Logs:We're Really That Cut Off?

From From Dusk till Jawn
Jump to navigation Jump to search

Part of Plot: Deep Roots, Weak Branches

Cast

Mearcstapa, Mel Joyner, Sigrún Ljósdóttir

Setting

The Scrivener's Cottage, Autumn Hollow

Log

The general state of the trod has affected the Autumn Hollow and its fruits, but you know what isn't wilty? The sunflowers and marigolds outside the Scrivener's office. There's a small chalkboard with a note that reads 'The Scrivener is In' on the door of the deep teal cottage. He's left word on one of the common area bulletin boards that he has what Sigrun asked for and would she please stop by at some point? But for the moment, he's hanging out inside, making sure his paperwork is organized, and brewing tea on a small stove that warms the entire cottage.

Being expected is a nice change. This time when Sigrun rides in off the trod, nobody's accosting her. She still dismounts from Frygg and hands the reins off to one of the pages before tugging off her helmet, shaking out her hair a bit, and tucking her helmet under arm to walk her way towards the Scrivener's hut once more. She knocks three times before stepping back from the doorway.

Mel hasn't needed much Thornside outside of their own Hollow for a few days, so when they do decide to see what all is going on in the greater changeling world, the changes come as quite a surprise. And not the good kind of surprise. Then again, surprises in the Hedge are rarely good ones.

So they head towards the Autumn Hollow, hoping to find someone there with a bit more of an idea of what's going on.

Mearc moves to answer the door. For all the dignity he's trying to manage, he's still dressing the same; T-shirt, cargo pants. Stocking feet, with his shoes tucked up against the wall nearest the door. His hair is pinned out of his face with a pair of bobby pins on either side--it seems he's growing it out. He looks over Sigrun's outfit, trying to judge if asking her to take her shoes off is an unreasonable request, then notices Mel over her shoulder. "Hey, been a while, you."

Her boots lace up to almost her knee. So taking them off would be a bit of an involved enterprise. But she's also from Minnesota, so she'd probably apologize after doing it. She just stares up at Mearcstapa from the ground before his stoop, helmet under her arm, polite smile on her face. "Gotcher message, Mearc. Figured I'd swing by to see what you learned and then the funniest thing happened!" She gestures around at the devastated native fruits and growth.

Mel freezes for a brief moment when Mearc notices them, an ingrained reaction that it takes them a moment to shake off. Then they nod, both as a greeting to both Mearc and Sigrun and in agreement with Sigrun's statement. "I've not been around in a few days. Has something happened?"

He shrugs slightly. "Seems like something has. I've been digging into some other things lately, honestly, haven't had time to get a close look at things--is the Summer hollow like this, too? I really, really don't go visiting there very often. If I did, someone might want me to spar! But, uh...I've got enough teacups for both of you, if you'd like to come talk? That is, Sigrun, if you don't mind me sharing what I found with more than just you, of course."

"What I asked was for the benefit of the Freehold as a whole, so I don't mind at all. Just trying to put my best talents to use." She looks aside to Mel, dipping her head to them respectfully. "I'm lousy with names and faces. If we've met before, I apologize. I'm Sigrun Ljosdottir, Huntress of the Longest Day over in the Summer Court." She gestures with her helmet towards Mearcstapa, "Do you have a place for me to set down my helmet and hang up my weapon belt?"

Mel's shrug is more a roll of their shoulders. "I'm not great with them either. I'm Mel Joyner, twilit page, nothing special." They bend down to slip out of their shoes, since that seems to be the etiquette here, and the last thing they want is to appear rude.

"Oh, yeah. The whole trod is like this, as far as the Direct Action cut to here, anyway," Sigrun answers Mearc at last.

"Mel, don't put yourself down like that. You're someone with a set of skills that may not translate perfectly to a formal role, but you're not lacking in utility or intelligence." This as he looks around the cottage. "Uh, if you give me a moment to, I can spin up a coat rack, if that'd work for the helmet and sword belt."

"Yeah, don't talk about Mearcstapa's friend like that," Sigrun replies to Mel, clapping their shoulder with her gauntleted hand. She then nods her consent up to Mearc, "That would work perfectly, yes. Thank you."

Mel waves a dismissive hand. "I was just meaning I don't have a cool fancy title or anything." They give another rolling shrug. "Same between here and my Hollow. It doesn't look healthy. And that can't be good."

It seems he's taken Sigrun's advice about keeping a lock here to work on when he's spinning--though it's not a practice lock, it's an old antique brass lock. He pulls his lockpicks out of a pocket of his cargo pants, selecting a tension wrench and a hook, and he pauses a moment to stroke the lock's body before getting to work. "Alright, in and out. It's not going to hurt, promise. Just a little tickle."

And then he gets to picking, as you do. It takes a moment, there's a little slip of the tensioner where he's holding it too tight. It takes a moment, but soon there's a lovely coatrack in the same pretty brass as the lock itself in one corner.

Sigrun proceeds to step up and into the cabin, setting her helmet onto the coat rack. She takes a moment to untether her weapon belt and hangs it up on the rack, too. Sword and axe serving to balance it out rather well at its mid point. Once she's certain it wont fall, she steps over to the desk and settles down into a seat with a creak of leather armor and squeak of muffled steel within the brigandine. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Mearcstapa."

Mel lets out a low, impressed hoot at Mearc's Hedgespinning as they find a seat for themself. They stay mostly perched on the edge though, obviously not entirely comfortable with the situation. They eye Sigrun's equipment with curiosity. "I keep thinking I should get some gear. But I wouldn't know where to start."

After he tucks his picks and lock away, he moves over to the kettle, pouring three cups of tea. "Do either of you care for sugar in yours?"

"Please," Sigrun answers Mearcstapa with a happy smile, bright as only a Bright One can manage. She then glances aside to Mel and notes, "I can help you with that. The deciding and the acquisition. I have a full forge out at our house. Leather tools, too. I make armor and weapons, mostly." Sigrun ticks her head over to the weapon rack, "You can check out the sword if you like. She is Sigsverd."

"No sugar, thank you" Mel says. They eye the indicated sword for a moment and then their eyes crinkle slightly and their beak opens a bit in an approximation of a smile as they flex their hands. "I'm more of a punch things kind of person. Blades seem... complicated." They shrug, "Armor might not be that bad an idea though."

He brings the three cups of tea over to the desk and takes his seat--his chair is perhaps a bit odd, no arms and built so he can sit on the seat pretzel-style comfortably. "If you're into punching things and people, you might consider seeking out Sturm, of the Winter court, or Jackie, of ours, to train with or spar with. Both are excellent brawlers. I once got the opportunity to watch both of them in a real fight, and it was a night I won't soon forget."

He pauses to take a sip of his tea, closing his eyes. "Sigrun, Alexis is pretty much giddy for the offer of extra pelts and claws and bones. You may have become her new best friend. Which also means an opportunity to become her best friend for you, Mel. She spends a lot of time polishing and preparing the parts from those, and the best way to steal some of her time for a talk is to offer to help out with that."

"I'm due out on patrol this evening. And my next few weeks of planned forge work aren't on armor. A parrying dagger for Teagan, a longsword for Gltich, a spear for myself. I'm hoping I can get to Lux's armor, too, in all of that. Point being, though, that I don't need any hides or bone or claws or the like for about a month, so whatever I bring in I'll be sure to hand over to you all. I'm glad you have a use for it. Also, if you'd benefit from samples of the plant life along the trod, I can bring that back for you as well. For experimentation and comparison and whatever else you all do, here. In fact, a shopping list for me wouldn't go amiss. If this is hitting our Blushberry crop, we could be in trouble." Sigrun nods aside to Mel, "Yeah, I can vouch for Sturm. June Desrochers, too. And I can make weapons for brawling purposes, if you like. Or armor. In any case, I'm happy to advise you on design and so on."

Mel lets out a thoughtful sound and nods. "It would probably be a good idea. I'm good enough to hold my own against an average opponent, but," They shake their head. "Very little around here is average. I will think on in." They turn slightly to fix Mearc with a curious look. "I can polish and clean with the best of them. Should I be worried what she's collecting them for?"

"I didn't bother to ask what she's collecting them for, but she had me polishing them with an oily ointment? Bring gloves." He nods.

Sigrun is not a particularly elegant public speaker, so when it comes time for the social niceties to, in her mind, turn towards the business that brought her here, Sigrun just takes a sip of her tea and then carefully sets it down on its saucer on Mearc's desk. She settles back into her seat and looks to Mearcstapa directly, "So. What were you able to uncover, then?"

Mel takes a slightly awkward sip of their tea, trying not to think too much about how hard oil might be to get out of her feathers. Or what someone as accomplished as the Autumn Crown might do with bits and pieces of Hedge Beasts. Then again, as long as it was for the Freehold and against their enemies, it couldn't be that bad.

He pulls his notes out a a desk drawer. "Plenty. The question becomes how much of it's going to be useful now. Alright--context, Mel, is that Sigrun asked me to dig into old alliances we had with hobs in our area, because expanding trods and making our area safe is going to be a thing. And I ran into two separate groups of hobs, in my research, who we were tied to. The Mourners and the Kraklin, led by King Kril. Unfortunately, neither are bound by old oaths, but the information might still prove useful."

No doubt there's more to it than two names and a mention of royalty. So rather than interject with questions, Sigrun just nods and plucks a tiny note pad from a pouch at her side. One of those little detective sized ones with a tiny pencil in a holder at the side. She begins scribbling notes for herself quickly, then looks back up to Mearcstapa with a nod of the head. She's listening.

Mel blinks, slowly. One might even say owlishly if one wanted to get punched. Probably not that hard though. They're not that self-conscious of their appearance. "You say this like we weren't already trying to keep the area safe. Is there a sudden push to do more?"

"I mean, yeah, Sigrun's kinda looking to make that push, and that's why I've been doing this research. Anyway, the Mourners first. They were mentioned as being very peaceful, intelligent creatures that dedicated themselves to remembering the dead and digging graves, and are thus closely associated with Hedge Ghosts. The entire race mysteriously disappeared, though supposedly the ruins of their society can still be found in the Hedge. I found a letter written by Michael Zloof in 1994, that said that his Oath with them was broken, and when he went to investigate, all their halls were empty, graves abandoned." He offers Sigrun a copy of that letter, in case she wants exact wording for that.

Sigrun leans forward to accept the offered letter from Mearcstapa, opening up its fold to read it cursorily before refolding it and placing it in the pouch from which she produced her notepad. She begins scribbling more notes while speaking aside to Mel somewhat distractedly, "On numerous occasions I've come across the hedge ghosts of escapees that didn't make it. More recently, I went to the hedge area that identifies closely with the Philly Sports Center. There was no trod there, in or out, and we found a hedge ghost of a young girl who'd somehow passed through a hedge gate, into the thorns, and died there from starvation and exposure. We've had to do research to uncover local hob villages and such. Because we don't know. We have the Long Trod, and the crowns seemed to believe that was enough. But I'm tired of lighting pyres for children and singing prayers for names I do not know with deeds I cannot recount for Freyja." She looks back up to Mearcstapa and nods for him to continue.

Mel shivers at Sigrun's statement. "Ooo, no. That's no good. It's bad enough to get taken, but to manage to escape and then die before you make it home?" They shake their head, feathers poofing slightly. "No, you're right. Something needs to be done." Then they blink, and look ready to say something else before they snap their beak closed again. There are questions, yes, but they do not have them fully formed yet. Better to wait, and see.

"So, the second group are the Kraklin. They're...hm, to put it politely, a little like the D&D orc society tends to be portrayed: a strong, proud, fearsome community of warrior hobs who make their home by the Hedge sea. Their society is built around martial strength, disputes settled through duels--very much a might means right sort of culture. Their leader is King Kril, the toughest Kraklin of all. Note, I haven't figured out if Kril is a name or a title that's passed down, the books weren't too clear on that."

He flips a few pages in his notes. "We never had an oath with them, more a loose standing alliance built on mutual protection that lasted about a decade. Shackamaxon would fight beside them when called upon, as well as trade resources, and in return the Kraklin would guard and watch over a Stable Trod that once ran along the Hedge shore. So, they used to be good friends, until about 2012."

And here's another pause for questions and to make sure they're getting all this.

"Ohhh, yeah," Sigrun assures Mel with a sidelong glance, "So we're determined to extend a trod to the Sports Center and leave directions along the Trod, or the like, guiding those who get lost back through the thorns. And so we can patrol and just get them out of there. The marches between Old Iron and Shackamaxon are a mess, too. Briarwolf nests, ghosts, sapient plants, massive psychoactive ambush spiders. If you stay on the trods, you're probably safe, but that's like calling your neighborhood safe when you have to bar the doors at night." She continues scribbling notes, holding a finger up to Mearc to pause there while she jots and jots and jots. Poor thing doesn't know short hand. Then a nod and a look back to Mearcstapa, "Okay."

The questions are starting to congeal in their head, which is about as an appealing feeling as it sounds. "I wonder what changed," they muse. "It doesn't feel like things should be this much of a mess." They roll their shoulders in a shrug. "But I am hardly super experienced in such things. But I would like to be involved in making it better." They give Sigrun a respectful nod. "With your permission of course"

"Well, what changed was Enyo Stygia." He flips a couple pages. "A journal I found mentioned a dispute between Shackamaxon and the Kraklin, around July 2012. Enyo Stygia was the Sun's Tongue at that point in time. King Kril and Enyo agreed to settle the dispute with a duel--note, I don't know what the dispute was over to begin with. They fought, but things went badly. King Kril claimed that Enyo cheated, and in a fit of rage cut all ties with Shackamaxon, refusing to even let any of the Freehold inside their territory from then forward. So, that's a thing."

He glances up at the pair of them, though as usual it's pretty hard to tell if he makes eye contact, given the empty Vantablack void of his eye-sockets. "Enyo Stygia left the Freehold a few years ago, so we might be able to work ties based on that. And rumor has it they're now with the Old Iron Freehold, down the trod in Allentown, but that is rumor."

"And that's all you uncovered about hob villages around us? We're really that cut off? That's. Actually really bad, if that's the case. It wouldn't hurt for you to double check that, Mearcstapa, just to make doubly certain. I can probably do some scouting and look for new ones, as well as seek out the Kraklin and attempt to make amends. If King Kril still has beef with the Freehold, giving him a free shot at me might fix matters. Or, alternatively, helping them out. If Old Iron has them under their wing, that might become a bit more difficult for us. But. Well. It's something, at least." Sigrun frowns down at her notepad and flips it closed, shoving it back into her pouch with a heavy sigh. Not the information she wanted clearly, but it rarely ever is. "Thank you again, Mearcstapa. I'll see I can't get you more to work with out there."

Mel just shakes their head, shoulders hunching up just ever so slightly. "It feels... wrong. Like we shouldn't be this cut off. Or like it's bigger than just what we can see." They shake their head more vigorously. "No, I don't like this at all."

"Given how hard it was for me to convince Buidhe to let me into his library, I don't think I'll be able to double-check that way. But, I can try asking around the other court leaders who've been around for a while now?" He looks a little sheepish. "It could be there's some stuff that's not being written down because it's assumed that everyone knows about it, even though everyone doesn't know about it. Also, I'm working on starting to keep better records than the Scrivener before me, because there was nothing on the topic left when I picked up the job. I'm starting from scratch."

Sigrun puts her face in her hand for a long span of seconds. She's not a book person, really, but she is a historian after a fashion. She shares Mearcstapa's pain, it seems. After a pinch at the bridge of her nose, she lifts her head back up with a smile. "You are doing an excellent job, Mearcstapa. Do you have any requests for us when we go out this evening? Samples you'd like, specific fruits you might want to see the effects of the blight on? I can't make promises, as I have a mission, but I can keep my eyes out and do my best." She glances over to Mel, including them in the question.

"Starting from scratch is always hard," Mel says with a nod. "Asking around can't hurt, but it doesn't sound like you're the one failing anything." Again, the look like they want to say more, but they stop themself. "I don't think I even know enough of what the question is to have anything I'd want you to look for," Mel admits. "I think all this just means we all need to be looking more in general."

Mearc frowns faintly. "I think...to put the bulk of our attention on the hedgefruit might be failing to see the forest for the trees. I'm interested in changes to topography, consistent shifts that have happened to the hedge and not just the plantlife, and how some of the non-human hobs have been affected by what's going on around us. There's other creatures in the Hedge Ecology that are probably being affected by the blight; what are they doing about it? How does everything react to this change?"

There's a circular or maybe a cyclical gesture mid-air. Totally the Circle of Life.

"Unfortunately, Mearcstapa, it seems highly unlikely that I'd be able to bring you back a living sample to examine, or be able to take useful notes for you in situ. I'll do my best on that count, and observe what I may, but I see the world through the eyes of a warrior. Not a sorceror or a scientist. But I do know the long trod fairly well in both directions and am familiar with its course and changes. If the blight is impacting the ecology-- and I don't see how it couldn't --then I may have my work cut out for me just keeping my head on. I'll report back, however, when I return. And I'll take what samples I think might be of use to you, at the very least. A hedge camera would be a useful tool for our collaboration, if such a thing exists." She then nods aside to Mel again in casual agreement, "Seems that way. But at least I know now, and we can all begin to behave accordingly."

"That's true" Mel agrees, though they seem somewhat distracted. A Hedge camera would be a useful thing, not just in this situation. They run a finger around the rim of their tea cup, obviously thinking. Then they seem to snap back to the present moment. "Environmental change always affects animals, I don't see why it'd be different with Hedgebeasts. And because of how food webs work, it's likely to hit the big predators in ways that are noticeable the soonest. That sounds like something a hunter could keep an eye out for. Even a dead beast can look malnourished or diseased"

"And if the big predators are being affected, that means more trouble for those on patrol. Sigrun, as Scrivener, I command you not to get killed when you go out tonight. Observe what you can, learn what you can, but stay alive to bring me back whatever information you find." He points directly at her, putting on what little commanding manner he has (oh, god, it's not much at all, the boy is Presence 1 and it shows).

"If you think you can safely bring along someone who'd be better-suited to observing those sorts of things, someone with an analytical mind, consider it. But for now, your job is just to be safe as possible."

She has the good sense not to laugh off the order, but she does grin at it good naturedly. "I'm glad to know you care. I'm not one for taking foolish risks, just calculated ones. Briarwolves or the like aren't much of a threat to me on patrol. The spiders can be tricky, and the hedge ghosts too. But the ghosts shouldn't be much impacted, really. And Mel's point is accurate. It will likely be the Briarwolves we see first, as they're the top of the local food chain so far as I can tell. But. We'll see." Sigrun smacks her gauntlets onto the arms of her chair and hoists herself back up to her feet, "Now, with that said, I have to be mustered in a few hours. I need to check my equipment, ensure I have the provisions we'll need, and that my team are set. So as much as I might like to remain and chat, duty calls." She offers her hand to Mearcstapa over his desk, though.

"Good hunting," Mel says, with all seriousness. "And I might talk to you at some point about armor or something. Maybe gloves or something. Punching the Hedge tends to hurt." They give a short hoot of a laugh. "So stay safe. Safe-ish at least"

He accepts Sigrun's hand for a shake, nodding, then turns his attention to Mel. "How've you been, lately? Any progress with your sister?"

They roll their shoulders in a shrug. "I am supposed to meet with the head of the vampires at some point, and theoretically they'll be able to help." Their face scrunches in distaste. "Not quite sure I like the idea of trusting a vampire even a little bit. Can't see why they'd help me over protecting their own. But..." They sigh. "I suppose it can't hurt."

Sigrun slips away from the desk, returns her helmet to her head and slips her belt back about her waist, looping it through a simple belt knot and tugging it tight. Once it's balanced on her hips, she steps back out of the cabin and heads to get to work.

He shrugs back at them, standing to clean up Sigrun's teacup, and then lifting the kettle to offer Mel another cup if they want it. "I've met with the Sakima, myself. Three times. The third time was in regard to one of theirs who blackmailed a member of the Spring Court. She gave me and the Spring involved some useful information, and later sanctioned the death of that individual, after repeated incidents of fucking with us. She'd help you, Mel. She doesn't believe that people should ever be treated like they're property."

Mel shakes their head at the offer of another cup. They listen to Mearc's endorsement, obviously skeptical, but in the end, they do nod. "Well, I will wait and see. But I'll try to be positive." A slight indication of a smile. "And polite. Then again, I already promised the Winter Crown I would be."

"Good. Is there anything else I can offer you help with, in an official capacity or otherwise?" He does pour himself more tea, before moving back to the desk.

"I don't... think so," they say, slowly. Then, with more certainty. "No. But I am very interested in whatever's going on, so... keep me in the loop? Especially if there's anything I can do?"

"Of course. You're welcome to come visit with me anytime--or to message, I left my number on one of the bulletin boards. You be safe out there, too, please?"

"I will" Mel stands and nods. "Thank you for letting me crash your meeting"

"Of course. Take care."