|Help From Unexpected Quarters|
|Summary:||Broadmoor joins the hunt for the missing children. For a day at least.|
|Related Logs:||Missing Children Saga in general|
|Town Square, Terrick's Roost|
|The town square of Terrick's Roost was once considered well-kept. The stone streets run right up to the building fronts around the edge and the locals have kept the spaces between free of grass and weeds that might otherwise sprung up between them, although dark streaks of stubborn soot have crawled in between the stones. There are several homes and shops located here which show the scars and cinders of the sacking of the town at Ironborn hands. The ruin of the town's Sept can also be seen from here with its ornate stone front rising above the surrounding structures just down the cobblestone road.|
|Tue Dec 04, 289|
It's morning at the Roost, not crack of dawn mind, the sun is definitely in the sky, even if it has a long way to go before midday and it's zenith. In short it's round the time that most decent people are having their breakfasts and preparing to start their days. The streets aren't empty though, the baker's lads are out and about along with several others who find they have business before the main day starts. One such early riser is Mortimer. As he appears out of one of the side streets that leads to the square he looks tired once again although it's less of an 'asleep on his feet' tired and more a 'slept longer than expected and still working on waking up' tired. Theres a yawn, a stretch and a roll of his shoulders as he prepares to start another day. Glancing around the square he notes that none of the rest of the day's party have yet arrived. Good. Maybe he's not as late as he imagined.
Galloping up on a horse beside Mortimer and perhaps snapping a few to awareness is a hooded and leather armored figure bearing a bow, sword, hatchet and dagger. Difficult to get a bead on the sex of the figure because of the formless leather armor. "This the search party?" asks a familiar thieves canted voice from a familiar town. There is a measure of churlishness to the voice that suggests the individual already knows the answer to the question.
One thing about a galloping horse is that they aren't quiet. With enough notice of an incoming rider from the keep Mortimer is turning to see if the rider will stop or if their haste is to be out an on the road before the main traffic of the day. The figure gets a raised eyebrow for a moment, until the voice is recognised, then he simply nods, seeing as the answer is self-apparent. "Aye Mistress," he replies with a careful tone, "just waiting for the others to arrive before we set out."
"You won’t mind overmuch if I tag along I hope? I don't have much time - barely a day free but I would rather spend it helping you than risk another disapproving encounter with Lady Anais or a fatherly Lecture from the Lord Sheriff. Might be why I prefer your company despite what you think of mine. Single phrase answers - evasive stepping around my questions. You talk too little for most tastes. But most things are best left unsaid." Coughing, "Anyway you could try and refuse my aid - but I am going to help out on my own anyway if you do so…." Freya knew leverage.
It's possibly fair to say that the idea of having Freya tag along through hours of exhausting, woodland searches is not perhaps Mortimer's idea of a fun day. But then neither are the searches themselves. "Oh? And what do I think of your company then?" he asks, glancing up to her as he asks and hopefully giving himself time come up with cohesive arguments, or if possible, actual useful things for a rider to be doing.
"I'd be guessing because you always choke down the words Master Trevelyan. But I think irritation is high on the list of possible words - if not outright enmity. I've always liked you though. Which just makes it sad and a waste of time. And watching you run off your feet makes me worried - I don't like being worried." As frank an answer as she can give. "Is this the moment when you speak plainly to me dear Deputy Sheriff? Go ahead. Bear in mind I've been a thrall - that's about as hurt as my feelings can get."
"I've spoken plainly to you before," Mortimer replies with a faint shrug, "like as not I'll do so again." A noise from the direction of the green has him looking to see if it's his party of loaned sailors, but it turns out instead to be just a small group of boys doing their best to break what peace is left of the morning. Attention back to Freya he appreciates that this time she's admitting that she's guessing, rather than just putting words into his mouth as she had in the past, his answer to her though is a simply one. "I'm glad you've found something gainful." As for the offer of assistance, well, riders can cover considerably more ground, and she does know the surrounding villages somewhat. With a glance down the road in the other direction, our of town he states with a faint sigh, "We've had precious little news from the villages. If you're wanting to help best thing would be to use that beast of yours to get round as many as possible, make sure everyone is aware of the danger and spread the description of those we're hunting. Someone might've seen one of 'em and thought nothing of it."
Freya laughs, "Plainspoken but not today." As for the task - "It's your exercise - you've done this before I'll play it your way. But I am a tracker you know." She'd have to be - all of the Cauls were to one extent or another. "I wonder if on the count of my sex you are sparing me the possibility of encountering some more /manly/ action? I am quite capable. Or perhaps you just don't want to risk a days worth of conversation with me?" Freya teases.
"Or maybe I see a horse with a rider who knows the lie of the land," Mortimer counters, "I have trackers for the woods already." Himself included infact, if not Master Kain who he would dearly love to let loose on this. "Ahorse you can cover a lot of ground in a day, bring back more news than if we simply waited for it to trickle in on market days and such." That and he has rather been neglecting the villages and such of late as this search has stretched on, so having someone do a quick round won't hurt in the slightest.
"A man who is used to command - as I said I'll play it your way. Be good to see you at least once being glad to see me though," Her recognisable visage hidden behind hood and scarf. "I'll do the rounds - keep myself covered too - in case they recognise a Caul - can't have that." Coughing, "And we'll meet at the end of the day - anything other than what you have already to told me that I should be asking the villagers about?"
Mortimer hadn't actually thought on what might happen should she be recognised but gives a brief nod at her suggestion, "if anything does go awry use my name, or the Lord Sheriff's, should see you right." Not that he's expecting it to mind, but it never hurts to be prepared. He then takes a moment to pass on what descriptions he can of both the pair in question, the so called Weeping Woman and Hunter, and of course the wolves. "Take it gently with them," he advises, "start by asking if all is well and quiet, or if anyone has seen anything unusual. Get them to provide the descriptions and match it yourself to what we have to decide if it's off use." After all, he can well imagine that if someone walked into a village and asked 'have you heard wolves nearby?' then everyone and their neighbour would be reporting the faintest of dog barks.
Freya nods, "Aye I can do that." Not much else to be said. "What do I do if I come across this Wailer and her wolves. Can I at least try to shoot some of the doggies myself?" A fair question as the woman seemed to pop up where she was least wanted and expected. So why not badger Freya next.
Mortimer glances to the horse as the question is posed, trying to judge if it looks to be particularly fast on it's feet. After all is said and done though, he's no expert on horse flesh so answers simply, "No harm in trying, they're armoured though and have a fair leap. Just be sure you have a direction to gallop in." He could mention that the woman doesn't seem fond of them being too far away from her, but isn't sure if that'd just encourage Freya to but herself in harms way more.
"I'll do my best," Freya says rearing her horse Paul before galloping off. "Do take care of yourself Master Trevelyan… I know how lost you are without me." A parting jape - typical of the Caul. Help from unexpected quarters being the order of the day evidently.