Thread: Witchfinder's Tale (BG & RM)

The rest of the day crawled by for him. People milled around the market, passing his stall with curious glances here and there, but only a few stopped to share a few words with the stranger. He spoke happily with anyone who took the time and shared a few witty stories of his recent travels. The sun climbed higher in the sky and more people passed through the village square. One of the other stallholders, an older woman, with a wrinkled face, whispy grey hair and a missing finger, offered him some warming tea and some bread which he gatefully well, Jean-Alexandre was grateful accepted and consumed as if it was the first meal he'd had in days, thanking the crone from the bottom of his heart. The afternoon wore on and he looked closer at the old woman, Olga, who had offered him his lunch. She fit the look of a witch and she had looked over his herbs several times. He was sure her eyes had lingered on some of the more exotic leaves in his collection, maybe with a view to acquiring some later? For some nefarious ritual or spell? It certainly bore thinking about. Maybe he should follow her later and 'question' her about it? Or maybe the young girl? After all she was the only one so far to directly ask him. She may be pretty but sometimes the outer beauty can detract from the vile core of a deeply corrupted soul. His meeting with her later was certainly worth preparing for. Nobody else of note visited his stall, though he did actually make a few silver from a couple of villagers wantig a remedy for a cold and some red itchy rash, so he'd not have to use his own money for a meal later that evening. He packed up his wares and once again thanked Olga for her kindness, slipping into their parting conversation where he was staying in the hope that, should she be the one he was looking for, she would reveal herself to him later. He limped back to his room at the inn, making a show of his slow progress up the stairs. Once in his room he checked his supplies in the false bottom of his chests. A half dozen glass bottles of blessed water, a sleeping potion, a slingshot and several silver bullets, a flintlock pistol and a couple of knives. Several thin lengths of leather bands were taken and placed in his deep pockets. The blades he secreted on his person - one in each boot and one at the base of his back under his shirt. The pistol he kept in the chest, under the herbs just in case. He couldn't see the girl being his real target, but maybe she was under the thrall of someone else, her slave or servant? Either way he intended to draw her out and get as much information from her as he could. He would find out as much as he could with the aid of alcohol, then if he thought it warranted further investigation he could drug and restrain her then use some of his considerable skill to 'persuade' her to divulge exactly what she knew. Once he was happy everything was in order he returned to the bar and waited for her arrival. He hadn't been waiting long when he caught sight of her red cloak and long blonde curls again. He made a show of standing to greet her, a grimace of pain on his face as he sat back down after she'd curtsied. Now my dear girl, He began, There is no need for such formailty with me. I am but a simple herbalist and not above your station in any way. Please sit and take a drink with me. He smiled, showing a few blackened teeth and the lines of a man well into his middle age. The hardness of one of his blades pressed reassuringly awkwardly at his lower back, making it easy to look uncomfortable on the hard wooden chair. Before we go any further, you have me at a disadvantage - and I don't mean my age or my gammy leg I don't even know your name. He laughed sloftly, gesturing to the barkeep for another glass and a fresh bottle of wine.