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* Felice, in her tabby cat form, picks through the refuse that has accumulated near one of the canals under the city wall. Since even halflings would have trouble navigating the canal-- given its small size, the iron grates sealing it at both ends, and the accumulated refuse-- the orcs have only assigned increased patrols in the area rather than posting a permanent watch. * Felice works her way through the refuse, occasionally batting or nibbling at something until she finally climbs through the grate. * Felice proceeds down the canal quickly, climbing out of the grate on the other side of the wall and darting for the underbrush. <Felice> ::Once in the underbrush, Felice works her way towards the north road, moving parallel to it while remaining in the underbrush:: <Felice> ::Eventually Felice makes her way to an old oak tree that seems to match the description Goody Bea gave her and begins to follow the trail east. After a short walk, the path opens into a grassy clearing with a garden, a gurgling stream to one side, and a small fieldstone cabin with a wooden porch.:: * Felice sniffs around, looking for signs of current habitation... and orcs. <Bran> ::The cabin's windows are dark-- at least, all that can be seen from Felice's angle-- and the door is closed. The garden, despite the flurry of growth that typically follows the spring rains, is weed-free. Branches clatter overhead as a raven takes off and wings its way over the cabin roof and down out of sight.:: * Felice calmly walks towards the cabin with her patented, "I'm a cat, I can go where I want to" stride, working her way around the cabin, sniffing for food. <Bran> ::From around the back waft enticing odors of recent fry-cooking and a baritone voice singing something raunchy about a smith.:: <Bran> ::A raven-- perhaps the same one Felice saw minutes ago-- is perched on the lower half of the Dutch door leading into the kitchen. The top of the door is open.:: * Felice moves around to the back of the cabin, looking for an open door or window. When she sees the raven, she crouches down, a mischievous and feral expression on her face. <Bran> ::The raven cocks its head, turning one beady black eye on her:: * Felice pounces at the raven, her trajectory carrying her over the bottom half of the door. <Bran> ::The raven takes off as Felice's rear paws leave the ground, flapping almost insultingly slowly for the top of a nearby spruce tree:: * Bran breaks off his song and lifts an eyebrow from his nearby seat at the kitchen table, looking up from his breakfast of sausages and spring-onion pancakes. "Well, now... hello there. Hungry, are we, puss?" * Felice lands and looks up at the departing raven disappointedly before turning her attention to the smells of the kitchen. * Felice turns at the sound of Bran's voice, morphs into her fully human form, and takes a seat at Bran's table. "Yes, actually, but that isn't why I came here. My aunt Beatrice sent me for help. The hostages the orcs are holding have come down with the consumptive disease." * Bran blinks in startlement, sitting back in his chair and staring at her in surprise. "Well, now." His voice is rich and warm, pleasant, with a faint burr of accent. He blinks again, and frowns. "Your... aunt Beatrice? And who might you be, lass?" * Felice pulls her legs up and hugs her knees, rocking in her chair as she giggles. "Niece Felice. Or at least that's what I'm suppose to be telling people. You'll keep it a secret won't you? For both Goody Bea's and my sakes." <Bran> Supposed to... ::looking amused:: Ahhh. *That* "aunt Beatrice." I didn't think she had sib's kin living close... ::nods, looking more somber and pushing his half-eaten breakfast towards her:: Eat, lass. If you've been in yonder walls you're no doubt starved. You said... consumption? Among the hostages? She's certain? * Felice shakes her head, "No. She hasn't had a chance to see them yet. She's guessing based on the symptoms and the fact that they're being kept outdoors in the dry docks." <Felice> We think she's going to be able to get in to see them soon. She wanted to be as prepared as possible. <Bran> ::rubbing his chin and absently handing her his fork:: The consumption... that's bad, that's very bad. Tell me-- what do you know of it? Did you hear the symptoms? Do you know how long they've been ill? How are their captors treating it? <Bran> And you-- you're a healer, or... ::he grins:: Her canniest messenger? * Felice begins eating, talking around bites, "It's affecting a third of the hostages, we think. They're coughing, sometimes even coughing up blood. They're also suffering from fevers, chills, sleeplessness, weakness, and painful joints. And the orcs are ignoring the problem." * Felice shrugs, "I'm the only person I know who has a chance of getting in or out of the city." She makes a face. "Though I'd rather not do it more than I have to." <Bran> ::nods:: Aye... that sounds powerfully like consumption... and not an early stage, either. ::drawing his brows down:: But... they're ignoring it? ::he shakes his head:: Dangerous, dangerous... it's a powerful contagion, worse when folk are ill-kept, damned hard to root out. And if the ill aren't kept strictly quarantined, the lot of them could get it, and from them, their guards, and then any the guards have contact with. * Felice nods, "We don't know what the orcs are thinking, besides not caring that they're looking at losing all of their hostages." * Bran curls one big hand into a tight fist and grinds his teeth, fighting his temper. * Felice stops eating, tilting her head and looking toward the hallway leading to the front of the house. * Bran blinks, glancing at Felice and releasing his fist. "Ah... must've left the kettle on, just a moment." * Bran gets up hastily, grabbing a glove and striding out quickly into the common room, just down the hall from the kitchen. * Felice returns to eating, but is clearly not as relaxed as she originally was. <Bran> ::A goat "meh"'s flatly in the back yard, and in Bran's absence the raven glides down and returns to its perch on the half-door, flipping its wings a little testily at the sight of Felice.:: * Bran returns quickly, carrying a steaming kettle in his gloved hand. "Cuppa tea, lass? I was just making some." * Felice grins at the raven, "Hey, it's a compliment to be considered tasty." * Felice nods, "Anything that hasn't been trod through by orcs would be lovely." <Bran> ::The raven mantles and flaps its wings briefly before settling down and flipping them closed. Bran grins a little as he fills a waiting teapot from the kettle and gets down two mugs to place on the table.:: <Bran> Sugar? Cream? Or would you prefer it separate? ::he winks at her:: * Felice grins, "I'll love you forever, or at least for the next five minutes if you've got cream to spare." <Bran> ::chuckling:: I've a nanny-goat who does naught all day but eat her fool head off, lass, of course I've cream to spare. ::he sets a bowl on the table and pulls a bottle out of his ice-box, setting it next to the bowl for her to serve herself as much as she wants:: * Felice grins and half fills the bowl. "Thank you." She lifts the bowl to her lips and drinks deeply, giving a throaty sigh of contentment. * Bran watches her, smiling, and leans forward again after a few minutes to pour out two cups of tea. He adds several spoonfuls of sugar to his. <Bran> So... what is it Bea requires of me? ::he frowns thoughtfully and takes a sip of tea:: You came through the walls as a cat? <Felice> ::nods:: No one's allowed in or out of the city except the orcs and their mercs. Bea wanted to hear what you thought of the symptoms, and how to treat it. Oh, and I'm supposed to tell you that Tarri's one of the hostages, but she's alright. <Bran> Tarri? ::his shoulders sag a little and leans his head against one hand, looking tired:: Aye... my thanks. Better than hearing of her death, but... if they can't get the hostages quarantined, it will be as good as. And the temple healers? What of them? * Felice shakes her head. "Morningmist Hall was burnt to the ground. I don't know if anyone managed to escape beforehand." <Bran> ::softly:: Great Oak... ::he runs a hand through his silver-shot hair, rumpling it a little:: Right. You can carry a note? ::he stands to fetch a quill and a bit of parchment:: * Felice nods, "Easily." * Felice finishes the food on her plate and helps herself to more cream. <Bran> ::nods and sits again, starting to write what looks like a very long list and talking as he writes:: Consumption's nasty... it spreads like fire in a haymow, and there's no one herb that can treat it. It's a whole list, and an expensive one at that... some of the best remedies don't grow in our soil. <Bran> ::he glances up with a stern look:: The ill need to take the medicines regularly, some for six months or more, and they should be well-fed and cared for. That means dry. And *separate*. I cannot stress that enough. If it spreads, nothing short of faith-healing will stop it. * Felice shakes her head, "You're talking to the wrong person. If it were up to me I'd take them all to the desert and treat them there." * Bran looks wry. "Aye, that would be ideal. The rich-- the ones who can afford to travel so-- often do that." He continues to write for several minutes before putting his quill down and reading over his list again. He frowns and shakes his head. "She's a midwife... some of these she'll have in plenty, but others... I'm not even certain how much the city apothecaries would stock, this time of year." * Felice frowns, "Or if the orcs will open up the apothecaries for the sick. I'm not certain, but I'd be surprised if they didn't confiscate medical stores as well as all the food." * Bran rubs the bridge of his nose and frowns. He looks at Felice, takes a sip of tea, and then turns in his seat to look at the raven perched on the door. "When you came, lass... was it in the seeming of a cat, or a true cat?" <Felice> ::blinks for a moment before comprehension dawns:: I'm a real cat. ::smiles proudly:: <Bran> ::smiles at her:: Aye, very good. And when you hunt, puss, what's the largest prey you've taken and carried home? * Felice thinks, "And carried home... Small deer." * Bran frankly gapes at her. * Felice blinks, "Well I normally just eat it where I kill it unless I'm planning on dragging it into a tree for a late night snack." * Bran takes a sip of tea with the air of a man who's searching for a spar of normalcy in a world suddenly turned on its ear. <Bran> How... large of a cat *are* you usually, lass? * Felice looks confused. "However big I want to be." <Bran> ...ah. ::relaxing a little and shaking his head, taking another sip of tea:: Let's try it again, then... the form you came here in, is that the largest you might get through the city wall safely? * Felice cocks her head, thinking for several moments. "I can get a little bigger, but it will be hard." <Bran> Well enough. And at *that* size, what's the largest prey you might carry home? <Felice> A possum or raccoon. A small dog, maybe. <Bran> ::grins, a twinkle in his eye:: So big, then? My, you're a strong puss. Wonderful! ::he considers:: Possum would do just nicely, I think. Perfect shape. Now then... ::he leans across the table with a conspiratory air and flashes her a wicked grin:: Think you could get me one, lass? Fairly intact? You'll have the guts of it later, but I need the skin and bones. * Felice grins. "Do any live around here?" * Bran cocks his head and looks towards the raven on the door again, appearing to think. "There's an old, dead elm just a bit downstream from here... it was lightning-struck some years ago. You might find a few possums taken up residence in there." * Felice nods, "Not a problem. Would beaver or raccoon work if I can't find a possum?" <Bran> Aye... hm. Beaver might be a tad noticeable, and they're sought for their fur. Best not take anything they might chase you for. 'Coon would suit. * Felice grins. "Anything else before I head out?" * Bran returns her grin. "Nay, lass. Only keep it as sound as you can. And dead *is* preferable." He winks. "If I'm not here when you return, you'll find me in the stillroom." He nods his chin towards a low building perpendicular to the cottage. * Felice nods, transforming into an orange and white coon cat before heading out the door. * Bran blinks in surprise at the rapid transformation and laughs a little, shaking his head as she disappears. He finishes his tea quickly and heads out to the stillroom, the raven winging along behind him. * Felice returns around midafternoon, having transformed herself into a bobcat to more easily carry the possum she holds in her jaws. Coming to the backdoor of the cabin, she puts the possum down and tilts her head, trying to determine where Bran is. <Bran> ::The top portion of the door is closed as well, now. Light glimmers from the panes of the stillroom across the way and the heavy door is cracked open slightly.:: * Felice transforms again and picks the possum up by its tail, carrying it to the stillroom and knocking on the door. <Bran> ::Calling, the echo of his voice betraying a much larger space than what can be seen from the outside:: Come! * Felice opens the door, peeking inside before walking in and closing the door behind her. <Bran> ::A short landing gives on to fairly steep stone steps. The air here is noticeably cooler, dry, and faintly redolent of herbs and alcohol.:: * Felice proceeds down the stairs, swinging the possum like a purse. <Bran> ::There's a second door at the bottom of the steps, standing open, giving on to an airy stillroom filled with the glow of late-afternoon light from windows high above. Bran is sitting on a stool beside one long workbench, a lamp at his elbow for extra illumination on his work:: * Felice presents her possum to Bran proudly. "The mighty hunter has returned!" <Bran> Ah, perfect timing. And a nice fat one, I see. ::he puts an oilskin-wrapped packet to one side and spreads another sheet, putting a stoneware bowl beside him:: * Bran accepts the opossum, looking it over with a smile. "Not a mark... poor old son, you didn't know what hit you, did you?" * Felice rubs her side uncomfortably, "Oh, yes he did. Damn thing wouldn't have the decency to slip into unconsciousness quietly." <Bran> ::he glances at her as he puts the dead animal on the bench:: Aye, this will do *quite* nicely. My thanks, Felice. ::he selects a thin knife from a rack in front of him and carefully slits its belly as he glances over at her again:: You're not injured, I hope? * Bran carefully cleans the possum, but instead of skinning it, he removes its entrails and cuts away the meat back to the ribcage, dumping it all into the bowl and offering it to Felice as he carefully rinses out the remaining cavity. * Felice shrugs, "It's not much. I'll be fine in a day or so." * Felice turns back into a bobcat and starts working on the possum remains. * Bran eyes her with professional concern but nods, pushing the oilskin-wrapped packet inside the dead possum and eyeing it critically from several angles. <Bran> Hm... roomy. You found a big one. ::he leaves the possum open and quickly puts another small packet together from measured herbs already waiting, adding that to the inside of the possum and pulling the skin closed around them.:: * Felice looks up at Bran, obviously pleased with herself, before returning to her meal. * Bran threads a needle with waxed black thread and quickly sews the stuffed possum closed with neat, invisible stitches, humming a little as he works. <Bran> There, now. ::he ties off his thread and snips it, wiping the suture clean before turning the possum back onto its belly. Aside from being dead, it looks quite lifelike thanks to the intact ribs. He goes to wash his hands and tools.:: * Felice walks over to the possum and sniffs at it curiously. * Bran dries his hands and comes back to pat the dead possum on the head. "Not a bad job, if I say so. What do you think, puss?" * Felice looks curiously at Bran for a moment, then experimentally bats at the possum. <Bran> ::The opossum rolls over with the force of her blow and plays-- well, *is*-- dead.:: <Bran> ::grins:: Come, lass, let's have a look at those scratches. I'm a better doctor than I am a vet. * Felice looks at Bran again, a quizzical expression on her face. <Bran> No playing innocent, lass. Too many lives rest on your little burden. Let's see you cleaned up before I send you back, right? <Bran> ::he grins:: I've another bottle of cream in the coldroom. * Felice shrugs into her fully human form, only without clothes this time. A bizarre zigzag of scratches traverse her stomach, chest, and right side. None of them are serious, but fresh blood still oozes from several of them. "Should I have Goody Bea clean them out again when I get back? I'm going to be dragging that--" she nods her head towards the possum, "--through rancid water for the last bit." <Bran> Mmm... ::inspecting the scratches and pulling open a drawer to get a bit of gauze, seeming unfazed by her nudity:: They're bleeding well, some of them. I'll clean and treat them now, but aye, another cleaning won't hurt. ::he opens a brown glass bottle and tips it onto the gauze pad:: <Bran> This will sting a moment, lass. ::he puts a gentle hand on her left hip and carefully cleans the scratches, squeezing the gauze a little to flush out the wounds well:: * Felice hisses, her hands clutching the bench tightly. <Bran> ::murmuring softly as he works:: Sorry, lass, nearly over... and... there. ::tosses the bit of gauze and opens a pot of vaguely honey-scented yellow cream, dipping his fingers in and tracing over the scratches lightly to apply it:: There. Calendula. Should give you a head-start on the healing. * Felice nods, "I know this is better than licking the wounds clean, but it still seems so unnatural." <Bran> ::smiles and pats her hip:: A sick dog will chew grass to bring up what ails his stomach. Medicine's not unknown to beasts. * Felice frowns, "Yeah, but grass doesn't mat my fur." <Bran> It will clean, lass, I promise. Better than taking ill of that sewer water, aye? * Felice sighs, "Aye." <Bran> ::smiling at her:: Good lass. Now then... The instructions are within the larger of the two packages. If you need to drop the possum or risk being caught-- drop it. These medicines are rare, but they're not worth your life. I've a little more, if it comes to it. * Felice nods, "Anything else?" <Bran> ::he grins:: Well, there's a spare bottle of cream with your name on it, if you'd like it before you go. And I'd hug you and wish you safe, but professional decorum forbids. ::he grins wider:: So I'll just wish you safe. * Felice shakes her head, "I'd better go back now. There are more orc patrols at night, and the mercs are easier to slip past." * Bran nods gravely and hands her the stuffed possum. "I'll keep it for your return. Go with speed and craft, puss. Luck to you." * Felice nods, transforming back into a bobcat before taking the possum and heading up the stairs. * Bran sighs and sits back on his stool tiredly, watching her go. The raven caws once at her from the roof's point as she passes. * Felice makes her way towards the city, avoiding the road entirely now that she knows her way. <Felice> ::Once the city comes into view she works her way through the underbrush to as close to one of the canals as she can manage without risking being seen. She then shrinks down to a coon cat and begins dragging the possum the rest of the way to the canal.:: <Felice> ::Once she reaches the grate she deposits the possum next to it, and then climbs through herself, her larger size making the trek more troublesome than it was when she left.:: * Felice begins pulling the possum through, using her claws at first, and then her jaws, once enough of the possum is through for her to grab ahold of. Clear of the grate, Felice drags the possum through the canal, pausing at the second grate for several long minutes, listening intently for the sound of an off time patrol.:: <Felice> ::Eventually Felice climbs through the second grate and drags the possum out after her. She spends several minutes surveying the area to ensure there are no witnesses before shifting to her half-human form, picking the possum up by its tail, and scampering to the nearest rooftop, heading through the city towards Goody Bea's district.:: |
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