The Village(s) of Kilnanka

Kazimir would lead the party to Kilnanka. With him were Krzysztof, five Winged Hussars, Erithryel, and Sir Stigs. The hussars kept an eye on the surroundings and were wary when passing by brush and thick trees. Erithryel was more than welcome to have chosen any horse she wanted. In fact, Kazimir decided he would give her the horse after the task at hand was complete. She seemed like a good lass; perhaps they could assist each other further afterwards.

Sir Sitgs on the other hand was still a mystery. He was quite peculiar, and worst of all denied to ride a horse. This only served to slow the party down. Kazimir compensated for this by sending a scout or two forward to investigate anything they may have otherwise missed. On occasion he'd turn turn to Sir Stigs and say "don't forget, you're more than welcome to ride the horse," but he never got his hopes up.

As they approached the village Kazimir would halt the party. "Alright, everybody, we're here. I think it is best if we split up and ask around about the disappearances. Surely someone knows something. We'll gather at dusk and report our findings. Anything you two would like to say?"

(Sir Stigs) (Erithryel )

Kazimir Jankowski  Tripartite Kingdom of Lidwo

Where the hussars remained poised and glancing when trees moaned, Sir Stigs appeared oblivious. He paid no mind to dancing shadows around the campfire. Passing birds and other winged creatures were elements of foreground on a painting, not reasons to duck.
There were those that were brave and hardy, who had trained to suppress this instinct of reaction. And then there was not having the instinct at all. He seemed to be infinitely capable of staring into space for an indeterminate amount of time. Though, if spoken to, he would always reply. To do otherwise would just be ill-mannered. When nobody was speaking with him, Sir Stigs would sometimes hum. It was something archaic, deep and wordless. The sound was more like a chant than a song; several monotonous strings of notes tied together to create a bottomless melody. Chords echoed within his armor. So quiet was his humming, though, that the notes could hide behind a gentle wind or the rustling of leaves. It could be hidden, but not mistaken by anything in nature. It was of and only could be Sir Stigs.

Sir Stigs also spoke through his footsteps. His helmet remained south of level as the group traversed over wild terrain, always fixated on the ground. Or, perhaps the feet in front of him. Was he focused on anything in particular? He didn't show it. And if asked, he didn't know it. His left arm remained at a strong right angle, fingers perpetually gripped about the reins of Kazimir's horse. In fact, it was difficult to remember Sir Stigs not holding that damned horse. Surely he had let go at some point. Surely.

Only one thing was for sure. He never rode the thing, always shaking his head and muttering something of a pony.

Once they had reached their destination, Sir Stigs raised his clasped fist at an angle towards one of the hussars.

"Would you take this? My arm is tired."

Given the hussar complied, he would saunter his way forward, shoulder somewhat slouching. Sir Stigs curled his fingers and leaned his neck forward onto them. He listened to Kazimir through the top of his helmet, then craned his neck upward.

Split Up. Disappearances. Dusk.

"I'll go here," Sir Stigs said. He pointed toward the literal nearest house, and then the next, and the next, as if to suggest he would go door-to-door. Without any further confirmation or discussion his stout frame started off at a surprising speed. He wasn't a particular fan or connoisseur of discussion, but at least there was a grassy road to look at between houses.

Knock knock.

The elders of the Velthi would most likely whisper to Erithryel that as of late, not only children were disappearing. Candy makers and confectioners, two teachers, a trader going out did not return, and a dozen foresters did not return with their lumber or lives only a week ago. Strange things were happening, merely overshadowed by the noblewoman losing her daughter.

Stigs, on the other hand would find an old lady open the first door and shut it at super-human speeds as old ladies can when they don't want to be annoyed. He would however generally find that at this point people were hesitant to even leave their homes, and those who did come out to chat were hesitant, with one particular case of a woman coming out to speak, staring at a forest nearby and then going back inside. Finally, he'd come upon a more ornate house on that street. There the door would be opened and a man putting on some pieces of armour would step out. He'd be confused by the questions of Stigs, but then nod grieviously. "There's something in the forest lad. One of my soldiers came out last week gibbering, he's in the local apothecary." he'd say, in surprisingly good common compared to the broken accented speech of the other people.

Finally, Kazimir would after approaching a woman and her daughter scurrying back home stop briefly and say "My lord, she's to be seen around the places, screaming and crying followed by her Guards. The loss of her child has hurt her. Her son wandered out at night and he... he didn't come back." With that, and answering no more questions she scurried onward. Kazimir, and perhaps the other party members might start hearing a wailing, followed by sobs and a return to the wailing. 

Well, that was rather rude. Though, Sir Stigs was impressed by these citizen's speed in closing doors. Perhaps they trained in such an art. How odd. While pondering the possibilities of a door-closing school, he would be met by two things: the grassy roads he watched and yet more masters of door closing. Sir Stigs would yet to grow impatient, he was more persistent if anything to learn of this town. One lady, likely an apprentice rather than a master, stepped outside. Rather than watching her feet and the bottom of the door frame as he had, his helmet creaked upward. She looked not at or through him but above him. Many did. Sir Stigs turned all the way about, which took some time for him, to watch what she did.

Ah yes, trees. While Sir Stigs was not as particularly fond of trees as he was of the ground, they in their own way had their own form of beauty. They were impermanent; Sir Stigs watched the lives of trees fade through brittle leaves on the ground. Colors of all kinds, just like the soil, marked the trees for death. And yet, after bitter winds and chilled, solid rain, they would return in full flush. Trees were nature's phoenix. Though, Sir Stigs sometimes wondered if it was truly the same tree, or another had taken its place. That would require him to look upward and watch one tree for some time. Sir Stigs briefly considered it before shaking his head. His neck would hurt.

The lady had left and the door had been shut for some time now. Sir Stigs enjoyed the view of forestry for a moment longer before continuing onward in a similar pattern: grassy road, door, grassy road, door. And then, an important detail: a road not so grassy. Change was ahead. He followed scant blades of grass peeking through cobblestone to a final door. Greaves, torso, pauldrons, face. A man in armor, but not so clad as Sir Stigs, answered the door. Sir Stigs nodded with him grievously, as if to share one thousand words within a motion. Then, two words in voice: Soldier, Apothecary. Sir Stigs nodded once more and brought a closed, angled fist to his breastplate just left of center before waddling off.

Well, that was the final door. Without direction, Sir Stigs was given it in the form of a cry. As if from instinct, his greaves turned mid-stride in another direction. He would do his best to make his way toward the sound.

Kazimir continued to seek the voice, coming into proximity of Sir Stigs. "You heard it too?" he'd ask. Upon seeing the mourning lady he wasted no time taking her into his arms. Despite her frenzied grief he tried to console her and calm her nerves.

"Hey, hey," he began to say with a light and caring tone, "I haven't seen your son, my lady, but I'm here to help. We will find him, I promise."

He turned to the horseman, "yes sir, Zygmont Saski gave us what details he could... although," he shrugged, "we're not entirely sure what the whole story is. But rest assured, my friends and I will be happy to do whatever needs to be done."

The mounted horseman laughed, and then his expression swiftly darkened. "Did Saski tell you he's sending you to your graves? No? Smart man." He said, before shaking his head. "The forest. Something's with it. People aren't coming back. It was always a 'mysterious' one but nothing as bad as now. Even going to the well near the forest means you'll dissappear. On a usual day the town has people walking through, laughing, cheering, drinking. Now they have inside after doing what they need to survive and keep a pitchfork at hand. Lady Ljudmila is the only one around. Her little son Miklos wandered off there with the village boys like he often does but... well they thought that the warnings were just another part of the fairy tales." 

With that he shook his head once more making a "tsk tsk tsk" noise while staring at the poor woman. "Nasty this is. If you cam in a bit earlier you might have been able to go with the group we sent ourselves. They had a Hetman and some Pancerni, with a single Priest. They left only an hour ago, maybe right before you came into town." He said, pointing over to a trail going by the forest. "They're a tough lot. Not quite hussars, but they'll give anyone what for. You can follow them if you want to help, or you can go around yourself. Your choice, either way. We've got to stay with her." The horseman finished, pointing at the noble woman in the ground with a riding crop. 

Kazimir Jankowski Tripartite Kingdom of Lidwo

Sir Stigs cocked his head at the phrase of sending one to their graves. He scratched the top of his helm, a grating sound softly chiseling into his mind. How could he be sent to his place of death when he was alive and well now? Perhaps their quest-giver was a fortune teller or magician of sorts, one who could sew strings of fate. Even then, why send them to die? Sir Stigs thought for a moment, now knocking against the crown his helmet. It was likely many wanted him dead: bleeding wolves in slow rivers and bandits missing arms, legs, and friends.

Friend.

Sir Stigs looked up to Kazimir. "Follow or own way," he had said.

Sir Stigs was never one to make his own way. He followed footsteps, dirt paths, woven trails and traversed hillsides. Wild tracks, cobblestone roads, natural indentations and coincidental guides of all sorts directed his center. To make his own way was against his nature, his instinct. Other words popped into his head: Soldier. Apothecary. A final word: well. He debated his choices carefully. The soldier had already gone in once. It was Sir Stigs' turn.

"We must find the well," Sir Stigs said. He did not believe in landmarks of coincidence. They were direction. Whatever it was, they would find something of note there. With these words, Sir Stigs would walk alongside Kazimir into the forest. He would walk in no particular entrance, merely following anything: Kazimir, movement, tracks, or any last-minute directions given by the horsemen.

Kazimir instinctively moved his arm in front of @stigs . "By God, what was that?" he exclaimed. "What should we do about this? Tell the townsfolk - or investigate further?" Kazimir almost wanted to go and peek inside the well but knew it was a bad idea - lest he too be dragged in.

The Lidwo nobleman started to formulate an idea. Perhaps they could lead an animal to the well and see if it might be dragged in too - or even tie a man to a rope and have him go nearby, pulling him back to safety in the hand grabbed on to them.

Kazimir Jankowski and Sir Stigs would be too late to save the two locals, it would appear. As they went onwards and went just up to the well, an explosion of mist would come out with considerable force and then form two columns of water levitating at either side of the well. Slowly, both columns would start pouring back into the well and a high-pitched laughing would come from the well's depths. 

If and when they neared the well again, there they'd see the water continuously drifting down to fill it up once more. However, there was a young woman, black haired, and black eyed with a strange silky green dress that was clinging but not revealing of indeterminate material or make. Her eyes would perhaps gain their attention shortly after the long pointed ears nearly hitting the walls of the wall. The eyes were black; not just in pupil or iris, but completely. It was as though they would be looking into some abyss of a horrid soul, and perhaps they really were. She'd keep laughing with the water rising above her ankles and then knees, and eventually it would go over her head and mouth. Yet, the lady didn't seem bothered by this at all and it didn't seem to affect the sound of her breathing. Yet, slowly she sank back down, and once out of sight it would be a few moments before a 'gloop' noise was followed by a few bubbles, with two tremors in the earth. One going to the well, and one away. 

Not giving the men any respite, a large horned snake would poke it's head out of the water, and leap out at Kazimir seeing him as a slightly less heavy target. Even in flight, the glands surrounding its sharp fangs were spewing a foul smelling poison.