The Oasis of Crossroads

Miroell had positioned herself as comfortably as possible on the wooden chair as she could. The rope surrounding her frame still obscured the finer details on her upper body, her breasts most notably, but it had parted half-way down, letting her "exposed" thighs be fully visible to everything. They weren't covered in much other than see-through silk cloth, with a soft pink hue to them. Despite Miroell's frame, the puffy 'pants' were quite wide around her ankles, but skin-hugging around her thighs.

Miroell offered Hester a warm smile as she brought the water to her, quickly reaching towards the glass once full and bringing it to her plump lips, drinking the water thirstily before lowering the glass again, her arm resting against her bust and the glass on top of them, a soft 'Aaaah' escaping her lips as part of a sigh of relief. "Very good, yes yes." Miroell said, her bright smile returning to Hester once again.

But even though Miroell didn't pay much attention to the arriving Paladin, Miroell was not immune to the pleasing aura emanating from him. The peace and serenity only made her more comfortable, which Hester could see in Miroell's smile.

(Hester Fairweather) (Miroell)(Rickard "Ripper" Flint)(Edith Arn Caster)

With his food and drink brought before him, the armored man took a few quiet moments for himself, removed enough from the conversations but nearby enough that the divine aura filled the immediate area with that sense of calm and comfort. His eyes closed as he heard the first stirrings of music as Hester sat by the hearth, a melody that warmed the heart more than the fires did the body.

He felt the weight of the road and the day's prior struggle slide from his shoulders, letting go of some of the pain and tension that had been weighing him down unbeknownst to himself. Fatigue dulled the pain, and the smell of the fresh food was nearly torture as it sat before him. With great care and a pained expression, he tucked his right hand in between his breastplate and his wounded left arm, struggling to remove his gauntlet from his hand. His bloodied and dirt covered face paled slightly from the pain but he did not seem to let it detract from what he needed to do.

Clearly, however, he was struggling, and did not impose on the others for help. He paused to catch his breath to try again in a few moments, the gauntlet proving troublesome.

"Your Uncle? Nah lad, he discovered the philosophers stone created the Elixer of Life. Something he's been trying to get people ta forget for a long time." Ripper answers Roy's question but he wasn't really paying attention to the kid. Something was off with the paladin and it had caught the dead man's eye. "But that dun matter much now. Long term exposure to one of his potions is causing some kind of muscular and neurological disorder that is causing frequent painful spasms. I haven't seen him in about a decade but last I saw it was something that..." Ripper trails off for a second as he gets up.

"Well it wouldn't kill him thanks to his Elixer, but it would eventually make living utterly unbearable. Probably why he stopped taking the Elixer. Your uncle is in his own way committing suicide, though he is really just dying a natural death." Ambling across the room he approaches the paladin and without asking permission drops a hand on the man's head. He fully expects this to end in some painful manner for himself, that's what fighting men did when people unexpectedly touched them. Pain wouldn't stop him from talking unless the Paladin's method of attack involved removing that ability.

"Speaking of death, that's what is waiting for you. Ye blood idjit." Ripper says with a sigh, he may not like Paladins and he may be a pirate but he was also a surgeon. It wasn't in his nature to not check on an injury. "Ye have a great bloody gash on your left arm, not serious in and of itself. However, without proper treatment infection will set in. We need ta get it cleaned and sewn shut as soon as possible."

The hand didn't seem to startle him. He didn't jump in his seat, nor twitch his shoulders in surprise; he simply acted.

By reflexively yanking his head out from under the hand and pushing the hand away with his own good one. Nothing violent. No outburst of wrath. Just a calm and measured response that left him wincing slightly.

"Death waits for us all," he replied though taking in Ripper's sight, he added after a few moments, "For some more than others."

He paused to consider the man's words and nodded. "Isn't my first injury, sir. Was going to tend to them after I managed to clean them when I'd get to my room. Would be easier with both hands free, though. And without the armor."

Judging by the way he sat and held his arm, it was plain to see that he'd suffered a rather impressive blow. And with the manner in which he sat? The paladin had been quietly suffering through a dislocated shoulder. The cut on his brow likely came from where the visor on his helmet had bent inward, biting into his flesh. The bleeding on his arm, however, was somehow coming from beneath his armor, upon his arm, without having ripped through the armor itself. A peculiar injury, that.

"And I'm not an idjit. Consider us square," the man replied with an embattled smirk. "Would be a pain, but it'd be done."

But Thalric didn't argue, nor did he refuse the help. Instead, he grit his teeth and the sound of a grinding pop filled the room, as did the paladin's muffled scream of pain. In truth, he seemed to bear it rather well. But the sharp cessation of the great part of his pain was enough to take the wind from the sails that had been keeping him up, it seemed. He only needed a minute before he shifted about, silently grateful for the stranger's help and knowledgeable hands.

With the last of the armor gone and the chainmail cast aside, the bleeding wound on his upper arm was clear, once they tore through the fabric of the tunic Thalric cared nothing for. The gash was a claw mark, significant, still bleeding but it wasn't too the bone. A clean cut. Somehow a clean cut that had made its way beneath every single scrap of fabric, every layer of armor. But once it was done, Thalric sagged back into the chair, his armor strewn about him. The forehead wound was already clotted, nothing but a few days of rest wouldn't solve, a superficial injury if anything.

"Consider your next bottle of rum paid for," Thalric said, the gratitude clear in his voice. "So long as I can afford it, sir."

Rain it did, greatly impeding the efforts of the man walking outside towards the Oasis. After considerable time walking, each step making a “schlup” noise, he made it to the doorstep. There he would open the door and step in before taking off a boot, spilling the water and mud out of it outside, and then repeating the process with the other boot. Satisfied he would take off his helmet and the shield on his back before collapsing against a wall. Dropping his helmet to roll away and his shield on his lap, he looked to the ceiling muttering under his breath through face wraps and chainmail.

After considerable time sitting he would stand at first shakily and then boldly, and sit down at a random table in the establishment. Along with the two previously dropped items he put a small book on the table and opened it to a well-remembered page and he read it, only nose moving visibly. As he quietly finished the last syllable to himself he dropped his head face first into the book, and started to snore quietly. Respite at last.

Audric had just stayed to dream. It was a rather nasty one, of the axe flying at him a few days back and changing off of his helmet, of arrows so near his throat getting caught in chainmail, except this time it wasn't. Choking on his blood, someone saved him. Of course they didn't, and it was just a man speaking to him to get the poor lad out of sleep. "Mhrmmhrm?" he managed, before spitting out a bit of cloth in his mouth and coming to terms with what was around him. Rubbing his eyes and quietly repeating "Yes, yes...." as he surveyed the scene, he finally got a semblance of consciousness. Finally, he said a few words, his eyes slowly shutting again as he did.  "Oh, no brother I'm well awake, merely preparing to go on after a short rest." After his eyes fully shut he swiftly opened them and took another breath. "Are you coming back from the fight too?" He asked, looking for fresh wounds or perhaps a familiar feature upon Wilhelm. 

Finding no familiarity he shrugged, and then simply went on. "I'm just back from the last stage of the Elwythe fight. The moment it ended the Chaplain just said prayer, and that was that. Everyone goes back to their chapter house or Chapel or home. No horse, coin, nothing. Should have taken the mount of one of the fallen." He muttered angrily, his anger being the only thing keeping him awake. 

Audric smiled darkly as Wilhelm described his experience. It was true of course, and as much as the Order's work seemed like exciting action it had actually come to an almost perfectly repetitive cycle of expansion. Send Priests to foreign lands where they won't be accepted and most likely executed, then invade as a response, and "pacify" the surrounding regions. Perhaps it was for the better. Audric knew better than to question it but thinking on the matter seemed alright. "Scouting eh? Well you seem to be prepared for the matter, although," he said before slapping Wilhelm on the shoulder, "You seem more like a barbarian auxiliary!" After laughing for a little and then settled down. "You certainly don't look like one of us, I didn't recognise you that's for sure. We usually got the white-black or black-white robes." 

Audric stopped and wrinkled his nose a little when Wilhelm asked about Elwythe. He lowered some more of his face wrapping to finally reveal a bit of his mouth and some more of his face, and thoughtfully sucked on his teeth. Eventually the Knight shrugged. "It was nasty business. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it, thought come to think of it maybe I shouldn't be. Didn't keep track of time out there, maybe I've been walking for weeks. Nasty business indeed...." He trailed off, thinking of the right place to start his story from. Eventually deciding on one, he drank a little ale and then began. "There's a parish, not quite far on horse but a big distance on foot from here. It was being raided by a band of greenskins and whatever nasties they brought along with them. Nuns, monks and little choir boys they carried off. But unluckily for them a messenger was sent to ask if it had a translation of some long lost text. They didn't, but more importantly the messenger went back and relayed the news to another Church which relayed it to another, so on and so forth. Seeing an opportunity to be rid of quite a big threat in the area some high-up lad decided to send a whole expeditionary force. So they went to the Parish and found only a few of the inhabitants in it before were left alive. Angry, the force sent some scouts to find the foe and so they did. Right at night, the whole force crept up and then charged. As you can imagine, not a very many of the enemy got away, the young, the lassies, those who already happened to be mounted, the really fast ones. So after burning the camp and stomping it into the ground, the Chaplain of the force said the unrighteous filth had to be stomped out to the last, and we followed. They went to a forest, called Elwythe by some folk. We went in it long, and then someone smelled something nasty. We realized it was the rotting corpses of the enemies, torn apart with bits on trees and... anyway, dead. So then we thought about what had killed them and we quite soon realized we made a mistake following them. Should have left them alone, and the blood thirsty Chaplain got more than half the expedition dead. The forest came alive, trees uprooted and marched, swarms of bugs, snakes, owls, wolves and whatever the hell else lives in forests charged. And finally, right from our flank the dead came alive; at least those of them still mostly in one piece, but this included those of us who died too. We burned it down, and put up a sign to make sure nobody follows suit. Of a whole two thousand about five hundred -give or take for wounded who soon died after and for the frightened deserters - survived." With that, he drank considerably more ale only putting down the mug after it was nearly finished. "I think I know why I don't want to sleep." he said, but soon followed up with "Well I'll get over it. Anyway, anything interesting in these lands you were scouting?"

The bard's fingers missed a note as thegriding pop of the Paladins shoulder filled the room. But she recoverd quickly, The Music shifted as the rain began to pitter against the window.

The bard's eyes gazed longingly at the dark clouds, lips pressed in a wilted smile.
The music followed her mood as she became lost in thought... or perhaps memory, it was hard to say.

solemn, as a man walking down a city street in all black, his eyes cast downwards.
People step aside and whisper among them selves with pity in their eyes. The white flowers carries; a tower shield.with its weight upon his shoulders as if it were a castle...

Why was it always the rain...? A thought skimmed across her mind..

He walked a measured pace. Having done this now many times...
The cryer halts him as always, with a caring hand on laid on his shoulder, and a knowing smile; a lump in his througth after all these years.

Sometimes the Lyre had a mind of its own, others it simply was apart of the woman. Today?
It seemed to stand alone. She kept playing... Or it kept playing her?

With a thankful nod, the man resumes his march... To her favriot oak tree

.

Hesters song was intrupted by a wander marching in; though only mood, as she did not miss a note again. No not while the lyer played her.

The man sat near her, or rather the fire it seemed. His clothing suggested a wander, yet there was ;ittle mud; mounted? Most wanderers held little coin. A bandit perhaps? Not likely, she was to his back; theives never trusted strangers with their backs. Mercenry?

Another man entered, the two began chatting after a while. Hester simply listened as she worked music into the noise of the Tavern. Keeping her thoughts on what she was over hearing to her self. Men got strange when it came to secretes...

Her eyes found Roy once more.

" Where did you say you were heading again maste--- Roy?" She asked.