Rattle and Shake

Log Info

• Title: Rattle and Shake
• Emitter: Vaalyun
• Characters: Erakirak (Rgr3), Iskandar (Ftr2/Swb2)
• Place: A market town outside Alexandrea
• Time: Jul 5, 2018
• Summary: It's market day! Everything is fun and games, until people start taking ill.

A few days ride from Alexandrea, a local town is having their annual market fair. The mood is celebratory, and while there is the obligatory toll on the bridge into town - designed to take advantage of those visiting - all are welcome, provided they keep the peace, and weapons are peace-bonded into the scabbards for all who visit. Merchant booths, selling a wide variety of foods and drinks and rare and exotic materials are on display, a panoply of colors and fashions as merchants from all over the continent continue their annual travels from place to place, hawking their wares and making what coin they can. Bards of all kinds - musicians and fire-swallowers, jugglers and sword-swallowers, flaming sword-swallowers... all are on display. Only the town drunk, holding down his usual place in the pillory, doesn't seem to be having a good time, and even he is being pelted with a better quality of vegetable than usual.

Erakirak stands awkwardly some distance away from the crowd, standing _extremely_ still, and watching everything like... well, like a hawk. Like a falcon, more precisely, which is what the young Egalrin most resembles, although the hawk on his shoulder is watching everything in much the same way. He seems decidedly uncomfortable.

Iskandar's only visible weapon is the great bow he wears slung across his back, but he's more than willing to let his small quiver of arrows be peace-bonded. Once this is done he moves out into the market, looking around to take in the various wares on display with a look of satisfaction.

WHOOSH! A plume of flame shoots upwards from one of a troupe doing fire displays, a flammable liquid blown from the bard's mouth onto a small torch. Behind him, a female bard dressed in the same brightly-colored motley juggles flaming torches of her own. Soon, they turn towards each other and begin to double juggle, the torches moving so fast that they seem to blur into two long lines of flame. A crowd has gathered around, oooh-ing and aaah-ing at the display, the sort of thing that a town like this probably only sees at market time - the rest of the year some journeyman with a lute is probably about as good as they rate.

Erakirak jumps back a foot or two with a flare of his wings when the flames go off. He's here to get used to being around humans in a relatively harmless environment, in a small town where things aren't quite so overwhelming as in Alexandria. He's... not sure it was a great idea, to be honest, but he's determined.

Iskandar jerks at the fire but then once he realizes what is happening his grin only broadens. "Bravo!" he shouts encouragingly. "Well done!" He turns this way and that to orient himself and then heads over to what he takes to be a vendor selling food.

In the crowd, a mother cradles her baby in her arms. The little pink fist of the child can be seen going towards its mouth before there is a wet *CAH-CAH* cough sound. The mother tries to soothe the child, but it isn't helped when an older woman a few people back also coughs, a more hacking sound. Suddenly, it's a bit of a chorus of it. Wet, hacking coughs. Then there is a shout, and the crowd recoils back. One elderly man - a town elder by his burgher hat and robes - is bent in half, and a scarlet stain spreads on the cobblestones at his feet. Blood.

It doesn't take long before someone screams, "PLAGUE! DAEUS SAVE US, IT'S THE PLAGUE!"

Erakirak backs away from the crowd, rapidly. Not that he was especially close to begin with, but he has no desire to mess with the plague, or whatever strange human illness this is.

"Plague? Plague?!" Iskandar turns towards the source of the cries. "Give them room! Bring a priest!" He seems torn between pushing his way in that direction or staying where he is. "Everyone stay calm!" he bellows. It might be more effective if his own voice didn't seem so excited.

Erakirak regards the coughing humans more skeptically, and clacks his beak in negation. "Not plague," he says, sounding definitive.

People do get back, and there's a risk of a stampede, but the festival guards - mostly armed with quarterstaves and truncheons, and there to keep the drunks from getting too rowdy, step in quickly to prevent a crush. A man in a truly impressive furred hat, and with a chain that marks him as the Mayor - whatever they might call that here - shouts, "CLOSE THE GATES!" Someone does go running towards the local Temple, seeking a healer.

Unfortunately, this is a relatively small town, and while there are both Mourners and Hearthguard present, none are clerics, and they look either painfully young or approaching their dotage and sent out to rusticate. Someone helps the Elder to a seat, and there are a few others coughing, mostly the young and the old. It doesn't bode well, as there seem to be coughs coming from a few of the older priests, as well.

Erakirak watches carefully. He's always wondered how Walkers can live in such crowded dwellings without constantly facing epidemics, and now he has confirmation that really, they can't. Still, he's curious as to what this illness actually is... it's nothing he's any familiarity with. He pays close attention to how it seems to spread through the population... are people picking it up from one another this quickly? Or is it localized in a particular region?

Iskandar looks at the priests expectantly. His expression freezes when they don't immediately begin chanting and casting spells. And then his face falls when they themselves start to cough. "The gates...?" he turns to look in that direction. "Did they say close the gates?"

Erakirak nods. Sensible enough... if there's an illness spreading, best to keep it confined to within the gates. That said, he also looks around for high spots, rooves of buildings and the like, that he can use as launching-off points to glide over the gates, if _he_ decides to leave.

The guards begin encouraging those who have lodings in town to go to them. Things start to empty out a bit, though those who are coughing are asked to remain. One of the priests - a nun, actually - wears the insignia of the Hands of Ithildin. She is older, and her robes are as scrupulously clean as might be expected from one of that order. She glances over at Iskandar, and says in an accent that is pure Alexandrean, "Of course they're closing the gates. If it is a plague, we can't have it spreading." She's got the sleeves of her robes rolled up, and says, "This isn't THE plague, though. Althea knows what exactly it is, but not a single one of them has a fever."

Iskandar looks impressed. "That's good to know. Then what could it be?" He sniffs at the air. "Something in the smoke? Out of those who were stricken...are they all the old and the young?" He peers about to try and size up those who are still here and showing signs of coughing, looking for signs of a pattern.

Erakirak approaches the sensible-sounding human. He knows nothing of the Altheans, but he knows enough to recognize a healer when he sees one, if only from the the lack of dirt under her fingernails. "Agreed, it is not. You have not seen it before, then." It isn't a question. "It is spreading very quickly."

"I am Manus Sybell." The nun says, as she steps away, "I don't think it's spreading. Everyone is reporting having a cough for some few days, getting progressively worse. So, they all picked it up from the same place, and they're all from here. A plague we would expect to have come in with a traveler and spread from there. So, it's something here. But they live in different houses, on different streets, some are rich, some are poor..."

GAME: Erakirak rolls perception: (18)+11: 29

GAME: Iskandar rolls perception: (3)+8: 11

Erakirak nods, and his feathers smooth out a bit as he seems to relax a bit. "Human neighborhoods," he confirms, "the rich and the poor do not live near each other, correct? So. Not a fungus bloom or underground vent or anything of the sort. What do you do communally: bathe? Eat? Drink? Pray"

Iskandar holds out his hands helplessly. "If this has been going on for days, and the sick are getting worse, then perhaps it is too late for closing the gates." He tilts his head to one side, considering. "Perhaps you do want people to get out - to a larger city, for help."

As the Manus explains the arrangement, Rak continues to scan the town, pacing around. Then something catches his attention, and he moves far more quickly towards a well visible on the other side of the central square.

"I doubt the Mayor will be convinced so easily." Manus Sybell says, with a shake of her head, "We don't do any of those things communally. Though the neighborhoods are really only streets here. This isn't Alexandria. We don't have wards." She motions towards the town, which spreads out from the square where they're standing and could be walked across in the course of an hour, if one took a pleasant stroll.

Iskandar turns in a slow circle to look around. His gaze runs across Erakirak and with nothing better to do, Iskandar follows him towards the well. "What is it?" he says. "Something that might explain this mystery?"

Erakirak gives a one-winged shrug. "I don't know. But a common illness means a common source. I only see one well. It's a place to look, no?"

Erakirak nods. "Something dead, I think." He tests the rope. If it looks strong enough to hold his weight he climbs down it to investigate. If not, he pulls a rope out of his pack and affixes it to something secure, and does the same thing.

Iskandar eyes the confines of the well with a shudder. "You're going -down there?" he asks, giving Erakirak a measuring look. Then he grasps the rope, looping it once around a bracer and then getting a good grip on it with both hands. "If you need to be pulled up in a hurry," he explains.

The rope holding the bucket probably isn't secure enough, but with a little help, a new rope is quickly rigged up. It's dark as the inside of a boot down there, at least once you get down thirty or forty feet. It's a well, so it's quite deep, and there are no dogs around to summon help.

Erakirak nods, appreciatively. "Yes. Easier to see what there is to see if closer." He climbs down for a while, then back up. "Easier to see what there is to see with light," he adds, tying a loop around his waist and removing a torch from his pack.

The well is deep and old. It was probably dug when this town was built, and soon the torch is very necessary, as the light of day fades. The rope, fortunately, is more than long enough, and as you go down further, the stench grows. Eventually, the man-made well turns into the natural rock walls of the spring.

GAME: Erakirak rolls perception: (6)+11: 17

One of these things is not like the other. The torch lights on a growth of mushrooms against the wall, right at the waterline. They are short and fat, with a black cap covered with small, white spots. And they stink of rot. On the bright side, there isn't a body floating in the water.

Erakirak calls up. "Ah. Some kind of fungal bloom, it seems."

GAME: Erakirak rolls knowledge/nature: (16)+4: 20

Selerik has left.

Iskandar at first remains at attention at the top with one sandaled foot braced against the side of the well to hold himself steady if he has to pull. As the seconds stretch into a minute he straightens and peers over the edge to look down...

Erakirak cuts one of the growths off with his knife, holding the torch in his left hand and counting on the rope knot to hold him. Then he climbs back up, calling to Iskandar to pull as well.

"The well is tainted," he calls out in a loud clear voice. "Blackscour mushrooms," he adds, holding up the growth he cut. "That's why you are sick. Do not drink from it." He looks to the Manus, hoping she'll know more about blackscour.

A few of the priests help Iskandar so that Erakirak gets back up to the surface in the shortest possible time. Manus Sybell is waiting, and looks at the mushroom when they arrive, "Damn." she says, succinctly. "That is blackscour."

Erakirak nods.

"Blackscour?" Iskandar repeats. "That sound ominous." He turns towards Manus Sybell. "What is it? I've never heard of such a thing. Granted, I'm. ot an expert in such matters."

Sybell holds the mushroom out and lets Iskandar take a sniff. It smells like rotting corpses. "It grows deep below ground. If you eat it, or drink water it's been in, it causes necrosis - death of the flesh in the throat and lungs. That's why the coughing, and the blood. But how did it get down there?"

"I assume," Rak replies mildly, "that whoever dug your well breached the roof of an underground cavern, which connects to a broader cave network, and the mushrooms grew up from there. How long ago was the well dug?"

Iskandar frowns, rubbing his chin. "That's a shame." He looks at the mushroom sample. "But is it curable? Will they...will they recover?" He drops his voice as he says the last part to a solemn whisper.

"There is a cure. But it's very difficult to make. I think we have almost all of the ingredients, but there is one that would be... difficult to find." Sybell explains. "Otherwise, the oldest and youngest might not recover. Those in good health will be fine in time."

Erakirak considers. That the old die is the natural order of things, of no great concern. But the fledglings must be protected. "What ingredient?"

Iskandar nods in approval at Rak's question. Iskandar senses a quest! And best of all, a worthy one, to help the sick the way a true hero would. "It may be difficult to find, but we won't let that stop us."

Erakirak looks skeptically at Iskandar. If it's difficult enough, he'll let that stop him... especially if he's not being paid... but there's no reason to mention that.

"Elderwood moss." The Manus replies, "As I'm sure you know, it grows only on the oldest tree in the forest. Where that is... I have no idea."

GAME: Erakirak rolls knowledge/nature: (1)+4: 5 (EPIC FAIL)

Iskandar nods in understanding. Well of course she doesn't know. That would make it too easy to even call a Quest! But all he says out loud is, "Elderwood moss. We won't return without it." Without thinking of the myriad of ways such a comment could be interpreted he turns to get his bearings, then faces the gate. "Shall we?" he asks Erakirak.

The feathers above Rak's eyes shift in a way very reminiscent of a human raising an eyebrow. "After you," he says drily, and follows, curious as to just where the tall human thinks he's going.