Kindling

[Running]

Candlelight flickered on oakwood. Fire blazed in the hearth. Glasses clinked, boots thrummed against the floor. Voices, some calling out for another pint, others singing raucously, occasionally in tune. Shadows swayed and crossed the wavering light.

In one corner at a scratched and nicked, but clean table sat a cloaked figure, hood drawn up and face cast into shadow. Worn leather gloves extended along forearms to palms, fingers left bare. A tankern held in one hand, a pen in the other, which scratched and scribbled along a roll of parchment. Far from an unusual sight in these parts: while the bulk of the crowd was comprised of revelers, dancing and singing and chattering, there were plenty of those who drank in silence, lost in their own world.

Let them see what they want to see.

Beneath the hood of her cloak, the young woman's eyes surveyed the tavern, picking out details and gestures and facial expressions. Fragments of conversations drifted toward her. Every now and then her attention would flick toward the entrance as a bell rang and the door flew open, letting in a gust of icy wind. Winter hadn't truly begun, not yet, but frost had seized the grass the past morning, and the trees clung to the few fragments of their former regalia of foliage. A high note of a fiddle rang through the air, sudden and sharp, melding with the shriek of a wind gust as the door slammed open once more, and she entered.

~~~

Shay put down her pen and rolled up the scrap of parchment, slipping it under her cloak and into a pocket on her vest. She continued to watch the crowd, every so often faking a sip from her tankard. Quite a variety drawn here tonight, messengers and farmers and soldiers and fishermen, smiths and bounty hunters and travelers.

A small smirk crept across her face as spotted a woman picking up her fiddle and bringing her bow to the string

Any moment now...

((Ooc: I might rework this later to fit in the whole computer science style idea, but I'm still working on developing that. For now, you get a little of Seghuin's writing style)).

[Dreamer]

Ariadne picked at her thick cloak as she strode briskly along the roadside. It was dark, darker than Ariadne liked, and in this part of town, far from where she was more accustomed to spending her life, she had to be careful. That was why although her cloak was thick, it was of cheaper material than she normally wore, as was the outfit beneath. Along with those precautions, she had also removed all her jewelry, not that she had a huge amount, but more than several of the inhabitants of the lower areas of the city. Working at a wealthy merchants house gave you that at least.

The young woman dodged past a group of unsteady men, staggering away into the night with rowdy songs on their lips. She shook her head slightly in disgust as she paused in front of the door of the tavern. Not that the tavern itself was a problem, for taverns of the like, it was relatively clean and well kept, but the scent of unwashed flesh and drunk individuals was a cloying constant. After all the time she had spent in this world, one would have thought she would have gotten used to it, but it did not seem to be the case.

Another gust of wind blew past her, and with a sigh she reached to open the door. It slammed open, and the conflicting rush of warm air blew her loose hood back to reveal the waves of mouse-brown hair that swept down past her shoulders. The candlelight, bright compared to the darkness of the outside made her squint, faint lines tracing her youthful features as she tugged her hood up again.

However unlikely that it was that someone would recognize her, she didn't particularly want anyone to notice her too much. But then putting your hood up inside could almost be a signal to be watched... ahh she could honestly care less about that for the moment. Right now she was here to talk.

Stepping to the side of the door, Ariadne directed her gaze around the edge of the room. Though they had known each other once, she and Shay had never expected to find each other face to face, and after Shay had discovered her, Ariadne had been ecstatic to find someone else to share in her feelings. Boy were those feelings varied. Triumph, amazement, confidence, surprise, fear, loneliness... but Shay would always be better at hiding her emotions. She was better at hiding in general as well, which was why Ariadne looked in the edges of the room.

Spotting her fellow writer she waded her way through the people in the room, slipping past tables and drinkers, to stand before the quiet woman.

"Hello Shay, lovely evening isn't it."

Ariadne's blue-grey eyes gleamed with amusement as she seated herself across from the messenger.

[Running]

Upon the first high note of the fiddle, the wind howled as the door swung open, and the runner grinned as she spotted her friend enter the tavern.

Right on time.

She did not signal to Ariadne, assuming that the scribe would find her sooner rather than later. While the tavern was crowded, it was of a limited volume, after all, and it wasn’t like she would be lounging right at the bar or milling amongst the drunken dancing crowd.

Funny, how her location of choice was a tavern of all places, for it was true that she was not one to typically inhabit such locales. It seemed the wisest choice, especially considering they were less likely to be traced, and besides, it would have been more conspicuous to meet in a finer establishment, for most common laborers who did not work for a particular family were considered rather low-class in these parts, and free messengers such as her were included in that number. Okay, she could have written something to get around that, but she didn’t want to always push her luck like that.

Still, a part of her remained uneasy as her grip tightened on her mug. In college she had avoided the party scene as much as
possible, uncomfortable and anxious with throngs of drunks and reek of alcohol, eyes squinting as lights flashed and ears throbbing at the blaring music. Well, at least here the chaos was slightly more controlled, although there was always the risk of a fight, and she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with all the people around, even with the safeguards she had written. It was a habit long cultivated. On some runs at home she would sometimes wear more baggy clothes, or at least ones that were not pink or light colors, and hide her long hair in her hat if it was cold. It wasn’t too difficult with her boyish frame. A similar principle applied to her current attire. Beneath her cloak she wore the travelers gear typical of those in her profession, leather, lightweight but at least affording some protection and warmth. On shorter trips she tended to wear the uniform most associated with her city’s messengers: a tunic and skirt, deep red and black and emblazoned with an orange falcon, but one could not afford to wear such colors when traversing perilous territory. There was something comforting about her cloak, her armor, the daggers hidden in her wrist-guards. A costume, both the truth and a necessary
lie.

At last her friend found her, sitting in the single chair opposite the runner.

"Hello Shay, lovely evening isn't it."

“If you’re in favor of perilous sailing exploits, perhaps. Although,” she rested her chin upon her hand. “There are legends of those who travel best upon the gale, swift in the tumult that brings other great warriors to their knees. One with the wind and sky, you might say.”

She shook her head, offering what might have been a smile.

“Glad to see you made it here in one piece.”

It was a godsend to have a friend, someone to commiserate and plot with. Face it, how long would she have lasted in a world where she could manipulate reality itself, but was utterly alone? She might put up a strong front, but she needed a sense of belonging. Of knowing someone did care about her, because of friendship, rather than anything she had written in. Aldwin was a good friend, but he was nevertheless her creation, as was their friendship in the first place. The same could be said of the comradery of the messengers, just a reflection, a shadow of the joy and bonds she shared with her teammates in her former life. It was real and not real.

Still, that meant that a person she cared about was also granted with a gift and curse, depending on your current mood that day. And she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt any time she wished that some of her other friends were also here alongside her. A fantasy world of dreams and magic, yes, but was the journey worth it if you couldn’t return?

[Dreamer]

Ariadne couldnt help but settle into a slightly more comfortable pose. Sure her natural nervousness and paranoia was still there, she would have never been able to survive initially without it, but now that she was with ehr friend she could relax slightly. That didnt keep her from being pleased she could still keep a watch on the doors though. Couldnt hurt to be cautious right?

At her friends words she raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly.

"Oh did you think I couldnt handle myself?"

Ariadne could sometimes be considered a complex person. Sometimes responding with sarcasm, sometimes with genuine care and sweetness it was hard to know what you would get from her depending on what tickled her fancy. In any case however her lively attitude would make sure to assert itself.

Letting her hood fall to her shoulders, it was too warm in here anyway, she signaled one of the barmaids. Of course she had to signal multiple times, curse her shortness, but the maid eventually saw her. Ariadne ordered a hot cocoa curtly, and the woman went bustling back to the kitchen. She needed something warm and sweet smelling to mask the pungent scent of alcohol which had set her head swimming.

Some might have called her upbringing and college experience sheltered and limited, but Ariadne was grateful for it. That and she an introvert anyway, people in general could sometimes make her skittish if they were too demanding or in too large groups. However with a few friends, or even one person like Shay, she was in her element.

A bright smile filled her face as she turned back to her friend.

"So how's everything going in Sidero? Have your messenger runs been safe?"

If anything Ariadne was not great at starting conversations, but once you got her on a tangent you were likely to have a long debate on your hands. That said she also enjoyed merely listening to others as well. It was boring when a conversation was one sided.

As she waited for her friends response she swept her hair back behind her ears, reaching her hands into her coat and bringing out a small parchment and a simple nondescript pen. She enjoyed quills, mostly because she was trying to improve her penmanship, she had horrible handwriting, thankfully her writing powers meant nobody noticed even if she was supposed to be a scribe, but whenever she held a pen old habits came back and her writing became cramped and mangled. For now she wasnt writing anything in particular, just keeping the parchment out in case something struck her fancy or she needed to quick talk her way out of a situation. Or rather quick write. She twirled her pen in her hand absently, when another question came to mind.

"Have you managed to locate any other writers? Like mutual friends or even ones I might not know?" 

Ariadne hoped that if Shay could find personal friend, maybe that meant that some of Ariadne's own friends were here too. If that was the case not only did she need to find them and protect them, she could use the manpower as she and Shay sought to find a way home. More writers could offer more clues. Considering the large pantheon of the world (which apparently she was a part of) it was entirely possible there could be other writers, friends and strangers in the world. It was a hope at least.

[Running]

Seghuin couldn’t help but pout a little as her friend ordered hot cocoa. While she certainly could afford it, someone of her supposed station buying such a drink could draw unwelcome attention. She’d rather play it safe.

She answered her friend’s second question first.

“I’ve found none. I’m assuming it’s the same for you?” she said, trying to keep her voice level, although the bitterness and frustration leaked through nonetheless. She faked another swig of her tankard.

“My runs have been safe, for the most part. The-the Goddess protects us,” she said, voice catching a little. It felt odd, even wrong to say the words spoken by every messenger. Back home, she hadn’t been particularly religious -not an atheist per se, but more of someone who hoped there was something out there but didn’t adhere to any tenets. Being part of a group that was entrenched in such traditions and beliefs, even if they were sometimes rather lax, just felt off. Probably what disturbed her more, however, was the likelihood that she was the subject of worship.

The Safeguard. How messengers could pass through the wilds with little harm, bypassing the bandit-laden roadways. She knew somehow this power came from her. It wasn’t a conscious thing, exactly, unaccompanied by any sudden warmth or shock or anything else that she thought would indicate power. Just this certainty, this feeling within that she was the source.

It made sense-after all, hadn’t she had the idea for a fictional world where messengers had special privileges and protections? And now here one was, and in a world where she have proven she could alter reality with writing. Still, what bothered her about it all? Was it the fact that she hadn’t been able to generate anything close to that magnitude since her arrival in this world? Or the fact that she didn’t understand the mechanics of her powers, or why certain things she wrote manifested while others remained dead on the page? Or what would happen to this world if she did leave, or worse, was killed? Would it make a difference? After all, many stories generally were passed from person to person, gaining a life of their own and persisting long after their writers died.

It came down to that, then. With most of her writing, she felt like she was a creator, linked to what she made and able to guide it, but anything she made had a life of its own, able to persist without her. With this power, she was more of an energy source, the existence of it linked directly to her.

She shook her head, realizing that she had lapsed into silence for at least a minute.

“We’re protected, but protection has consequences.”

“There are whispers the roads grow more and more perilous. Demand for messengers has risen. I expect you know more than I about the state of trade and banditry,” she nodded to the scribe.

“If we’re not careful, the messengers will truly become the link between the nations of Albedon. Some among our number welcome it, as it could strengthen the prestige of the messengers, earning them the respect they lack, particularly in some regions of the land. After all, their protection does not extend into cities or into the consequences of class and economics. However, if too much energy is concentrated entirely into one channel, even a resilient one, striking it could spell doom. Of more than one nature, perhaps.”

What if dark forces truly concentrated their energy on the runners? Would the protection hold? Or if her hypothesis about the connection between her and the Safeguard was true, what would happen if she was harmed?

Seghuin knew better than to hope that that wouldn’t happen. Murphy’s law was a powerful thing. Sometimes she had employed it to her advantage, or found skilled ways to work around it, but they were often easier contemplated than completed.

[Dreamer]

Ariadne smiled gratefully as a barmaid set her hot chocolate in front of her. As her friend spoke, Ariadne wrapped her hands around the warm, nearly scorching cup, inhaling the scent of chocolate and milk. So much more appealing than tangy stench of alcohol.

Shay answered her question about writers with a negative, and Ariadne frowned. She had hoped that her constantly traveling friend would have had more luck in the department of finding writers... but then again with the magic of this world manifesting it was hard to tell who was just an expert at their trade and who had the powers of a writer. She sighed, hunching slightly over her cup.

"No, no luck here... I feel like there must be at least one more writer in the city, there are things happening, forces that are moving that arent under my control. Nothing necessarily evil or against me, just... not me. Granted that might be Morgana, she kind of has way more power here than I would have expected..."

She trailed away as Shay continued to talk about the Messengers, and how the road was getting more and more dangerous. It was disconcerting to think that her friend and other messengers could be in increasing danger.

"Trade seems to be suffering somewhat, but that is also quite possibly the expansion of the Weald, and the necessity for new roads to be built and manned. Whatever drives the Weald and its expansion is getting worse.

Thankfully, Shay's powers were keeping people safe but... what would happen if she were hurt. Ariadne sat up quickly, her eyes wide.

"Wait, what would happen if you if we were ever hurt? If you got hurt, would the power protecting the messengers disappear?"

The thought was disconcerting, terrifying. 

(Ahhhh so shooooort)

[Running]

Shay was silent as her friend discussed the Weald's impact on trade. Her hood shadowed her face. As her friend jolted in alarm, she chuckled softly interlocking her fingers as she did so (she had been practicing that chuckle for some time and was pleased with its results).

"Now that is a theory I would rather not test."

Of course, Shay suspected that such a scenario, or something uncomfortably close to it, would eventually come to pass. Perhaps it should be said that Murphy's law was the true god of Albedon. No, that was a simplification, a model, if an occasionally useful one. Other forces held sway here. Place enough of a story dependent on her survival, come up with alternate endings to attacks she might face...

True, directing the future was absurdly difficult. Stories tended to flow their own way, after all, especially when Concurrence was involved. Still, she was certainly capable of putting some pieces into place.

"Although the true problem is that I would be dead. Rest assured I have other plans."

Not that she would verbalize such plans; at least not yet.

She considered Ariadne's suspicion about another force present in Eoghan. Her friend has centered her power and focus upon one city for the most part, a reasonable writing strategy, albeit different from Shay's far-strung forays. Each strategy could uncover matters the other would overlook.

"Do tell more about this Morgana."

Shay grinned. In a way, she was doing little more than her duty as a messenger by asking such a question. Range messengers, and especially scouts such as herself, were encouraged to wander around towns and haunt taverns out of uniform, picking up snippets of information, possibly dropping items of news themselves. The vast distances they traveled made them useful informants indeed, although it varied by organization how exactly said information was used.