Where Mountains Rise [Nephero]

[Nightcrawler]

He reached the encampment just as night fell.

He was soaked to the bone. His boots were caked in mud up to the ankle. His hair was limp and sopping and it clung in thin, sad strands to his cheeks. The rain hadn't let up for hours, and it had made him a sorry sight indeed. In the distance, through the mist and the heavy downpour, he'd spotted it: half a dozen thin, silvery snakes of smoke rising from a cleft between the mountains. It was enough to hope that, whomever these people were, they were numerous enough that they had a gods-damned map of this place among them. It would be dangerous to try. He would have to be careful. But still, against his better judgment, he trudged on towards that singular sign of civilization.

The mud grew slick as Ven approached. He kept a firm grip on his staff. He could barely see his fingers in the waning light, but it was enough to know that they were filthy. He did not like to be so unkempt. A bath, he thought. My right hand for a bath. He desperately needed one. He did not stink in the way that a living man would after weeks of survival in the wilderness, nor did he ache as such. Even so, he wanted nothing more than a warm soak and a pot of ash soap and to dry out on a cedar mat in the sun. He had memories, some faint and some sharp as flint, of the steaming sulfur pools of his living years. Of washing away the day's toil and the weight and weariness of war. Yet, though the mountains that loomed above him looked as young and jagged as those he could recall, he'd seen nothing of the sort in these lands.

A patrol. Even in this weather. He hadn't seen the guardsman coming and now he was within an arrow's flight of the man. Shit, Ven thought. He quickly ducked off the beaten path and pushed in past the treeline. He pulled his mask up over his nose to hide his pallor. He waited. Somehow, blessedly, he had not been spotted. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued on, now weaving between the bushes and trunks. At last, he reached the palisade. These strange folk had built it well. It was a struggle to scale, and he cursed them beneath his breath. Nevertheless, he found his way up like a boy would shinny up a tree. He dropped to the other side and caught his fall with his staff.

Lights. Sounds. People. There were people everywhere, here, and now he could smell them. He grimaced. He had fed the demon that morning to pacify it. Somewhere, miles behind him, an unfortunate farmer was less a herd of cattle. He was sure the trail of death he'd left would rouse suspicion, yet he'd done what he must to keep the demon in check. But still, he felt its pull. It seemed it would not relent until it took a stronger life. A human life.

A sudden, keen awareness struck him of just how foolish he'd been by coming here. He brushed it away. He was here now, and he might as well finish this. He pressed on, clinging to the shadows, watching these odd folk come and go. Some of them were armored. Many of them wore tabards. Of all of the places I could have chosen, he admonished himself as he slid past a window, I have found the one armed most to the teeth. He chanced to glance in. His heart, though it didn't beat, leapt at the sight of a desk — and on that desk, a map.

He tested the window. It swung ajar. The room was empty. Could it be so easy?

He'd come this far. He'd try it. As quietly as he could, Ven hoisted himself through the window and landed with a soft squelch. He stopped. Listened. Still nothing. Nodding to himself, he began to cross the room towards his prize.

Without warning, footsteps pounded against the floor. Ven jumped. Panicked. Someone approached all too fast for him to hide. A woman rounded the corner, dressed in that same tabard he'd seen on the others, calling over her shoulder as she walked. "A mo', I've just got to run back and — " She stopped. Her pale eyes widened in alarm as she looked him up and down. "And who the hell are you supposed to be? Wh..."

"My apologies. I shouldn't be here." Ven dropped his staff to clatter on the ground. He raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of nonviolence. He ducked his head and backed away, step by step, hoping to the gods that she hadn't seen his —

"VAMPIRE!" She screamed. "To me! We have a vampire!"

He winced. This night was about to be a lot more miserable.

[nephero]

The effect was rather immediate. Of course, there was really no ignoring a bunch of shouting and alarming and general carrying on, especially when wearing a tabard generally meant you were supposed to be on guard for such a thing. Still, whoever the woman had shouted to, they seemed perhaps less hurried than one might expect from hearing "vampire".

"Oh, aye, sure, a vampire, and he's got his troupe of juggling pixies no doubt-- fuck me," the man stopped in his tracks the moment he was in the doorway, his own eyes widening in shock to see that there was, in fact, an intruder in exactly the spot that the woman was currently yanking her sword out in the direction of.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't really going to do very much in the face of a true-blue vampire, but he drew his own sword nonetheless, skirting about the room to provide a flank in the confines of the single room, which became entirely more crowded as two more guards flooded in. The initial woman moved to the side, allowing the rest to semicircle about Ven, cutting off the door as well as the window as a point of escape.

"Right. You. Stranger." said the male guard, trying to put in as much authority as he could. Weird though this intruder was, both in garb and appearance, surely a vampire would be a whole lot better at sneaking about, right? Right. He gestured for the third guard to bring forward manacles. "You've got some answering to do, so make this easy on yourself and put your hands out. Slowly."

[Nightcrawler]

Ven kicked himself for being so foolish. He'd known from the start that it was a terrible idea. He'd had every chance to turn back when he discovered just how terrible it was. When he'd seen the kind of folk that he'd chosen to burgle. But he was tired. Tired of wandering aimlessly in this hostile land. Tired of being screamed at and shot at for what the curse had done to his face. And that weariness had worn down not only his good judgment, but his caution, too.

His nose crinkled behind the mask. He had no interest in being shackled like a criminal. It would not end well for these folk if they imprisoned him away from all life but their own. Sooner or later, the demon would come forth and take advantage of such a feast. He glanced, first at one raised hand, then the other, and then back at the man who'd strolled in and begun to order him around in that strange accent. When he spoke, his words were sharp rocks grating against one another. "My hands are out. I intend you no harm," he replied crisply, a note of irritation in his voice.

He eyed the glinting blade that had moments before hovered inches from his nose. He shot a withering and skeptical look at the woman who wielded it, then at the other two guardsmen, then finally at the one who had addressed him. His black eyes moved steadily as the man flanked him like any practiced fighter. True, he had trespassed, but these people had drawn weapons on his appearance alone. He was reticent to reveal anything more than what would pry him from this situation without bloodshed. And they would certainly get nothing from him but cold courtesy. "And my answer is this," Ven continued. "I seek only a map of this most welcoming land. Not a fight. Just...a map. If you would be so kind."

[nephero]

"Welcome, you were expecting a welcome?" the female guard sputtered in disbelief, still holding her sword at the ready.

"Shut it," the male guard snapped, before turning his attention back on Ven. "You're under arrest for breaking and entering, mate, you can beg for a map after you've been tried."

The other guards pressed in close, slowly, before surging forward all at once to wrestle Ven to the ground and get his arms behind his back. Which was honestly made more difficult by the fact there was four of them trying to do the same thing at once than anything else. Still, once the shackles were on, at least it seemed the tensions had melted away.

"Fuckin' vampire," the male said with a roll of his eyes to the female guard. "You need to start getting some sense in your head, Aldric, before they lock you in a healing house."

"Fuckin' look at him," Aldric spat back, gesturing in the general direction of Ven's complexion as if that were all the proof in the world, "tell me that's not a vampire!"

"A vampire who needed no invitation and got himself arrested," he retorted back, helping the other two in hoisting Ven back up again as all four made to escort -- a fancy word for "drag like a sack of potatoes" -- their captive out of the room and across the yard, each of them cursing softly at the rain and their need to be out in it.

They brought Ven inside again quickly enough, and provided the considerable courtesy of possibly the worst-made wooden chair in all of Serendipity as Ven was forced down before a desk. The woman on the other side eyed him severely, her dark eyes boring into him for a moment before she flipped open a book and took up her quill.

"Name."

[Nightcrawler]

He'd had time to react and flee. He thought he could have done it. But he did not have the will to harm so many in the process. He would not forgive himself this folly if he did.

The moment these misguided guardsmen pounced was the moment Ven shut his eyes and steeled himself against a second, invisible onslaught. He had learned the hard way how a man's closeness would stoke the ravenous demon within him — and how he could focus on nothing else but its containment. Now there were four of them, bumping and shuffling and wafting forth the tantalizing stench of their own vitality. He did not think he could bear the sight and sound of one more person's agonizing, wailing death at his hands. And so, as they wrestled him to the dirty ground, and his rain-soaked front pressed hard into the floorboards, he tensed and held fast to that dark door in his mind. To an outside observer, Ven had gone deathly silent. To him, the very fabric of the world was screaming.

Something cold clasped his wrists. Muffled voices argued above the demon's deafening roar. Fresh air assaulted his senses and mud spattered his face. His mask, somehow, had been torn away in the scuffle. They dragged him through the muck towards some unknown prison. Their hands could have been red-hot irons for how his skin seared beneath their grasp. He turned inwards again and leaned with all of his might against that door. It had to hold. It had to.

Then — inside again. The rain was gone, the air stale. They turned him upright and set him down on something hard. They stepped away and the demon calmed, albeit reluctantly. But gods, he was left exhausted from it. His breaths — breaths he did not need to take — came in rattling, heaving waves as he fought to wrest back his control. At last, he opened his eyes again, and through a curtain of soaked and filthy black hair, he glowered at his new captor.

"Name," she demanded.

Ven met her gaze with the unblinking and haughty defiance of a predator in a cage. He let the silence stretch out between them as retribution for what he had just endured. "Avendego-i-Pereten," he finally rattled off, injecting spite like poison into every rolling syllable. In truth, he had leaned as hard into his thick accent as he could. She didn't need his name. What would she do with his name? This was all so pointless. So stupid. "You are making a dangerous mistake," he breathed. "In holding me captive, you accomplish nothing but to risk the lives of your own people."

His biting ire had given way to urgency, now. He leaned forward. He could hear — and smell — the guards behind him as they shifted towards their weapons again. He ignored them. He stared across the desk at the woman with the book, his stark countenance now creased, in spite of himself, with concern. "This is not a threat, but a warning. All that stands between the folk of this stronghold, and death, is my own dwindling willpower against the evil within me. I have no love for your ways, but neither do I wish to harm you. So I beseech you: release me before it is too late."

[nephero]

The woman on the other side of the desk looked utterly unimpressed. There was the slightest arch in her brow the further Ven went on, but otherwise, it was rather like making threats at a statue. At the end of it, she tapped her quill to rid it of excess ink, and wrote out whatever was closest to his name as far as she could surmise.

Which, if one were paying attention and could read script upside down, looked a bit like "Aven Digooey Preten."

 "Charge." she continued, her tone remaining as clipped and to the point as if Ven hadn't dedicated a lot of words to threatening her life and the lives of those around them. 

"What you mean besides the evil within him?" Aldric muttered under her breath, and promptly let out an 'oof' as she was elbowed by another guard. 

"Broke into the barracks, claims he was just looking for a map," said the apparent leader of this merry little troupe. The woman at the desk's expression did not change as she wrote in quick, sure script: burglary. 

"What was taken?" she continued, and for a moment the guards looked at one another as if suddenly confused. 

"Taken?" 

"Taken," the woman repeated, not without some irritation. "He broke in, and, what did he take?"

"Nothing," Aldric said after a moment, clearing her throat as if that would improve her confidence, "We got him before anything was made off with." 

The woman at the desk didn't seem to be as impressed with the gathered guards' abilities to thwart a theft, but wrote down her notes all the same. 

"Put Mr Digooey Preten in cell seven, and call in Northwood. It's his shift, if I recall. Mr Digooey, you are being detained for unlawful entry into a military building, punishable by fine of fourteen shils. Our resident medic will be in shortly to attend to you, and pending payment of your fine, you will be released. I strongly advise that you take this moment to reflect on your life choices, and don't make me write your name again." With an added note of finality, she put the quill back on its stand. 

Taking this as their cue, the guards shuffled Ven into his designated cell, before shuffling outside just as quickly, arguing quietly over who had summoning duty before vanishing into the rain.

The woman at the desk seemed completely unbothered, turning to several scrolls of paper and stamping each one before sorting them into proper cubicles. She only paused again when, not ten minutes later, another man in that same tabard walked in, carrying a satchel and more well prepared for the weather with a cloak of his own. 

"Cell seven," was his only direction, before the woman returned to her work. The new arrival, Northwood, seemed used to this sort of greeting and had already begun his way to the cells after pulling down his hood. 

Northwood stared through the bars at Ven with tired green eyes, setting his satchel on the ground. 

"Please approach the bars."

[Nightcrawler]

More screaming. More clawing for release. It was shorter this time, and then, at last, it was over. He stumbled, rammed into the back of this newest cage, tripped, and collapsed to drape over a crude — and filthy — bench. He lay there, seething and stewing in the humiliation of his own failures. Behind him, the gate swung closed with a rusty creak. Keys jingled. His captors chuckled and muttered to each other as their footsteps receded into the night. He wished, briefly, that he hadn't been so gracious. He fantasized about whacking them all firmly over their skulls with his stick. They would not survive the loss of whatever scant gray matter they were blessed with, he thought bitterly. Still, the idea soothed his injured pride. It was enough to pick him up off of the puke-stained floor.

Ven dragged himself up onto the bench, leaned into his dirty hands, and ran his fingers up into his tangled mess of hair. He closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply of the sour, fetid air. A chuckle escaped his nostrils that could have been a sob. "Just a map," he mumbled in the rhythmic cadence of his native tongue. "Just some answers. And a bath." He thought of sulfur water and herbs and ash soap and cedar again. He hummed a little tune to himself, face still pressed into his palms.

"Please approach the bars."

He stopped humming. He thought back to what the oafish woman had told him. A healer, and then a fine to be paid. Neither would happen, of course. She would have known that if she had listened. He chuckled again. "No," he said into his hands. He rubbed his eyes. His voice cracked with weariness. "I don't think I shall. 'Please', or no 'please.'" Ven sat up. His arms dropped to his lap. He appraised this new stranger who stood now to gawk at him through the bars. "If you are the healer, then go and heal your brethren of their lack of sense. If you are here to take my coin, then I am afraid you will be sorely disappointed in my lack of it. Either way, I will not approach the bars. I would advise you not to...agh." He shook his head and rubbed at his face again. He glared incredulously at the man. "Why should I even bother? You people are all the same: you haven't a lick of sense to share between you. So go on. Ignore what I've said. Come in to heal me or whatever you're here to do. I am sure it is perfectly safe."

[nephero]

Jewel regarded the prisoner, 'Mr Digooey' - though given how well he knew the warden he was fairly sure she had not made any effort to ensure the accuracy of 'foreign' names. It wasn't exactly easy to get a good look at him, even without the dimness of the light. All Jewel could really see was snatches of exceptionally pale skin and the darkness of his eyes.

Neither of which were exactly bills of good health, even whilst ignoring Aldric's warnings of vampirism and being torn asunder and yet simultaneously remaining whole enough to also become a creature of the dreaded night.

Jewel sighed. 

Living deep in the middle of the wood, of course folks became accustomed to the extranatural - Neighbors of all sorts wandered in now and again in all their strangeness, and just as strangely wandered out again. It was normal, a curiosity, but... vampires?

The Neighbors would have said something, surely.

"It's my duty to check if you are presenting any communicable diseases, sir," he said, tone still soft and quiet as if he had not been warned of doom and dismemberment for the second time that day, "very standard, but I'm afraid I can't confirm any concerning conditions if you're on the back wall wearing a mask."

[Nightcrawler]

It was the healer.

What was more, he'd spoken in a tone that Ven was well familiar with. It was the kind of voice he'd reserved, once upon a time, for his own inconsolable patients. Ven frowned. There had been so very many half-witted guardsmen today. What were the chances that this one was the exception? Slim, he thought, heels still stubbornly dug into his ire. Still...

He tilted his head ever so slightly as he considered the man's request. Somehow, he seemed almost reasonable. "If I comply, will you release me?" Ven asked hesitantly. The caustic bite had dropped from his tone. He knew that the answer was unlikely to be 'yes' unless he paid the fine with coin he did not have. Yet he had to try.

Reluctantly, and with the heavy skepticism of an ancient being whose identity had just been whittled down to "Mr. Digooey," Ven sighed and rose to his feet. He raised his gloved hands, drew down his hood, and pulled the muddy mask from his face again. He stepped cautiously into the light, wincing at the incessant gnawing in his mind.

"Kohm...yewn-i-ca-ble diseases," he repeated slowly. It was not a familiar word. "Concerning conditions." He thought for a moment, then gestured delicately at his own cursed visage. "You wish to know if this can be transferred to another? No. It does not move from body to body like a plague. It simply..."

Ven shifted and glanced down the row of cells towards freedom. He had warned the others. They had thought it worth nothing more than their dismissive ridicule. He had snapped a half-warning at this one, too, only to be met with the voice of someone addressing a misbehaving, mind-addled elder. He did not expect that this healer would listen. He would try, nonetheless. He would not beg, but he would try. He returned his attention to the man before him.

"It is a curse, not a disease. It hungers and it kills," he said simply. "It will never stop. It was foolish of me to come here. I've put your people at risk over nothing." His expression darkened ever so slightly. "Such as they are," he grumbled.

[nephero]

Jewel waited, patiently, for the prisoner to work his way into deciding to be compliant. There had been no guarantee that he would do so, of course -- the ones who usually made it into these particular cells tended to be entirely too out of sorts to pay much attention to silly things like their best interests. But sometimes all it took was a calm statement and a long stretch of silence. Folks tended to become uncomfortable, when they got no response.

It was nice, then, that Mr Digooey had chosen to comply instead of doubling down on his tantrum. In the light, he seemed even paler than below all of his trappings -- almost alarmingly so. And with those eyes, well...

Jewel was starting to see why Aldric had jumped to conclusions.

He moved from side to side, observing the man as closely as he could with bars and space between them.

"What manner of curse?" He asked, in that same even tone, gesturing with his hand and mouth for Ven to open wide. "Besides, as you've said, a very deadly one that prevents you from using the gates like a normal person."

[Nightcrawler]

Ven eyed the man like he didn't quite believe he was real. His brow raised ever so slightly in surprise. He shifted on his feet again. This was, quite possibly, the first normal, the first sane conversation he had had in...well. He could not remember how long. Certainly since he had arrived in this terrible land. He hesitated to answer. He knew that the man would likely react just as poorly as the others. "I cannot remember the whole of it," he admitted quietly. He stepped away into the shadows and sat again, eager for some relief. His knees crackled like an old man's. "Only flashes here and there. I can tell you that, whatever this thing is, it speaks to me. It taunts me from within. And it is always hungry. Always. I feed it plant and animal so that I might bear it. But what it wants — " He breathed in a weary and frustrated sigh. "Is you. Your kin, rather. Anyone with a mind, a — a spirit, if you will. That is what it hungers for. That is what it steals and returns with to nourish me. I hold it back, but it does become...difficult."

He stopped. He waited. Waited for this healer to laugh and walk away, or panic and call him that name again: vem-pyre. Or, worse, to try and kill him. But he didn't. "Hmmh," he grunted. "You are one of two men in this cursed place not to shout some nonsense word at me and attempt to slay me on sight. The other was simple. You seem not to be. Regardless, I...thank you. For not...doing that."

He stood again and began to pace. He despised any cage, yes, but this one would shortly become unbearable. His eyes slid from bar to bar as he subconsciously sought some way out, but they were bolted firm. There was no escape. He was still very much trapped here. He turned abruptly in place to face the healer. "And now you know why I did not use your gates: because, for the last two months, any person who has laid eyes on me has either fled or become violent. I made a bet that your brothers-in-arms would be the latter. I was correct. I — "

Ven stopped mid-diatribe and stared incredulously. "Why must you inspect my mouth? What have my teeth to do with this?"

[nephero]

Jewel watched the prisoner, calmly and quietly. It didn't matter whether the man was speaking nonsense or not; he clearly believed it all to be true, and in the grand scheme of things, wasn't that what mattered? Causing defense certainly wasn't going to get Jewel anywhere with him, real condition or not.

He did, however, have to blink at the... compliment? Was that truly what one could consider a compliment? 'You seem not to be simple?'

"Thank you for the... kind assessment," he managed, after a beat. The prisoner was pacing now, signalling clear agitation despite their calm exchange. Which just underlined to Jewel how very real this all was to this man. Sure, he had broken into the company's barracks, and sure his intent had been to steal, and if it were up to the others, Jewel was very sure that would be the end of the conversation. A bad deed done, a bad deed earned, or something to that effect. And if he couldn't pay his fine, well, it served him right, now didn't it?

Except Jewel had a hard time believing that someone who needed to resort to stealing a map would have anything close to usable coin. That tended to be the point of theft.

Theft and a not altogether undeserved sense of persecution. Aldric certainly had been announcing to everyone that would listen about what she thought of their prisoner -- which, if Jewel was honest, was not altogether unlike her. He still remembered the hag incident.

It took him a moment to realize that Mr Digooey had shifted his conversation entirely, and Jewel took a moment to respond in kind.

"It is not your teeth. Illness, certain ones, likes to leave footprints on the throat. While I would like to accept your assumption that you are in good health, Mr Digooey, I really must do my due diligence. It is... protocol, and the sooner I can complete my protocol, the sooner we may explore the terms of your release."

[Nightcrawler]

"Mister Dig — " Ven puffed up like an affronted eagle, caught himself, nodded resignedly as if he had expected nothing better of these folk, and rubbed at his brow. "Ai, Valo. You must be joking." He snorted. He'd used his full name as a jab. He'd meant it to confuse the woman. Of course it had come back to him like this. How very poetic.

He looked the healer up and down, his expression fatigued yet guarded, still skeptical that any man of these people would have the decency to respect a simple request. "Ven," he said finally. "If you would. I will not trouble you with the seven other syllables from which your delightful compatriot somehow derived Mister Digooey. Gods grant me patience." He shook his head in disbelief. It then occurred to him that he'd directed his ire at a man who'd done nothing to deserve it. Ven sighed. "I am sorry. That was ill-mannered of me."

He considered the man's request. He was not thrilled with the idea of being close enough to be...inspected. Of having to endure another round of torture. He would, perhaps, come back to that subject. But first...

"As for the terms of my release...well." He flipped his muddy cloak over his shoulders, shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, and turned them out. He opened first one belt pouch, then the other, and tilted them towards the light for the man to see. But for a few little bundles of miscellaneous herbs, a tin of salve, a glass bottle containing what looked like tea, a foil-wrapped bit of chocolate, and a half-finished bracelet woven from beach grasses, Ven owned little more than crumbs and dirt.

"Your people have stated the terms, but I cannot fulfill them. As such, I must assume that I am trapped here." He eyed the healer, now deadly serious. "If you continue to imprison me, you will die. I would like to avoid dealing such a fate. I very much doubt that you deserve it. Even at this moment, I cannot guarantee your safety. Which is why, as much as I am certain that it is your duty to perform this examination, I will not approach the bars."

His indignance had returned, albeit tempered. He huffed, scowled, and looked away, disgusted at what he was about to suggest. "I am not trying to be difficult, sir. I am trying to rectify my own mistake. But if you require proof, bring me a living plant. Or an insect. Something...disposable."

[nephero]

"Ven." Jewel said with a nod. After all, it was the basest of courtesies to use the proper name, even if that proper name was apparently a much-shortened version of itself. Jewel could relate. His titles alone were a nuisance at the best of times. And this, clearly, was not the best of times for Ven.

Jewel let the man speak for a time, simply standing and listening to him, eyes dropping only to witness that Ven indeed did not possess a single pip to his name. To be expected, certainly. The herbs were interesting - they were not the wildflowers one might typically collect for oneself on the side of the road, but the deep, pungent stalks you had to go looking for and know why you were looking. A clever man, this Ven.

Well, besides the whole 'oh yes let me just slide in through this window here', thing.

Maybe not clever, but cunningfolk were cunningfolk.

"You have underlined my impending mortality quite well, Mr Ven. You needn't continue to underline it." Jewel tilted his head some in consideration, eyes fixed on Ven's face in a deep, unblinking stare.

"How many plants, or insects, or such, do you require to be safe? Is this a daily occurrence, or is it satiable for a longer period of time?"

[Nightcrawler]

Ven looked the healer over again, still skeptical. "Hmmh. Not well enough, I fear, for you still haven't fled. Either you are brave, or foolish, or you do not truly believe me." He sighed and continued his futile examination of this steel cage. His gaze settled momentarily on the bench. Could he use it as a battering ram? No...of course not. It was bolted firmly to the floor. He doubted it would even budge the bars. And surely he'd make enough noise to alert the entire camp once again. He shook his head. He glanced back at his odd company. He could no longer keep the weariness and sorrow from tugging at his countenance. The man stared back with peridot eyes like an unamused housecat.

"How many?" Ven repeated quietly. "How many blades of grass are there on this earth? How many creatures walk the land?" It was rhetorical, of course. And...perhaps a bit dramatic. But he was truly tired of this curse and of the killing. "To come here," he began again. "To try, simply, to find some gods-damned answers — regretfully, I took a dozen head of a farmer's cattle this very morning, and even that was not enough to sate the horrid monster. So I suppose you may now add cattle thief to my long list of peculiar transgressions. Right under the map incident."

He muttered a string of curses at his own stupidity, then straightened again and sighed impatiently. "Now, please. This has gone on rather long enough. Will you release me? Or are we both so beholden to your people's bureaucratic scutwork? Surely you have more important things to do. Paperwork. Patients with beating hearts to attend to. Et cetera."

[nephero]

"You know," Jewel said, tone still conversational to avoid stirring the man up any further than he already was, "you may find that you will be less likely to be penalized for breaking the law, if you didn't confess to it so often."

Jewel sighed some, tilting his head a bit as if to stretch and crack his neck. He was tired, it had already been a long day, and it was looking to be even longer.

"I ask you to understand, that I will need proper answers from you, before I am able to simply turn you loose into the kingdom. I don't know you, Mr Ven, besides that you are apparently very dangerous and able to slaughter dozens of cattle without being satisfied. How will I know that you won't simply go and leave a trail of cattle-- or worse-- to the throne itself?"

Jewel considered for a long moment, weighing several thoughts in his head on delicate scales. He looked upwards some, staring at a point in the stone wall on the far end of the cell, head tilting as if listening carefully to a lecture from an esteemed professor.

"...I will pay your fine, Mr Ven. But you will need to give me those answers. Is that an acceptable deal?"

[Nightcrawler]

To his own surprise, Ven chuckled a bit at the healer's carefully-worded advice. The man was right, of course. It was for this very reason that, even in his living years, he much preferred the wilderness to civilization. He did not intend to do harm. He did not intend to take what others owned. Yet, no matter his intent, the fact remained that his way of doing things was often counter to the rules and expectations of city folk. He had meant to be honest: to show a gesture of faith. He had instead snared himself even further in this trap.

"Yes," he replied, nodding in acceptance of his defeat. His lips were still curled in the faintest ghost of a smile. "You speak true." But his amused expression dropped entirely as the man went on. And he was again correct: how could he know? Ven had, in his panic, divulged a warning that could very well have been perceived instead as a threat. Who was to say how far that threat extended? His shoulders slumped as his confidence drained away and he realized just how deep this hole was that he had dug. His eyes went wide. "That was not my intent," he insisted. "I — I would never — I am not some assassin. I — "

Ven stopped. His jaw worked up and down a few more times before finally closing. He looked like he might be ill — or at least, as much so as a dead man could on top of being so pale. When the healer offered to pay for his fine, he looked away. He still half expected hot shame to flush his cheeks, but it never did. He stood there in silence, mulling over responses, finding them wanting, and searching for new ones that would suffice. His fists clenched and unclenched while he thought. At last, he raised his head again and faced his captor. He was calmer, now, than he'd been since he arrived here. Regretful, too.

"You know that I cannot repay you for that," he said quietly. "And I do not deserve such a kindness." Ven returned, slowly, to the bench. He sat and drew his cloak tighter out of habit. He looked up at the man behind the bars. "You have my apologies. I've been nothing but miserable and insolent. If you'd be so willing to fix my mistakes, then...I am already in your debt. So I am yours. I will tell you what I can. Please. Ask away."

[nephero]

The sudden shift in tone, the anxiety, the shame and he fear...

It had been exactly what Jewel had been looking for. He hummed low, almost too much so to be heard by any human ears, but human ears were not what he'd been humming to.

"I do not seek repayment, Mr Ven, beyond the deal you have agreed to. Please pardon me for one moment." He stooped and gathered his satchel, fiddled with an enclosed pocket, before stepping smartly back over to his compatriot's desk where he set down the appropriate coin.

"Mr... Digooey's... penance." He stated, simply. The warden gave him a look as piercing as an arrow, before reaching across the desk to appropriately tally and register the amount. In her book, she crossed a painfully thin line through Ven's registry, and wrote in neat script: Paid.

Wordlessly, she rose from her desk, and stepped over to Ven's cell to unlock it, standing aside once the gate was opened so Ven could pass freely.

"Do remember my advice, Mr Digooey." she said coolly, fixing him with that same stare that could only be matched by about a dozen eagles put together.

[Nightcrawler]

The woman stood there, door open, glaring down at him expectantly. It took him a moment to piece together what had happened. He'd thought for certain that he would have to pay the man in answers before being released. But no: he'd sat. He'd said his piece. And the healer had simply...believed him. Just like that.

Ven rose to his feet once again, eyes darting between the woman and the healer. He seemed to be a free man, now. Should he run? Should he put as much distance between himself and these unpleasant folk as he could? He'd made an agreement, it was true. But he'd done it to undo this mistake. To avoid further damage. And his quickest route to that was out those doors and into the night, without a look back or a second thought.

Yet...he'd promised answers to a man who'd been nothing but patient. Who'd listened, and now, who'd paid his way out. And honor had meant something to him once, he thought. A long time ago. Ven gave the healer a small nod — an acknowledgement of this act of trust. He gritted his teeth, and, all but ignoring the woman and her sharp words and sharper eyes, he slipped past her as swiftly as he could. He paused a distance away from his unlikely savior.

"Thank you. For freeing me. I owe you answers. I will honor that, but...there are too many people here. It isn't safe for me to linger. Either I flee to the forest, or..." he faltered, embarrassed. He wasn't accustomed to not having the answers. "Tell me where to go where you might be less...rained on."

[nephero]

Jewel didn't answer straight away, instead gesturing for Ven to follow him out of the building and back out onto the soggy street. He pulled his own hood up and over his hair, the cloak wrapped around him as best he could to keep the worst of the rainfall off of himself. He pointed, in the vague direction of the road.

"My home is this way. I need to stop there, first." His pace did not seem to invite any debate on the matter, hurrying Ven through the streets and away from the barracks entirely. It was a much quieter road that he turned down next, leading the way to one of several townhouses nestled close to the wall and stepping up to a deep navy door. A quick turn of the key, and he stepped inside, gesturing for Ven to follow in out of the rain.

Once inside, he murmured to a lamp a command word, setting off the appropriate chain reaction so each of the connected lanterns in his home lit at once, bathing everything in a warm, steady glow. That everything being almost entirely plant life; it seemed like every available surface had been primarily repurposed as a space to grow things on, with even more pots hanging from the ceiling and all adding to the generally earthy scent of the home at large.

"If you must, I'd prefer it if you contented yourself with one of those," he said after removing his cloak, gesturing at a small series of tables that had a series of different common ferns atop them. "But if you can abstain for just a breath longer, I'd appreciate the effort."

He paused again, considering, before continuing with all the air of someone who did not normally entertain guests and had to mentally review etiquette for a moment.

"I can also offer some tea, if you would like. I know you wish to be out of the city, but a chill will not serve you well, out there."