Residue of Sorrow

Bryn has to suppress a chuckle as he hears Arren swallow an expletive in his unintended reply, such is his surprise at the whisper. Unfortunately, the intended reply never reaches him, due to the late timing, but it doesn't matter. The three offer up a lot of information anyway, and Bryn is already on the case.

He listens to what the soldier has to say, and nods his agreement that he will keep silent about what he heard.

"Ok, yes, yes. For certain, I won't spread rumours. But please, could you tell me when these attacks happened, and which was first? It would be good to know which direction the perpetrator is heading, that way I can at least guide my brother-in-law on which route to take".

The following day, with no information regarding the purpose of meeting at the docks, Bryn has decided to dress down. His cargo pants  are now charcoal-grey breeches, a rugged pair of trousers with a dark brown leather patch sewn over the right knee to reinforce the fabric—a common habit for a clerk accustomed to kneeling at low shelves in damp archives. His tunic is a deep midnight blue, though only the collar and sleeves are visible beneath his studded leather armour.

Over it all, he wears his reversible coat, turned to the more common slate-grey side. Combined with a prominent ink-stain blooming across his left thigh, his appearance is designed to project the image of a mid-level clerk who has seen better days.

Not knowing whether they are due to leave themselves, he carries his backpack high and tight. Emil’s bow - lightly wrapped to conceal the glowing glyphs - is lashed vertically to the side of the pack, while his shortsword is tucked horizontally at the small of his back, invisible beneath the drape of his coat. One dagger sits at his left hip, ready for a quick cross-draw, balanced by a dark leather hip-quiver on his right. His other dagger is strapped to his calf.

As they approach the docks, the world turns to a grey soup. The fog is so thick it feels like a physical weight against the skin, and for a moment, the old instinct of a city-dweller - to squint and lean forward - takes hold. But as he steps onto the damp wood of the pier, something strange happens.

His eyes are still virtually useless, mostly blinded by the shifting wall of mist, but his mind begins to fill in the blanks with a terrifying, crystal clarity. He doesn't see the grain of the wood or the colour of the ropes, but he knows exactly where the coil of hemp sits to his left. He can feel the precise vibration of the boardwalk planks under Arren’s boots and the way the heavy air displaced by a passing dockhand curls around his shoulder. It is as if the fog has become a medium, a liquid that communicates the shape of everything within ten feet of him directly to his nerves.

He stops for a heartbeat, his breath hitching. The transition from blindness to this new, tactile vision is jarring,  even momentarily unsettling.

"The fog is thick", he whispers to Arren, his voice barely carrying over the creak of the boardwalk planks. He doesn't mention that for him, the nearest ten feet of the world has just become impossible to hide in. He just continues walking, getting used to this newfound capability.

When the massive Meyen ship looms out of the mist, it looks for all the world like a titan of the sea. Seeing the Commandant and the now-civilian Poule Tireur is a relief, though the sight of the empty-looking pack on the Drow’s back confuses him slightly. Perhaps his belongings have already been loaded, and the pack is just his carry-on.

"I had wondered if we’d see you again before you slipped away. A Meyen ship? You certainly have a flair for the dramatic exit, Liet... Mr Tireur", he says to the retired Lieutenant.

He glances at the Commandant, noting her shivering form. Despite his own chill, he offers a respectful nod. "Commandant", is all he says, his tone also respectful.

He turns back to the Drow, his expression softening. "A world shrouded in fog and a three-mast titan of the seas for your voyage home. A fitting finale to your time in Pyorre. I wish you a safe journey and a good life back in Mey".

He then stands back to let Arren have a private moment with his mentor, moving over to the Commandant.

"I didn't know whether this was a farewell, or a departure of our own", he admits, even as he extends his senses to take in their surroundings.

Arren continues listening to the trio as they answer Bryn's questions. Though nothing is certain, he is already mostly convinced that this is the same killer whose trail they have been following. And if that is the case, then the man has made it as far as Pyorre.

On the one hand, Arren feels some relief knowing that more soldiers will be sent to patrol the roads. On the other, the thought unsettles him. If any of them cross paths with the killer, they may well be walking to their deaths.

He shifts slightly in his seat, gaze unfocused for a moment as his thoughts turn inward. Will we keep finding bodies when we leave Pyorre? 

It would be a strange coincidence that they keep following the same route as the killer, though...

The day of the meeting at the docks, Arren is already dressed in his uniform, and he has donned his armor and weapons which, unlike Bryn's, are completely visible. Apart from the dagger he had kept hidden beneath his clothes during his days as a civilian in Pyorre, he now carries his usual longsword and a couple of javelins at his back.

Since he followed Bryn's advice not to modify Aegis in any way, he keeps it in a specially prepared backpack where only the scale is stored. He has altered the pack slightly—removing parts of the cloth so it remains open at all times, making it easier to reach in and draw the shield quickly if needed.

In another backpack, he carries the rest of his belongings: rope, wire, food ingredients, a healer’s kit… and a few more personal items he wouldn't want to leave behind, like Emma's recipe book, or his promotion papers. (ooc: I've set this up in his sheet)

During the past few days, he has also found the time to get a proper haircut. His raven-black hair had grown somewhat unruly, and now it feels better—shorter, more practical—for the journey that lies ahead.

As they walk along the docks and Bryn suddenly stops, commenting on the fog, Arren pauses and looks back at him. "You alright?" He glances around, squinting into the mist. "I can't see a thing either. Hopefully it clears soon."

A bit further along, shapes begin to emerge through the fog, and soon enough they spot the Commandant, and… is that Walnuts? Arren's face brightens, and he breaks into a broad smile. "I had hoped to see you one last time!" 

He turns to the Commandant. "Ma'am. Good to see you. You looked extremely busy the other day." He notices she looks in better shape now, and feels a quiet sense of relief.

His gaze drifts toward the looming shape of the ship, then back to Walnuts. "Isn't that the biggest, fanciest ship I've ever almost seen?" he jokes "I'll take your word for it that it has three masts, because I can’t even make out one."

He studies Poule for a moment. "I almost didn't recognize you without your uniform, s—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly. "…Poule." Then, gesturing lightly toward the Drow's pack,  "Aren't you travelling a bit light, though?"

Arren exhales slowly.

"Well… I suppose this is it, then."  A faint smile follows. "It's going to feel strange travelling all along Dite without you. I hope you take a good memory of us islanders back to Mey." 

He pauses. "You'll certainly be missed here."

The man hesitates at first, but after exchanging a few silent looks and nods from his companions, he answers: "The last one was just the other day, I believe. To the south." He won't answer any other questions on the matter, claiming the matter is still under investigation.

"Well, I wish I could say it's here for me alone," Poule answers, "but in truth, I'm just lucky they let me board with them. Ships don't travel this journey as often at this time of the year. That's why I was, at first, intended to retire only after the winter had ended. But the Commandant pulled some strings to secure me a cot on this mighty vessel, or so I was told. She insists that's not true."

"If I had the authority to get your meddling nose out of here faster, you'd have been long gone," the Commandant replies, in an uncharacteristic lighthearted tone.

"A bit light, yes. Well, I haven't exactly needed much during my time here that did not belong to the military, and all of that's been given away. But apparently, they're really strict about not bringing things from here back to Mey. Far more than I thought." He frowns briefly. "They told me they don't care what I do with it, but I can't bring with me anything that was created on this archipelago. Even my favourite shirt, which I bought here on the day of my arrival, had to be left behind. I've been paid enough in recent years that buying new clothes won't be an issue, but I still think they're overreacting here. I'm pretty sure my fancy ride just has extra rules."

While Arren and Poule say their farewells, Commandant Nattensbarn steps back as well. "That explains why the Sergeant is armed to the teeth, but not quite," she answers Bryn's remark. "And normally, I'd be stuck here for a few more days, even without everything that happened in Tus, with Emma, and in the mountains. I'll be leaving soon, but not today, and not on this ship. I'll explain a little more later."

After a few more minutes, it seems the dockhands' movement has slowed down a bit, as they're almost done loading the ship. "Come now," Commandant Nattensbarn calls. "We don't want to keep this man from boarding his ride home. And besides that, I'm cold. The Lieutenant would always pester me about my eating habits, so let's find something warm." She turns around, not waiting for anyone, and starts walking away.

Assuming they follow the Commandant (though they really don't have to), Bryn and Arren will be led to a nearby saloon, from which - they can almost be sure - one could see the ships leaving the dock on an unfoggy day. At least from where the Commandant sits, that is, facing the windows, forcing Arren and Bryn to sit with their backs to them if they wish to sit at the same table. The Commandant orders a small bowl of stew for herself and insists on paying if Arren or Bryn wish to eat as well, but she eats very little of it. "First, let me apologise for the other day. I thought I could spare the time during lunch when all of my superiors usually don't want to listen to anyone, but things turned out differently. Did you speak to Mrs Kone Peite in the end?"

"Sounds excessive," Arren agrees regarding the rules about leaving with anything made on the islands. "Does that apply to that rounded stone you took as well?" he asks curiously.

Arren lingers a moment longer with Poule, even after the Commandant has already turned to leave. Just long enough for a few final words and a proper farewell. He cannot help but feel a quiet sadness at parting from the companion he has felt most at ease with in his years serving in the military, and yet, he also feels happy for him. Poule has earned this. The rest, the peace… whatever comes next for him in this new chapter of his life.

As he watches the Drow go and turns to follow the others, the weight settles in. This is it. From now on, it will be just the three of them. What comes next they will soon see, but he still feels a flicker of doubt at the thought.

By the time he reaches the saloon, Commandant Nattensbarn has already taken a seat and ordered something warm. Arren does the same, with a small nod of thanks.

"We spoke first with Carmelo at the bakery," he begins. "He wasn't keen on us visiting his mother at first, but Bryn managed to convince him." 

He pauses briefly. "Mrs Peite is… deeply affected. She keeps to the house and leaves the bakery to her son. She's grieving, but also angry. She questioned why Tus wasn't prepared for a natural disaster. Why it had to happen at all. Not that she knows it wasn't a natural event at all, of course." He exhales quietly. "I think speaking about Tace, and going through his belongings, helped a little. But" he shakes his head faintly, "she'll need time."

He shifts slightly in his seat.

"We also heard of more killings. Near Pyorre this time." He glances toward Bryn, giving him space to add the details if he wishes. "Bodies found first in the east and then in the south of the city. The last attack happened shortly ago." A brief pause. "Which makes me wonder, which way are we taking then? Are we leaving tomorrow, instead of today?"

Bryn stands aside allowing the two soldiers to converse with their former comrade before he leaves, very much feeling like he is intruding on this gathering, but to their credit they do nothing to make him feel that way.

With the Commandant's reply about leaving, he does his best to decode her meaning, but figures all she had revealed very little with her comment. One more night in Pyorre at least.

When it is time to head away, he starts to wander after the Commandant after she makes a mere few steps, but briefly turns around and points a finger in the direction of the former Lieutenant. "I will do my best to keep them safe, but I really don't know what is to come. I guess none of us do", he whispers as a final goodbye.

He then hurries towards the saloon, sure in his footing and path due to the newfound spatial sense he has acquired.

He takes a seat on the table with the Commandant, happy to also order food and offering his thanks.

He allows Arren to report back on the meeting with Kone Piete, occasionally nodding in agreement but adding nothing himself. The same is true of the reports of the attacks, he remains quiet and allows the military hierarchy to take effect.

With the final question spoken into existence by Arren, one he himself is interested in, amongst others, he finds his voice.

"That is on my mind as well. The reason I am here at all is because these are potentially unusual times for you, Commandant. Is there anything you can tell us about what is going on?".

"Ah, yes, unfortunately," Walnuts answers. "They wouldn't let me take that either, so I had to give it to the Commandant." If Arren looks, he'll notice an incriminating round bump in the Commandant's small leather satchel. "I can't imagine she'll keep it for long, but she's thoughtful enough not to throw it away while I'm still looking."

Only in a city full of Elves, Drow and soldiers on night shifts does it seem reasonable that three people would want to eat stew so early in the morning, and that there'd be stew to serve them. The Commandant sits, holding the bowl to warm her hands - not quite eating from it yet - while listening to Arren's description of the meeting with Kone, and then what he learned about the killings. 

"I'll try to answer your questions, then, as much as I can. First, I never meant to leave today. As I told you before, even under normal circumstances, I'd have plenty more work to do before I could leave this place. When I wrote to you that day, I only meant to inform you about the Lieutenant's departure." She pauses, then reaches for her satchel and takes the Lieutenant's rock out of it. "Which reminds me, he had to leave this behind. Take it if you want, or throw it away. I want nothing to do with this." She lays the rock on the table, almost at the centre. 

"But circumstances weren't normal, and because of that, and following a chain of easily avoidable yet unfortunate events, I've managed to displease some of the higher-ups, losing consciousness during a meeting following what I believe was almost an entire day of consecutive meetings." She says all that with a straight face, in a matter-of-fact manner, as if this is just normal for everyone. "Hence, I've received my orders, and starting tomorrow, I'm going on a

Chapter 2: "Vacation"

At this point, seemingly for dramatic effect, the Commandant eats her first spoonful of the stew, chewing deliberately and focusing on the bowl alone, meeting neither Arren's nor Bryn's eyes for a few moments.

"Officially, anyway," she resumes. "In practise, as you can see, I'm not doing much today either. Anyway, while the end of this vacation was set to 'not before summer, at the very least', I can't go back to Mey either. So I'll be staying here, on Dite. I haven't had time to plan what I should do with this yet, but I don't think I'll stay in Pyorre for long. Maybe I'll head to Pohja; I did hear they have a magnificent theatre there."

"Naturally, Sergeant, your services aren't necessary while I'm on this vacation, but you won't be reassigned for such a short interval. If you want, I could try to recommend a permanent reassignment for you. A promotion of sorts, I suppose. However, I can't promise anything as to the nature of your new assignment, as I'm unlikely to have any significant role in the making of that decision. Alternatively, you may choose to wait until I'm allowed to serve again, going on your own vacation until then. You'll still be paid, but I imagine a little less than you are now."

She then turns to face Bryn. "As for you, it seems the Lieutenant's guesses were wrong. In any case, you're free to do as you please now. These are unusual times for me indeed, but perhaps not how you imagined. You said once that you live south of here, right? If you plan on going back home soon, I might accompany you part of the way, if you don't mind. That is, if I do end up heading to Pohja."

A spoonful of hot stew pauses midway to Arren's mouth when the Commandant so nonchalantly explains that she's been ordered to go on vacation because she collapsed during a meeting.

Who could have guess that could happen!

Outwardly, he only blinks once, his brows arching ever so slightly. He then finishes the mouthful, and is glad he does, because the words that follow do not sit well with him.

"A promot—" is all he manages before stopping himself, the rest of the word left hanging as he takes in how easily Commandant Nattensbarn makes it sound. Your services aren't necessary. The offer of a permanent reassignment, just like that. As if the past years amounted to little more than a line on a ledger.

Arren's gaze lingers on her for a moment too long. Then, as if catching himself, he looks away. Toward the stone resting at the centre of the table. He reaches for it, turning it in his hand, his thumb tracing its smooth surface as he steadies his thoughts.

When he speaks again, it is not to the Commandant, but to Bryn.

"This is an opportunity," he says. "To look into everything that's been wrong since we left Tus. For Emma. And for Kone and Carmelo as well."

A brief pause.

"I don't know about you, but I don't think I'll get a chance like this again. I'm in, if you are."

Bryn watches the Commandant closely as she speaks, his eyes tracking the stone as she places it on the table. He raises an eyebrow as she confesses to falling unconscious in a meeting, but doesn't comment. Even when she mentions a vacation. The Lieutenant had raised the potential of her taking one before, as a cover for something more.

He scans around the saloon, being as subtle as he can, to see if there might be anyone eavesdropping as the Commandant continues.

The mention of Pohja is not a surprise, knowing that was where Breithe Staidear re-appeared, so perhaps the start of the trail were she to go in search of him. But then she mentions Arren perhaps being re-assigned permanently, which he did find strange. But by finishing with the suggestion that she might accompany him on the journey south, it solidifies in his mind that this is all just an elaborate ruse. There is no way she would dismiss her Sergeant and then volunteer to travel with me alone. This must be a show for prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

He watches Arren's reaction, wondering if he was taking this seriously, or had his own suspicions. He sees the look the Sergeant gives the Commandant before picking up the stone.

"Yes, I did mention I was from the south", he replies firstly to the Commandant. "You are right", he adds, gesturing towards her with a finger. In that moment, he whispers, "You think someone is listening? This a pretence, right? No-one will hear you but me if you reply".

"I suppose I have nowhere else to go, in truth, so maybe if you do head to Pohja, we can travel that far together", he says out loud, before turning to Arren. "Of course, that is another intriguing suggestion".

He says no more for the moment, his next move hinging on whether the Commandant replies to his whisper, and what she says.

"It's an option, but only if you want it," the Commandant elaborates, seeing how Arren reacts to her suggestion that he'd be transferred away. "I'd personally prefer to have you as my reliable subordinate again when I return to service, but I won't ask you to put your career on hold just for that. You won't serve under my command forever either way, so if I need to search for two new guards, rather than one, I'd prefer to be informed sooner rather than later."

As Arren runs his thumb over the round stone, he traces at random at first. But, absentmindedly, while he's busy thinking about everything else, he starts tracing a particular path over and over. A line, somewhat short, and not entirely straight. Arren doesn't even notice that he's doing it, but as he is looking at Arren, Bryn will eventually notice the pattern. Bryn doesn't see anything that would catch his attention, though, around that area.

Although carrying a cautious feel to it, the Commandant's reply eventually arrives, audible only to Bryn. "Not with malicious intent, hopefully." Bryn doesn't see anyone who is clearly interested in their talk, but the saloon isn't empty either, at this point. And while he can't tell whether these people pay attention or not, surely at least some can hear this conversation.

"But as I said before, I haven't reached any final decisions yet." Although Bryn notices the somewhat common reaction to his spell of subtly checking to make sure her voice comes out properly when she speaks again, the Commandant does a mostly fine job in keeping a straight face despite his unexpected magical communication. "And I wouldn't be prepared to leave so quickly even if the decision was final. I haven't left Katto since I first landed on this archipelago, nor were any of my vacations this long." All of which, as far as Arren knows, were forced in a similar fashion, but were usually, as she said, up to a moon's cycle, at most. "I'm not even sure I have the clothes for such a journey, since I'll have to part with these after today. In fact, the only reason my vacation starts tomorrow, officially, is so I can hand back most of my things. That reminds me, you might want to take anything you've left in the carriage, today."

"I'd rather use this time to investigate on our own." Arren replies, looking questioningly toward Bryn. Then, back to the Commandant, "I will keep that in mind for the future."

Arren keeps running his thumb over the smooth stone, finding it works rather well as a kind of anti-stress ball. When the time comes to stand and leave the saloon—most likely to gather the rest of their things from the carriage—he absentmindedly pockets the stone in his coat.

Before they leave, and just in case they get separated, Arren asks Bryn where he is staying and tells him where he himself lives, so they can find each other easily.

The Commandant's whispered reply is enough to confirm to Bryn that something is happening here beyond the facade that she is presenting. As she elaborates on her situation, he nods along.

"It seems there is no rush for you to make your decision as to exactly what you will do. As for the carriage, I already took everything that is mine", he replies, before turning his attention to Arren.

As Arren speaks, his gaze drops to the Sergeant's hands. He watches the repetitive, rhythmic path Arren’s thumb is taking across the surface of the smooth stone. It’s too deliberate to be entirely random. While the surface looks plain to the casual eye, he notes the exact line Arren is tracing. A short, slightly crooked path that the soldier seems drawn to by instinct.

"I would be happy to help you, though", he says to Arren, regarding collecting his belongings. "It will give us a chance to discuss our plans for the next few days, and beyond, I suppose", he adds.

As Arren stands, he points towards the bowl of stew, which happens to be in the direction of Arren himself. "Are you sure you have finished?", he asks aloud, his voice casual. Beneath the cover of the gesture, he whispers, "I am not certain, but I think the Commandant is putting on a facade. Some misdirection perhaps? You know her better, but something to bear in mind". He is keen to let Arren know his suspicion before he leaves.

When Arren asks where he is staying, he is about to answer, but instead turns to the Commandant.

"Oh, before I forget, thank you for the meal", he says, before turning back to Arren and flicking his eyes towards the door. If they are being spied on, malicious or not, he is not keen to reveal where he is staying so openly.

Once they do leave, and within the safety of the fog, he will walk in silence away from the docks. At least it will appear to be silent to any casual observer. In reality, he will conduct a conversation with Arren through whispers, first providing an answer to Arren's question about his lodgings.

"It was a strange offer, her traveling with me alone. It would only sound plausible to someone who doesn't know how she truly feels about me. I think we were being spied on. And when I asked her, she replied 'not with malicious intent, hopefully'. I think she might have left something in that carriage that will explain".

Arren has already stood up and nods to Bryn's offer of help with the carriage. Then, as he is pushing his chair back in, he pauses midway, glancing at Bryn for a brief moment.

You think so? he replies in his mind, a hint of surprise in the thought. His eyes flick briefly toward the Commandant before returning to Bryn. I didn't catch that…

He finishes pushing the chair in and straightens.

"I’m finished, yes," he says aloud. Then, turning to the Commandant, "Thank you for the meal, ma'am."

Once outside, it feels strange to be walking and speaking only in their minds, but Arren answers nonetheless. He is already starting to grow more comfortable with the sensation. Well, I feel foolish now. I completely bought it. Good thing you were paying more attention than I was. A brief pause. Did you notice anyone suspicious?

As they walk toward the military headquarters, a shadow of doubt crosses Arren's mind. If Bryn is right, is it wise to leave the Commandant alone? But then again, staying would only make it harder to speak freely. And if something was left in the carriage, as Bryn suspects, they need to find it.

Commandant Nattensbarn stays even after Arren and Bryn leave. As she was speaking most of the time, she had barely touched her food. It seems unlikely that she would finish it, but she doesn't hurry out after being left alone, either.

It hasn't been very long since they entered the saloon, and so, when they leave it, Bryn and Arren find the fog has only barely dispersed, and yet they can see a little more than before. It is unlikely the fog will remain long into the day.

The two have only walked for a bit, still close to the harbour, when they suddenly hear quick footsteps and panting breath ahead of them, quickly approaching. Bryn, although still a little unused to his enhanced senses, is the first to see what Arren, due to the fog, is too slow to dodge. A person runs forward as quickly as they can, and does not see Arren in time to stop and runs straight into his hard armour, falling backwards upon impact, briefly dazed from the unexpected hit.

This gives Arren and Bryn a few moments to examine this person. A teenage girl - a Human - tears streaming from her eyes. But from the looks of it, she was crying even before she ran into Arren, although there's no doubt the hit must have hurt. She is dressed in a brown surcoat over a white kirtle, both of which are made from fine linen. Not the silks of the noble or the rich, perhaps, but still hinting at a good standing. She has straight auburn hair that reaches under her shoulders. She sits there disoriented and confused.

After a few moments, the girl finds her bearings again. She quickly rises to her feet. "Soldiers!" She calls, surprised and yet relieved. She grabs and tugs Arren's arm - not forcefully, but urgently. "M-My friend! He's in... he's in danger!" She tries to explain briefly, but still breathless and panicked, tears still flowing down her cheeks, she's a little hard to understand. "We- we were playing, a-and I... I d-dared him to go in! But he's still - he's still there! You must help!" She tugs Arren again, trying to get him to follow in the direction from which she came.

The combination of the fog and the thoughts Bryn has just planted in his mind makes Arren slow to react.

For a brief moment, instinct takes over the soldier. In his years in Pyorre, he's seen more than one "accidental" collision end with a missing purse. His hand moves to his pocket, checking that everything is still in place, and his fingers brush over the smooth stone tucked within one more time as he does that.

Then he takes a proper look at the girl. She looks far too distressed for this to be a ruse, but he can't help trying to judge whether she's being entirely honest.

Despite that, he doesn't step away and lets her hold onto him as he raises a hand in a calming gesture.

"Please, try to calm down," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "We will help. What happened exactly? Where did your friend go in? The more you can tell us, the better prepared we'll be."

(ooc: Insight check 17+1=18)

"No, no one suspicious", Bryn whispers back, just as his enhanced senses catch the rapid movement towards them. He has only a split second to step aside, watching as the blurred figure collides headlong into Arren.

A sharp niggle in the back of his mind warns him of a distraction or a classic bump-and-grab pickpocket. He watches the girl’s hands with predatory focus as she rebounds off Arren’s plate armour like she’s hit a stone wall. She clearly hadn’t expected a fully armoured soldier in the mist.

As the girl grabs Arren and begins her frantic explanation, he doesn't jump to comfort her. Instead, he extends his senses into the fog as far as they will reach, listening for the rhythmic breathing of a backup crew or the metallic click of a crossbow being cocked in the shadows.

Finally, he turns his cold, calculating attention back to the girl. He watches the tears flow, his suspicion unyielding. In his experience, tears are one of the most effective tools in the arsenal of charlatans and cutpurses - especially when wielded by the young or the seemingly helpless.

"Slow down", he finally says aloud, his voice devoid of the warmth Arren is offering. "Where is 'in'? And what makes this place worthy of a dare?", he says, lacing the words with thieves' tongue. "Is this a con?", is the subtext, to see if she reacts. Will her eyes flick towards an accomplice, or her facade drop even briefly?

He continues his focus on the girl, looking for any of the usual signs of a pick pocket, whilst not keeping his ears open to their surroundings.

Perception: 17+5=22

(OOC: Apologies for the delay, decided to go off the grid for my holiday, which was really good)

Arren feels that everything he had on him remained where it belongs. But theft, especially from a soldier, is a very big risk to take in Pyorre. Not that it had never happened before, and someone might not have known he was a soldier, with the thick fog hanging over the streets, but it is far from a daily occurrence. Still, being careful never hurts, and Arren had spent plenty of time outside Pyorre, where the law isn't always kept as strictly. But in any case, the girl seems genuinely distressed.

Bryn, meanwhile, doesn't hear any sounds that would hint at any danger, or accomplices. The street isn't completely empty, but there are only a few other than Bryn, Arren and the girl, and none of them sound suspicious to Bryn. One, who happened to hear the girl's cries for help, approaches out of curiosity, but is still a little distance away. Bryn doesn't notice Arren's belongings in the girl's hands or hidden between her clothes, since she didn't take them. If she understood his hidden message, she doesn't show it.

"The Bogey Burrow!" The girl blurts in reply, perhaps cutting the questions short, and without even making an effort to calm down. "We were playing! Mukan and I... and other friends. He said- he said he was braver than all of us! So I... I dared him to go into the Bogey Burrow. W- we waited, but as he didn't come out... Oh, I didn't mean for him to- to get hurt!"

Arren knows of the Bogey Burrow. It is a well-known cave, a little downstream of Pyorre, right by the riverbank. Not too far from where Bryn and Arren are, just a few minutes' walk. The cave is so close to the river that during times when the water level is a little higher, some of the water even flows in. This makes the stones there very slippery, and there are plenty of places to fall into, making the cave relatively dangerous. Many who have engaged in activities similar to the girl's friend have returned home with a broken arm or a leg. Plenty of warning signs are stationed nearby, but entry is technically not prohibited. The sound of the river that echoes through the cave can sometimes be mistaken for voices deeper in the cave. These "voices" gave birth to a folk tale of a bogey that haunts the cave, hence the name. And although no credible sightings of the bogey have been reported, most folk believe it to be true. The dangerous nature of the cave, with the potential presence of a haunting spirit to boot, has inspired many dares in the past.

((I leave it up to you whether or not Arren had gone in himself, in his youth. Either way, he wouldn't have seen any paranormal activity in there.))

"I was worried! Maybe he fell, or maybe... we called for him but he didn't answer so. Please, if something happened to him... be-because of me, I..."

All while she's talking, the girl mostly ignores Bryn, focusing on Arren alone.

"The Bogey Burrow!? For gods' sake, it's a dangerous place! Didn't you read the signs?" Arren begins, the words coming out sharper than he intends.

He's about to continue, but the memory hits him.

A younger version of himself, drawn by that same foolish courage, eager to prove himself so as not to be seen as the outsider with skin too dark and features not clearly belonging to one race or the other. His intentions had been cut short the day he saw a boy—not much older than him—carried away screaming, both legs broken.

Arren exhales, the edge leaving his voice now. "How long has Mukan been in there?" he asks the girl.

Then he turns to Bryn. "I know that place. A cave by the riverbank, not far from here. Slippery ground, plenty of places to fall. People call it the Bogey Burrow because the sound of the water echoes like voices deeper inside. Folk tales, but still dangerous." He pauses briefly. "You don't have to get involved, but I have to do this."

(ooc: Do we know if the water level is very high now?)

Bryn listened, his ears catching the frantic rhythm of her words. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that she was ignoring him entirely, but he remained attentive nonetheless. He was more confident now that this wasn't a set-up, at least not a typical one.

The name 'Bogey Burrow' intrigued him, though the reality of the danger didn't surprise him. As a man who had spent plenty of time manipulating the truth, he knew that a good legend was often just a colorful cloak thrown over a very mundane, very sharp rock.

When Arren suggested he needn't get involved, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "And pass up the opportunity to visit the 'Bogey Burrow' and prove my courage? My reputation would never recover".

He shifted his weight, intentionally gliding into the girl's peripheral vision. He was used to controlling the narrative, and her total dismissal of him felt odd, especially after his previous comment.

"And what shall we call you?" he asked, his voice smooth but firm when the gap in the conversation appeared. "If we’re to go diving into caves for this brave Mukan, it's only fair we know who we are doing it for".

Since Arren and Bryn passed by the docks, they could see the water level. Bryn wouldn't know, but Arren thinks it is slightly above normal. Not anything strange following a night of constant rain. Large ships that pass nearby also raise the water level momentarily, or rather, push more water to the sides. Arren would expect the cave to be wet and slippery, and some specific areas where the water drains to might be flooded, but there shouldn't be any place deeper than knee height, he assumes. Maybe other than certain holes, which aren't very wide to begin with.

Arren's initial sharp response only causes the girl to sob, muttering some apology, but she still clings to his arm and hopes that he will just follow her to the Burrow. "A- a few hours. We went there at night. We didn't think it would rain before, but- but Mukan said he'll do it anyway." Fitting for a haunted place, delving into it during the day couldn't possibly be frightening enough, so most expeditions of this sort are done at night. Since it's pretty dark inside the cave, however, the lack of sunlight makes very little difference.

The girl finally looks at Bryn, though only briefly. At first, rather than meet his eyes, she quickly looks at everything below his head. Checking what he's wearing, or perhaps, what he isn't? But despite her distress, she isn't without manners, and whether or not she thinks such formalities are necessary at this pressing moment, she meets Bryn's eyes and gives him her name. "M-My name is Eva, Eva Whitecloud." She makes an effort to give Bryn a very brief yet polite curtsy while holding firmly onto Arren's hand lest the soldier she sought disappear. In Levicka, even under these circumstances, such demeanour would mark her as the daughter of some noble family, as no peasant would be educated so. And while Bryn is still not familiar with Katton customs, his few interactions with Kattons, those that were 'normal' at least, didn't leave an impression of an overly polite people. 

Arren hasn't heard of the Whitecloud family before, and the girl's behaviour when addressing Bryn seems polite - certainly well educated - but not outright strange. He wasn't raised this way - his mother is a warm but direct person, and the word "polite" isn't one Arren would choose to describe her - but those from wealthy families often were.

Once she has acknowledged Bryn's existence as courtesy demands, however, she quickly turns her attention back to Arren. "Please, I'll- I'll answer any of your questions, just... just ask them on the way, please."

Arren gives Bryn a thankful nod when he says he'll check the Bogey Burrow as well. He had hoped he would come, but didn't want to force it upon him—only Arren had the obligation, after all.

He then turns to the girl, Eva, offering her a reassuring glance. "Don't worry. We'll go look for your friend," he says, giving her hand a brief squeeze before gently easing his from her grasp.

As he starts making his way in the direction of the cave, he asks, "Did your friend bring any sort of light? Or can he see in the dark?"

Turning to Bryn, he adds, "As I thought we would be leaving today, I brought a good part of my equipment. But nothing that will help us see better inside the cave, unfortunately. We’ll have to rely on our darkvision."

Then he considers the water level, given the recent rains. "The rain from these past few days won't help. The cave will be even more slippery, and I wouldn't be surprised if some areas are flooded. Nothing deeper than our knees, hopefully, except perhaps the occasional hole."

He turns once again to Eva. No way she'll want to go home and wait there.

"I'll need you to wait well away from the cave, all right?" he says. "One teenager in danger is already too many."