Water Under the Bridge

[Anatole]

A midnight train clatters and clangs through the metal ribcage of the I Street Bridge, growling into the darkness. Lights flash. Sparks flare into the night, and then nothing.

Silence returns in fits and starts to this quiet portion of the city. Leftovers from a brief squall of rain still linger in puddles and drips. The Sacramento River gurgles and gloops, an oily black ribbon cutting this city in two. A gust of wind whistles ominous through the metal struts overhead and causes the trees vent hisses as they shiver.

Across the river on the west bank, the well lit Ziggurat cuts into the tranquil shadows. Behind, on the east bank, the Sacramento Historical District with its Waterfront, Locomotive Museum and the public commons, shimmer in a bath of radiance. But not here, not in the narrow ribbon of green under the bridge and hard by the water: this space is home to the bitter shadows. Officially at least, the Sacramento River Parkway is closed and the Bike Trail is empty.

Officially.

Anatole, the Wizened Sovereign of the Ashen Court doesn't think much of such things now. Not after his Durance. Not after becoming a Smith in the service of a ruthless Gentry task master. Not since he broke his own chains and fled back to the mortal realms.

Anatole has a meeting to attend. So he is in a charcoal coloured suit, shoes bought to a shine. Some rings flash on his fingers. His trench coat is dark and the collar high: hedgespun raiment crafted by the Vernal Sovereign herself, woven from fears and shadows; the coat demonstrates his authority and serves to enhance his middling mantle by teasing it and encouraging it. You'll see Anatole's shadowy mantle pool at this feet, alternately dripping from, and grasping at, the tails of his coat.

The Sovereign's mantle plays in other ways too - lighting up the Smith's burned face from below in a baroque carnival. Anatole has a soft explosion of beard, moustache, and hair - a surprising contract to his scarred and burned skin.

Tucked carefully away in one arm is a brown paper bag.
Kray ReubanBrightwood

[Kray]

Ripples spread through the murky surface of a lingering puddle, moments before the distorted surface monetarily mirrors the hulking reflection and propulsive gait of the Gristlegrinder, careful not to grime his shoes in the transient pool as he rambles down the trail.

Pace depreciating as a train thunders along the destined bridge in the near distance. A noise that’s always held some kind of appeal to the troll though he's not sure exactly why. A bridge, appropriate, the terrible jaw splits into a stony grin that does nothing to ease the rough features, appreciating the irony with deep chuckling.

After the train is in the distance his pace acquires a degree of haste, he doesn’t want to be late after all. Long coat flapping over the great shoulders, broad chest, and obese gut of the ogre his ‘best’ white shirt worn under, straining against him and the exerted clip in his step.

He comes upon the bridge at last, and the waiting sovereign.

He tries not to look down at the burned Dwarf, but the height difference makes it quite the challenge not to loom, pupils of flint set in sickly yellow sclera do note the finery and regal attire of the Dread Lord.

In contrast Krays coat might actually be two curtains sewn together, and his best shirt is off one of the rail, just without holes or stains. He keeps two things in good order however. His shoes while not expensive are well maintained despite the trail’s best efforts, and a too long twisted trunk of an arm reaches for the other …

A Fedora of mottled red and brown leaves carefully stitched, sackcloth and straw scarecrows ring the hat in place of the hat band. This he removes in greeting, as the mouth forced to be ever open, opens wider to permit air between the jagged array of terrible stony teeth.

‘Pleasant night, yer Grace. Thanks for getting back to me so fast, and for the meeting. Nice spot for it.’ Placing the hat back upon the dangling mass of moss and lichen that constitute his hair, adjusting it slightly so two horn nubbins fit into holes that look measured to fit.

The other great ashy grey hand reaches out towards the Monarch, a carboard box held easily in the vast clutches. His feeble mantle of source less, sorcerers candle flames sparks but are clearly too weak to be true flame as they cast no shadow or heat.

‘I brought a gift. Cheese Blintzes with cranberry sauce.’ The deep Baritone carries the full richness of a civilised even eloquent man, quite contrasting to the grunts and roars one might expect from the monstrous countenance.

[Anatole]

A massive shadow comes down the path. Getting nearer. Getting larger. At first, the burned dwarf feels a thrill of fear cascade down his spine - had the letter been a ruse, a trap?

No. The shadow stops. Looming large. And from it (teeth flashing in a stoney smile - so like that of his slain enemy, Iron Meg) emerges... Kray. Anatole has to take step back, if only to better take in the massive frame of the Ogre. The polite baritone is something of a surprise and the Smith lets an eyebrow arch. He extends his arm with the paper bag, shaking it so the liquid glugs merrily from within.

"No trouble. Besides we had to talk and it is good to get away from the theme park now and then. I bought whisky. I'll happily share your cheese blintzes. Here, under this bridge where the city won't see us."

Anatole's mantle flares once: light and shadow. His Autumnal crown appears: a simple leather band circling his head, more Conan the Barbarian than the airy lightness wrought by the Elves of Tolkein's middle earth.

"Call me Anatole. Sovereign of the Ashen Court, versed in some mysteries but not all. They tell me I am a Wizened of the Smith variety, though you won't see me practicing the Contracts of Artifice often. I don't need to remind myself of where I came from. Your message suggested you were going to stay a while... Well, this is a small Freehold and it be nice to have another Ash to talk to from time to time. It has been many months since there was another Autumn Courtier besides myself in town."

The frown caught the corners of the Wizened's mouth before he could stop himself. Rhodes' disappearance had shaken him, just as seeing Seraphina so defeated had. Anatole hadn't realised how much he was still processing till now. Momentarily struck down, the burned dwarf covers his silence by revealing the whisky and unscrewing the lid. He is definitely eyeing off the cheese blintzes.

[Kray]

The ogre stands not perfectly still but is waiting. Allowing the sovereign, the chance to look him over, inspect him, awaiting what to him feels like the pre-destined response. However bulbous eyes crinkle in pleasant surprise at the at the kindly reply.

‘Ah the park, heard about it, but haven’t had a proper look around anywhere yet. Seems like an unusual, fun, but unusual set up.’ Lumbering past the Monarch he is sure to bow his head when the crown makes its appearance. The dwarf seems friendly but it can be hard to tell when crowns get involved, some hate the deference while others can get fiercely jealous of their position.

Once nicely tucked into the shadow of the bridge, he positions the folds on his coat under him and takes a seat on the ground, physically levelling the field to better facilitate conversation.

‘Anatole it is. In public places I go by John but amongst like-minded Kray is my choice. They tell me not to eat people, not that have since I got back.’ The last part of sentence is a hastily added for clarity. ‘Its on account of my stony greys.’ He taps the teeth that force his jaw ever open with a darkened chipped nail. ‘Hallmark of a gristle grinder. Though they serve well enough to distract from my troll tones. Before they know what’s what I’ve got those that make that mistake thinking up is down, down is left and left is green.’ The widening grin, shows several more teeth and implies a lot of people make that mistake.

A hand pops the carton open offering first choice of the dozen blintzes to the to the Ashen sovereign, the second small act of deference that or just good manners. ‘For my mysteries, I’m casting my net wide at the moment rather than plumbing any particular depth, plenty o pools I’d like to dip into.’ Flinty pupils don't exactly sparkle but there is definitely something that emotionally lights up about them when talking of contracts and magic.

As the Monarch trails off Kray takes a moment to re-evaluate the tone of the conversation, looking the sovereign over once more, with concern writ across his terrible features.

Using his free hand, he levers his immense bulk with a twisted arm, pushing along the ground, closer to the king. ‘Alone?’ The great head shakes slowly. ‘We aren’t winter holed up in our fortresses.’ The next words chosen slowly; the ogre’s brain isn’t hard wired for quick thinking. ‘I’m looking for somewhere accepting to put down roots , grow and learn, so I’d be quite happy to have more than occasional chats.’ He does stop short of actually patting the king on the back, but the shift has brought the snack box almost right under the Monarchs nose.

[Anatole]

"Oh it is. It is a very unusual setup. The Freehold has been running out of the theme park for some time now and most of the Courts have a holding over that way. There is an old haunted house, dressed up as a plaything for Autumn and a Tavern run by the Emerald tied to a small Gate."

Anatole bobs his head in agreement; a flicker of distaste enters his voice when he discusses Edna's Boarding House.

"The Freehold has an odd set up. We recognise the Seasonal Courts but... ah... have a Director to oversee things and a Groundskeeper to act as security chief. It helps given there are so few of us now. Currently, the Director overlaps as the Emerald Sovereign and the Groundskeeper is the Summer Sovereign. Given how transient the Lost can be in these parts, it is better to have an alternative establishment rather than the Courts, which can be quite fickle. Right now we got no Winter. Either that... or they buried themselves real deep in their hidey holes and don't come out to play anymore."

As Kray explains his Kith, the burned dwarf only nods along with a sly, sinister, smile cutting across his beard.

"Sounds like a perfectly good way to deal with idiots if you ask me. We are not what they made us!"

He lends an attentive ear as the Ogre continues about his more esoteric interests.

"Nothing wrong with that at all. Breadth is as good as depth; it all depends on how you use it - and when to use it. For a long while I stuck to theory crafting and the only practical studies I made where of Goblin Contracts."

Anatole's thin, sinsiter smile softened rapidly when Kray positioned the blintzes within reach. He took a couple in his gnarled hand and happily ate what was offered.

"Be nice to talk to someone... Ah yes! Sticking with Courts and how things work around here... Once we're done here I'll put the word out that you are recognised as part of the Freehold. That'll serve as your introduction to the others and will get your foot in the door if you are looking to help out. We all help out here..."

"That's not the end of it, though. It is very important you show up at the next feast: as the Courts have been side stepped here you'll need to bind yourself to the Wyrdstone. Now the Wyrdstone is a Hedge artefact - a powerful token the Sovereign's before my time quested for. The power of Oaths and Pledges can be a little... inconsistent... in these parts, for reasons we've never been able to explain. Its why the Courts are... not strong. Through the Wyrdstone you'll become protected by the Freehold Oaths agains the Gentry and so forth. If you are worried you'll be putting yourself at a disadvantage, I can asure you that you won't; its just a rock taken from the Hedge that acts as a focus for the Freehold."

He was watching Kray now, slowly popping another blintz into his mouth.

[Kray]

Bulbous eyes watch the Monarch, taking in every word. And now the food is moving he swipes two of the treats himself, disappearing whole one after another into a maw made for stripping flesh and crushing bone. The sound as he chews is almost tectonic as the many stony shards grind against one another.

‘No. we are not.’ He agrees whole heartedly. ‘But I’ll still use what they … gave … me, it is for good or ill a part now, and needs to be known to be made my own.’ I have to look in the mirror everyday better to be comfortable with what stares back.

‘Not to be rude Anatole, but is that.’ He gestures with his head using a horn nubbin to point at the bottle. ‘For show or …?’

‘Hobs eh. That’s a part I haven’t gotten into yet. Always trying to rip me off.’ He shakes disgruntled. ‘Not fond of em myself.’ A third snack disappears. chewed with a little more savagery, before swallowing. ‘Theory ain’t a bad thing, doing something you don’t get, can make as many problems as it solves. But I got in a built in clean up system so.’ Now returning the Monarchs sly grin.

He nods appreciatively. ‘Thanks for that, and yeah course I’ll get stuck in. Don’t expect to be accepted round any parts without giving back. Besides, Autumn’s always been the working mans season, way I figure it.’

The wide brow knots causing the horns to cast his eyes into shadow. ‘Tricky huh, pledges are an area I got some skill in making stick, so that’ll be curious to experience.’ Posture relaxing. ‘But yeah, got no issue with abiding local needs or customs'.

‘So, with all these titles flying about, would say people round these parts are good or do I need to be watching out for tyrannical dictators?’ The question is quite casual and Kray doesn’t seemed particularly bothered with either option, more just curious.

[Anatole]

Anatole nods sombrely as Kray continues. When the giant asks, he simply hands the bottle over with a faint smile.

"Hobs will always... always... try to rip you off. They exist in a world of interlocking Pledges and Oaths, without which one is nameless, functionless, and indeed, a non person. We ain't Gentry and we ain't Mortal. Thats the hard part to figure... we are Lost. Outsiders. It is a strength and a weakness. It is rewarding to work with the Hobs. But it is exhausting because we never know exactly what world they're exisiting in, and we can barely speak their language."

He paused to knuckle at one moustache.

"Excellent. Always handy to have someone competent in Pledge Crafting around. Especially around here. I can tell you, from experience, that more simpler Oaths and small Pledges seem to work as expected. Its the larger, more complicated ones, where the issues begin."

His thick fingers hovered over the blintzes.

"Oh I would not say there are any tyrants around here. Seraphina, Vernal Sovereign is Director. She is polite, caring, firm... I would not call her tyranical. Circe, Crimson Queen of Summer... is the kind of person who would punch a tyrant in the face - or blow them up while they sat on their throne. This Freehold is tiny and those of us who stay the longest become... tight knit. There is no time for Tyrant's here, as far as I can see."

[Kray]

Kray takes the bottle, not drinking yet rather listening to the wisdom of the dread lord.

The hovering hand catches his notice. ‘I meant nothing by it, just curious about the locals. You can never tell what your gonna get when it comes to folk like us. If you say their good people, I got no reason to doubt it.' He splits his face into a grin trying to break the mood. 'Though rigging the throne to blow sounds more like the way autumn handles its problems, less direct, interesting angle, unexpected.'

He goes to scratch his chin only to find both hands occupied, and gets caught in the indecision of what to put down for a moment. Eventually settling on neither.

‘I’ll heed your experience with the hobs as well. No sense having someone with know how tell you one thing only to ignore it for personal pettiness. 'They got a big presence round abouts?’

‘You alluded to work needing to be done, anything particular causing grief right now? Can’t think of a better way to show my good will then putting a hand in.’ He shrugs repositioning his weight a little. 'Clearly I got three hundred pounds of force to pack a punch if needed, but I'm not a slouch on my fae know how either.'

[Anatole]

"Circe does like her big explosions. She is not your average Fairest."

Anatole smiles broadly along with Kray. He snatched up another blintz, holding it in his hand while he continued speaking.

"Ambrosial Delights is the closest Goblin Market. Hedge side. A rather large encampment with a deep history, or so I am told. It is fortified so be prepared to be stopped at the gate. Important thing to remember about Ambrosial Delights - they are very particular about the role you take on when you enter, and that role is enforced by the Wyrd: buyer, seller, or both. If you head out that way, be prepared to carry something for trade, even it is your own store of Glamour. They can and do enslave Lost. Be mindful."

Anatole's face darkened as he spoke. He popped the blintz into his mouth, chewed furiously, and continued with a sigh.

"There is also the Spider Market, which is also in the Hedge. Built onto the back of a giant spider creature and it moves around. If you want to go there, be prepared to some tracking and... yes... you may have to wait for when it passes by here again."

"Best way to help out? Hmmm. There is always someone organising a Hedge Patrol. We are a tiny Freehold and the only way not to get stepped on, is to get out there. So we are active in patrolling what few trods we can get access to. After that, keep your ears open and your eyes peeled; never know when something might turn up."

"What is causing the most concern right now? Some pesky cultist weirdo's who know a little too much; bad dreams that are more than just dreams... those are the one's I know off the top of my head."

Anatole remains tight lipped about the rot infecting the major trod into the city at this point.

"You can always talk to Circe. As the Groundskeeper she keeps her eyes on a lot of things. I'm positive she's still planning to explore and... secure... the old tunnels under the theme park. Prohibition tunnels... But there have been other things lurking down there too. Things we don't want getting too close."

@Saber Sloth regularly updates available plots in an OOC Thread

[Kray]

I have noticed, it just came up in the conversation so followed it up, apologies that was unnecessary.

The mention of slavers, bring a snarl from the Ogre, a guttural savage sound from deep in his chest. 'I'll keep away then until I got more in my pockets, and an escape plan if needed.' He finally takes a drink, Tipping his head back to pour into his mouth rather than let it touch his lips, before offering the bottle back. 'Though I never heard of a traveling one before, might give that a look just to see it.' Anything unseen before, like that peaks his interest.

'Cultists huh that's one I've not had to worry about before, more crazy worshipper types or hunt down the thing types?' would be good to know how they got wind of things. 'Dreams I can kind of do, looking to develop it though. Walking the hedge I'm comfortable with and true to most of the troll kith quite like tunnels, although some tunnels can like me a little to much, tight squeeze.' Now with a hand free he gets around to scratching that bothersome itch on his chin. 'I'll seek out the groundskeeper in coming days than, see what's pressing that I can help with.' A fairest that likes to blow things up, also something he hasn't met before.