Story : The Poacher and the Long Mynd

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Warren watched the maga Mnemosyne from the shadows behind the inn’s smoke shack. He was learning more and more about these mages from the time he spent with them, but he'd never seen one so suddenly panicked, and it piqued his interest. Silently, he watched her as she performed her ritual, though he had no idea what it was intended to do. The gentlemen in him knew that a woman should not be out, in the dark, alone like this. The thief in him knew that knowledge is power, and the more he knew about the mages and their people, the better he would be prepared to deal with... eventualities. 
 
On his way to the inn with the magus Phaedrus, he’d noted a couple people that were more in his line of work – not that Warren was a thug or a brigand! Far from it, but... if he is going to operate in this village of Church Stretton at all, professional courtesy dictated he make himself known. He didn’t know what to expect over the next couple days, or even if he was going to stay with this Magus now that he has reached his destination, but they did share a passion for books (though the motivation differed, Warren would wager), but he should be prepared for anything. As Mnemosyne finished the ritual and headed back inside, Warren turned and walked further into the darkness, striking out for the shanty on the far south side of the village where he thought he might find the man he needed to speak with.
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It was a fairly rundown looking structure. The wood was old and charred in places as though it had been reclaimed from the remains of a house fire. The log pile to the side of the house was nearly empty, and the few remaining logs were sodden and moldy. 
A small curl of smoke was rising from a hole in the roof, and behind a sad, misshapen excuse for a door, there was the odd sign of movement within. A path of shale, now mostly covered by plant growth, led up to the shack from the cart-track to the church.
Warren shook his head. While he may be being played for a fool, he didn’t think so – back home he’d have been spotted by three or four different people by now, and the boss would have been at the door waiting for him. Here, the plant covered walk had allowed him a nearly silent approach. He considered just walking in, but even in this little vale, they may have a crossbow and an itchy trigger finger. Instead, he stopped about three strides from the doorway and coughed. Loudly.
Within, there came the sound of a fire being put out, and the flickering light visible through cracks in the door diminished. Presently, the door scraped open, and silhouetted against the glowing coals of a fire, stood a middle-aged man. He regarded Warren in silence, taking stock of him before stepping out from behind the door, and closing it behind him.
Motioning Warren to follow him, he headed around to the back of his dwelling.Warren paused for just a second or two, contemplating the consequences of following the man. He was already committed, he figured – it was well after dark, the cottage was far enough off the path that Warren was already out of sight of any hapless traveler on the road. And besides, he thought, it’s not like I’m an innocent party in all this. He grinned; I can talk my way out of anything I get into – no problem at all. He stepped off the path and followed the man around the back of the dwelling, wondering what to expect next.
At the back of the lean to was a wide table, sturdily built, with a pair of long benches either side of it that were little more than squared off trunks raised up on gurt blocks of wood. The old man gestured for Warren to sit down, and when he'd done so, he slid himself warily onto the opposite bench, and rested his elbows on the tabletop. "You know who I am?" the old man asked in a plain, serious, and yet unthreatening manner. As he regarded Warren, he ran one of his thick digits through the dense stubble on his chin.
 ((OOC Note: Please make appropriate social skill rolls as necessary. In this case, Guile, Charm and Intrigue: Alliances.))
 “All I know is that you are the person I should be introducing myself to, so that I don’t step on any creative toes in this fine little hamlet. I, sir, am Warren Osborn, late of London, currently traveling with a,” he decided that mentioning mages and hoof-footed beauties would probably be a bad idea, ((possible guile roll)) “scholar and book collector that goes by the name of Phaedrus. I specialize in acquiring objects of value, though I every once in a great while might give into the temptation to use less than, shall we say, ‘open?’, methods.” Still not convinced that this man was all there was to see, Warren was paying close attention to his ears while he conversed this the middle age man, trying to detect any unexpected arrivals.
"Well, I'm appreciating your candor," he said, relaxing back on stool slightly as he did so, with a slightly relieved look on his face. "We mind our own affairs in these parts, and we mind them well. We each play our part, and we don't stray. I'm the hunter, and catching game is what I do, and as long as you don't go running round the King's forest with a bow when you oughtn't, then there is no reason why I would object to you bein' here. However, this is a small community, and there isn't much that can be lost without people going looking for it, and few people who could have found such a thing, if you follow..."
The old man leaned forward and looked directly into Warren's eyes to reinforce the gravity of his point.
Warren nodded knowingly, "So you are saying that the list of places to look, and people to check with is very short."
The old man gave a slow, firm nod.
"Tell me, friend," Warren stoked his chin thoughtfully, "say that certain items missing from other places, perhaps distant places, found their way back to this pleasant little vale. How skilled are the appropriate people at finding such items then?"
The old man leans back on his bench again, and looks thoughtfully toward the rather menacing square silhouette of the church tower. "What people don't know about doesn't bother them, and things they see a share of, they more as not welcome. If the things that come to our village aren't chased by angry nobles, then there'll be no problems. If they come looking, then they'll know where to look."
There was no intended threat in his last sentence, but the inherent danger was not lost on Warren. In as small a community as this, there was little room for ignorance about the affairs of one's neighbors.
"I understand completely." Warren nodded again. He sat forward and lowered his tone, as if to prevent the grass and trees from overhearing him, "I could not help but to notice our good bailiff in the Three Lions earlier today. If that is common, then I would think he is an uncommon man! What can you tell me of him?"
The old man raised an eyebrow slightly at "our bailiff", but let Warren continue. "Well now, he was feeling a bit under the weather, I know. The Castellan was giving him a hard time over something or rather, or so I heard. I can't say it’s normal for him to be in there on tha' Sabbath, mind. The three lions is a long way below the salt." He looked at Warren more acutely, "taken an interest in the manor, have we?"
"Indeed we have. You see my traveling companion and his companions looking for a place to settle and study. As you might have heard, they have been gathering over the course of the day at the Three Lions and are conversing in the back room as we sit here."
"Really?" he said with more than a little surprise.
Warren raised an eyebrow, "Very true. I'm a tad surprised you had not heard already." He seemed to consider and then appeared to realize, "Of course, they are not like to go running around the kings forest with a bow, either." He proffered a friendly smile.
"It seems my companion and his friends had heard of a few rather," he paused for effect, "unique...locations in the hundred and as their interests lie in that area, seems they thought this would be a good place to start looking."
"News travels fast, to be sure, but I've been out of the village today. The Castellan is fond of 'is game, so he is, and it falls to me to make sure some reaches his table."
"Hmm... interesting places?" The idea seems to arouse a measure of mirth from the man. "We've plenty o' interesting places. What sort were you looking to find?"
"Well, Phaedrus is a bit of a queer duck, if I do say so myself. Some of his friends are stranger still. I get the idea that they will be wanting to find a place quiet and peaceful, but also interesting to them. You know, haunted groves and monster-ridden hills, fairy waters and the like."
The old man looks really quite surprised at this. He looks long and hard at Warren as though reassessing him for the third time this evening. "These friends of yours... I'll seem them at church tomorrow, will I?"
"Well, I'd not feel comfortable judging them, as the church and I aren't always on the best of terms either, but I did meet a man named Marcus that was clearly of the cloth. I imagine he'll be there." Warren thought back tot he assembled magi in the west room and tried to picture the group in the pews of a church. He shook his head, "I think they might hold services of their own, but I can't say for sure."
"Scholars. you say?" The man stroked his stubble again thoughtfully, "What are they looking to find around here? Are they seeking something in particular?"
"You have two things that the cities have less and less of, my friend." Warren held up two fingers in order to illustrate his point. "Peace and Quiet. I think they are hoping that the vale has someplace where they can pretty much be left alone, or at least, in peace."
The old man grinned. "Well, we've plenty of that in the Vale. I think you will find most parts hereabouts to your liking."
Warren laughed aloud, "Friend, I think what is to their liking and what is to my liking is like to be as different as day and night!" Warren grew a little bit more serious, "But there are benefits to every relationship."
"You say that the bailiff was out of sorts with something the Castellan said, and you said that news travels fast in these parts, friend." Warren smiled knowingly, "Surely, you must have an idea of what the two were at odds over."
"Well now, I don't know the details, but when I do, I'll be happy to have another chat with you," the old man replied.
At that, the old man stood up and returned to his labors, making it clear to Warren that the conversation was over. Warren knew that he’d come into this meeting expecting an unskilled clodhopper, but what he got was a man learned in a wisdom that Warren was not familiar with. As he stood up and walked back towards the road, to head back to the Three Lions Inn, he got the feeling he’d been bested when he expected to be the best. That made him just a touch uncomfortable, and he decided right then and there to learn whatever it was that this man was willing to teach him…or take whatever it was that the man was not willing to teach.
Category:1220
1220Q2
12200418