion's words. "Happy to point us to the afflicted, but to deal with the actual root of the problem? Too right you are, Syr Kaarle." Clicking her tongue, she turned to the door found on the side of the building that was identified as the bakery; a faded signed posted out front and boasting that four generations worked in the shop.

"Knights from Astenvale." She called out, repeating another round of knocks that increased in volume. "We are here to speak with... Terrence..." Reluctance hung at her tongue, but she sucked in a breath and slowly released a heavy exhale.

"When I was a girl, we had superstitions. The sailors even did their best not to bring bad luck on them or their crew and ship." Perhaps this town suffered something similar? A lack of progression and socialisation could perhaps hinder this small town. "The two omens we have heard about sound basic and universal... not exactly something born of this land..."

But before she could say anymore on the matter, the door opened.

A grizzled face stared at them both from behind the door, noting the two knights long enough to deem their word true. "Finally!" He all but yelled. Pulling the door wider, it revealed a man standing at Monroe's height. Perhaps the second generation in this family operation, but she did not question that despite her curiosity deep down. "About time your lot took this plague seriously!"

"Plague?" A scowl found home at the front of her expression, her own eyes narrowing with impatience. "We aren't here for a plague. We are here to learn about these series of bad omens, as requested by the Captain of the Guard here."

Standing in the middle of the doorway, blocking them from viewing the interior behind him, the man, assumed Terrence, met Monroe scowl for scowl. "Well it is a plague! Never have we all experienced such bad luck and trickery! We have been closed up for near a week! The loaves are not rising! Everything is falling flat!"

"Then sell flatbread."

"Not the fucking same, innit? We heard that hunter was snooping the woods, gave bad omens to other townies and so we had to change the source of our water from the northern fork of the Wde river to the south! Would hate for my son and his daughter to cross paths with the hunter!"

Monroe bite her cheek to keep from arguing with the man, had resisted looking to Kaarle and seeing if he too matched her impatience.

"So this hunter is in the north? Perhaps it is time for myself and my brother-in-arms to speak with this hunter..." Monroe did her best not to sound too grouchy, but her face spoke what she couldn't.

"Aye. Take this road and follow north. He has been scaring the fishermen. North has the best cod, but now we are to make do with the perches found in the southern fork. Here!" And Terrence leaned behind the door, returning to shove a rabbit's foot before Monroe's head. "You both tread carefully! That hunter is an omen sent from the hells!"
 
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Basic and universal was definitely a way to put it. And what even was the function of a shadow in a mirror, when opposed to failing crops and a difficult delivery. It felt so— disconnected and haphazard.

If half of those omens aren’t but figments of imagination to one degree or another.

He remained at Monroe’s shoulder, grim and silent as a glorified gargoyle, gladly forfeiting lead and initiative as she seized both in that chilly efficiency of hers. It wasn’t really a questioning, as this Terrence could appear to rave on all by himself rather adequately, but he hadn’t to feel thankful for it.

Now, Syr Cathmore’s quick tongue, however— His eye strayed at his feet and then back to the road, a tilt of the head barely hiding the little smirk Monroe’s nore brutal quip managed to inspire. Couldn’t have said anything better himself had he the intention to speak out of turn, which wasn’t anything beyond him.

But, let us not rock the boat overmuch. We’ve the whole day yet.

The suggested direction and ’perhaps’ therein had him further turn on heel, attention rife with disbelief already drifting to the woodland. Scaring the fishermen with what? More omens? He’d not dare look at Terrence for an answer, not when the man appeared terribly content to send them away in what felt like none too soon. To the wished luck, he gave a nod that was almost genuine in its appreciation.

” Careful yourself, mister. See if we don’t come back this way again later. ” For the time being, northward it is.

He fell to step beside Syr Cathmore, eyeing the rabbit’s foot with not so much interest as amusement. It was true and darkcast, reaching the eyes as he jerked his chin at it.

” What a precious gift. Wonder if it’ll actually work or— ” He shrugged one shoulder. ” If it’s just cursed like the rest of this town. Either way, it’ll be a great means of indentifying your precious corpse once the hunter kills us with magic. So hold on tight —

He flicked her arm with the back of his hand.

” Lest we get unnamed graves and have to turn to haunting. ”

Monroe
 
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Monroe snorted at her companion's musings, his light swat at her arm elicited an eye roll as she held up the leather cord that had wrapped around the rabbit's foot. "Ghastly thing, isn't it? I hope I don't have to wear it for it to actually work." Not that she was one to believe in such things. "Guess we will have to see how my grave turns out."

The road to the northern fork of the Wde river was quiet; scarcely any beings crossing their paths, but there was a comical amount of signposts hammered at the edge of the road. Every twenty metres or so, a sign would be deterring the hunter from coming any closer to the town's boundary. Monroe did not know if she wanted to grasp for what little patience she was blessed with, or to play menace and uproot every post to see what the townsfolk make of it.

"Well, Kaarle. Shall we take a signpost as souvenir once we are done with this little investigation?" She nodded her head to a signpost that stated 'Cease this obliteration upon us! Cease your incorrect use of the pure force of nature!' "That one is my favourite. I bet the person that wrote that has common allergies that come with spring."

Well, wasn't this fun? For every sign post, she snickered and poked fun at the words, her favourite changing every so often.

It would take a couple of hours to walk to the river, but they had walked a half hour before coming upon the first face they had seen on this road so far.

"Oi! Whatcha looking at?" The young woman looked startled, as if she did not hear the crunch of gravel beneath their boots as they walked, nor the shameless sneering Monroe started with the signposts. The maid pressed her handheld mirror to her chest, assessing Monroe and Kaarle with suspicion and curiosity. "Yous not from town. What even are yas?"

Patience. It was slowly slipping with every harsh attempt of word from the woman that Monroe had to clear her throat to buy time to think.

"Knights of the Order. We were asked to look into this hunter that has been camping out this way."

"A hunta?" The maid snorted, her face contorting into something much akin to a swine. Monroe averted her gaze. "Nah, not a hunta, he is. A gorgon! Reads it in a book once, I did! I'm gonna turn'im ta stone!"

Please, gods, be wilful. She would even goes as far and believing in the good luck charm dangling from the leather in her grip. "Well, all the best on your quest." Monroe plastered the most pleasurable but false smile on her face. It ached the muscles in her cheeks, but she did so if only to let her and Kaarle pass.

Two minutes after leaving the woman's presence, Monroe shuddered. The people they had dealt with so far made her not want to visit a settlement in the next month. All she had wished for this pit stop was for a cup of coffee before returning back to Astenvale.
 
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