[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

[MrAbdiel]

Briant takes the xiphos from you with a nod - giving its leaf-shaped blade a glance and a single test slice through the air behind him. "Odd blade. Where did you-"

Crunch!

The top half of the door buckles in with a shower of splinters, and the snarling orc's spirit howls through it. It's hard to tell if he's a 'big' one; they all seem pretty big, the one's you've seen. This one is, or was, as tall as you, though its bulk is bulled forward into a hunch that must make it hard to look behind it, but also means its big bony skull takes impacts that would otherwise hit the trunk of its neck. It seems a positive defensive tradeoff for such brutes. The huge two handed 'axe' is barely an axe; the lumpen blade of iron at its top is so roughly sharpened it's almost a maul, but it's doing the job. And all of this, blade and warrior, rendered in that transluscent blue bleeding through the grim greenish light of the demon moon in the sky; and the rampage of orcs, and ancient knights making war beyond...

Spoiler: OOC: Waaaugh!

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Taalia's up first. As of the moment, half the door is still in tact, so blows from either side of the combat that hit the legs migrate up to the body.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia felt the steel build within her when the ugly, porcine skull-head of the orc shoved its skull through the top of the door, splintering wood and planks where the translucent axe bit through.

Her shield up before her, Taalia gritted her teeth and stabbed out with the ghostly weapon in her hand, slicing it forward at the exposed, snarling, massive-jawed pig-like face of the orc...

[MrAbdiel]

The ghostly orc bellows and reels away from the door, ripping his axe from the frame and splintering much of the wooden remnants as he totters back. The ghostsword feels good in your hand, and you find it shears through the 'armor' the beast is wearing with incredible ease...

Spoiler: OOC: Take that!

Show

The Ghost Sword ignores armor on Ethereal targets.

Briant launches himself through the gap to follow up on the retreating target, before it can regroup, and standing in the doorframe you can now see the scene for what it is.

The demon moon is full tonight, and the whole snow-covered plain basks in its malefic glow. The spirits of ancient Bretonni and their orcish attackers make war everywhere around you. The Chapel seems to be built on the foundation of another watchtower fort like the one on the other side of the river - this one must have been rendered to nothing, its stones carted off for one project or another and some here reused to make the grail chapel. But the ghostly echo of it stands here, rising up high above you with its footprint completely engulfing the grail chapel inside. At its top, a blazing watchfire warns other towers around of the attack underway; and you can see the matching fire in the ghost-knight's own tower across the river.

But more than that, you see what stands out in the scene of ghostly chaos: a woman in simple clothes, her hair covered, a young child in her arms, pressed to the side of the watchtower as warriors around her fight, kill, and die. Her eyes are on the river, and the far watchtower. At once you recognize the familiar distance in her gaze - the same in the eyes of the ghost you met prior. He looks toward her tower, and she looks towards his; he waits idly, even as destruction comes on, for a sign that she might be coming, and perhaps together they might... escape, or die together, or something superior to dying apart.

It's clear to you immediately that the woman and her child must have died here. In a matter of moments, the nearest orc to her - a ghostly monster of a greenskin with huge shoulders and a helm with beastmen horns worked in - is going to overwhelm the wounded ghostly knight defending her and will cut her down. How many times has this pitiful tragedy played out in lonely, empty nights to the amusement of the wicked skies? But here, in your hands, is an opportunity to permit the unwelcome play of history to resolve in a somewhat more fitting way - and perhaps that is valuable to ghosts, in their unreal lives. It's almost certainly the reason the blade was put in your hands.

Briant is an experienced orcfighter; he will be able to defeat the one you wounded and guard the chapel and Bella within it, now that you've armed him with the xiphos. But unless you attack now, and cut the way for this doomed ghostly mother and child toward the river, the scene will resolve as it must have for hundreds of years.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You are within charge range of the wounded orc threatening Briant - but also within charge range of the horn-helmed orc who poses an imminent threat to the ghost maiden and her child. Both orcs are already engaged, so whichever you choose to attack (if any) you get an additional +10% for outnumbering.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Even simply looking outside of the protective barriers of the decrepit church gave Taalia a chill down her spine, as years of heavily ingratiated 'do not gaze upon the Demon Moon or its shadow!' fought against her peering through the splintered fissure created by the orcs crude hewing of the chapel door. Yet...Taalia did so. She could hear the pandemonium, the ghostly call to battle and struggle of beings dying and hacking at each other to such a degree that her curiosity refused to be satiated or remain quiet, and what the girl saw conjured memories.

Taalia could still recall marching in formation a year or so ago, the only female out of dozens and dozens of citizens of Bella Collina and the surrounding hamlets, marching in square formation towards the dread pirates armed with gunpowder and cannon. She had been in fights before that, against the troll, the mutants and an ambush upon the buccaneers themselves when they walked into an ambush, but never in that way. Battles were chaos. Chaos and violence. Yet the anarchy had a direction, a plan almost, as there was no individual man upon the field who would slash and bellow and draw victory upon himself and others. No no, the battlefield was the theatre of teams, regiments and coordination. Taalia had learned as such when she stood shoulder to shoulder with full grown men as they advanced upon the pirate numbers threatening their beloved town, to her right a full grown man with many years under his belt and to her left an even older man who probably had children her own age - and yet there she had been, the only woman upon the field against the raiders. Well, save Squire Scudiera, who had thrown dirty, low-key jealous glances her way when Taalia had gained a piece of smiling affection from Cavaliere.

But it was that experience that was dredged upon from her mind when she viewed the spectral battlefield before her, as ranks of ghostly men speared and held at bay the baying hordes of orcs that sought any entry from whence they could inflict damage and carnage. The greenskins desperately tried to batter away the polearms wielded by the Bretonni, while the men kept the beasts at a distance in preparation for the doubtlessly brutal charge of their liege of masters, the Knights of the Realm.

Yet it was within that bedlam that Taalia spotted the lonely maiden, babe held to her chest and vulnerability all to clear as the ghastly orc nob reared its fang-filled maw in bellowing brutality behind her, orc choppa gripped in a green hamfist and hurtling towards the helpless woman as a familiar, ghostly figure could only look upon the scene with resigned melancholy. To be forced to re-live such a horrifying moment ever year, decade after decade, century after century...their presence alone spoke of some existence after death, some judgement that awaited them all to weigh their deeds, thoughts and actions in accordance with a morality that Taalia hoped she was following. But she knew she had to intervene, to at least try and end the cycle.

Seeing Briant was dealing with the orc that bore the "bloody" wound upon its ugly, porcine face from Taalia's stab, the shepardess surged forward, trusting the man to look after himself as she hurtled towards the choppa-wielding orc that threatened mother and child, her own weapon raising back to bring it skewering through the brutes huge bulk in hopes of undoing the inevitable...

[MrAbdiel]

The massive orc brute is taken aback by the effectiveness of the blow. A simple one handed thrust and the ghostly metal seems to almost leap deeper into the the greekskin's ethereal corpus. Aborting his killing blow, the orc steps back, looks at you with beady eyes, and then fades to vapor.

The rules of this spectral recurrence are not clear. Perhaps you have 'killed' this ghost. Perhaps being so comprehensively impeded has knocked it 'off centre', and that is enough. All that is clear is that he would have killed the woman, and the woman has been spared, and she starts to run as fast as she dares carrying her child. She does not spare you a glance - it seems she cannot detect you at all - but takes the opening made available to her to race toward the river. The spectres making combat in that direction are weaker in color than those closer to the ruin. The scene seems to 'fade out' halfway to the water, as if there is only so much strength holding the trauma of the dead close enough to the land of the living for this to take place. Perhaps there was a boat waiting for the woman in her day; there is nothing now, but she races as though her salvation lay beyond the faded edge of oblivion.

You keep pace with her and she loses luminescence as she nears her goal, but though she does not seem to perceive you, the orcs certainly do - an unfair kind of dream logic that puts you squarely between two of the closing brutes and the fleeing maiden. If you can hold them back a little longer...

Spoiler: OOC:

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Two orcs charge Taalia!

She has to run to keep up with the maiden, so they intercept her with a +10 for charging and +20 for her running. They charge more or less at the same time, so we'll forgo outnumbering for now.

GhostOrc1vs65 - (1d100)[83] for (1d10+4)[12]
GhostOrc2vs65 - (1d100)[25] for (1d10+4)[10] (left arm!)

Successful hits will require dodges and parries, before they can be replied to!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

It was easy to get lost in the moment, as the world around her became a back-and-forth sea of turquoise and shimmering, ghostly vapor. The long-gone spirits of men and orcs stabbed and speared one another, the sounds of death long repeated being iterated one more time and with a mortal participant. Ducking and weaving as she pursued the lone woman, the unarmed and vulnerable maiden become the focal point of the shepardess' attention as all else seemed irrelevant in the face of evidence for life after death - for what was her current mortal coil if a genuine afterlife awaited her in judgement of her decency?

Two orcs thundered forward. The riverbanks sparkled to Taalia's side beneath the Demon Moons emanations, the once verdant-green of the waterfront beckoning the spirit forward into half-visibility as the shepardess brought her ghostly weapon about to smatter away the powerful, overhead blow of one of the orcs that had rushed towards her with its ape-like locomotion, its companion swinging so wildly she did barely had to move in order to evade the lethal trajectory of its weapon...

[MrAbdiel]

The ghostblade turns aside the deceased orc's huge weapon. The orc has mass and power over you, but whatever rules of life and living the spirit is entitled to ignore, the principles of leverage are not among them. That's something you came to understand intuitively in Rashabang's workshop and academically in Cestie's experimentation; it's natural to start to embody the notion with your burgeoning combat experience, and the formal lessons from knights that catalyse your knowledge into skill. With the orc's arm extended for the downward blow, with a backward step, you meet all its force and mass at the extreme of its reach with a lateral parry near your sword's grip. A chopping strike that could have split your skull in half now shifts to your left, glances further off your shield, and suddenly the brute's force is two feet off centre from where his footing expects it to be. If you were facing one opponent only, you could have brought the sword around and chopped into the top of its neck, ending the fight there and then. But there's two of them, and one of you; and you learned another lesson on defense as a child growing up in dark warrens full of jealous and miserable slaves and slavers.

Don't stop moving.

You keep moving backwards and right so the beasts get in each other's way as they try to get at you, and can't easily strike with their preferred hands. Return strikes become available, and you take them where you can, leaving glowing lacerations on both creatures that do not bleed, but cause the membrane of their being to distend and flutter like torn spiderweb. They are enraged, and undeterred; but at least you have their attention.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Last round of attacks from the orcs. After this, they fade out. All Taalia needs to do is survive! Swift attacks from both, with +10 included for outnumbering.

Orc1vs45 - (1d100)[88] for (1d10+4)[13].
Orc1vs45 - (1d100)[70] for (1d10+4)[14].
Orc2vs45 - (1d100)[100] for (1d10+4)[6].
Orc2vs45 - (1d100)[67] for (1d10+4)[6].

I'll make an additional post for the wrap up, after damage is taken/avoided.

EDIT: Damn, abject failure. Well, I'll edit in the addendum here...

And their rage avails them little. You spare a glance to the maiden over your shoulder just in time to see her vanish entirely, fleeing past the limits of her stay in this world and fading into the beyond. As she does, the great spectral fires in the paired watchtowers flash and wink out, and the ghostly light leaves the battlefield. With it goes the ghosts, drifting apart like melting snow in an unseen stream over a handful of seconds until it's just you, and Briant a little ways off, catching your breath in the light of the demon moon.

"They're gone...? Like last time. But..." The young knight glances up at the sky. No cloud cover, tonight; the blizzard melted the clouds away long before. Looking down at your empty hand, the ghost blade gone once more, your instinct tells you this time, this play of spirits and anguish was not interrupted, as much as satisfied.

You remain on guard, but the ghosts do not return - atleast not that night. Your party has escaped unscathed, and despite the rough barricade you and the others are forced to put up where the door once was, the next few hours of sleep you manage to get in that chapel are some of the most comfortable and restful you've ever had. Does the Lady bless the valorous - even for the sake of the dead, and for those dead who perished before she revealed herself to Gilles the Uniter? Maybe so. But at the very least, the sensation that you were tasked with something noble, and fulfilled that charge, remains with you for days to come.

Then you dream of Appletree, and the visiting Bretonnian knight who fought there when it was put to flame - and presumably died, trying to ensure some made it out alive from the hellfire and carnage brought by the northmen.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Gain 100XP!

You're almost at Castle Quenelles. Before we get there, during the next day of travel, give me a +0 Hearing based Perception Check.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia battered away the down-ward cleave of the orcs weapon, its crude weight giving it an effective power, but one she managed to glance off of her shield. The girl was getting better at this, she knew, though for obvious reasons could not dwell upon. Though eclectic in her training and education on the matter, Taalia was a capable combatant, with her statuesque mixture of height, agility and endurance allowing her to stand shoulder to shoulder with men, who had an obvious upper-body advantage.

But against orcs? Even the shadowy imitations of those long dead? Taalia had never imagined, or hoped, that such a thing would occur. Yet here she was, gritting her teeth, shifting her feet to help angle away the orcs blow, exposing its arm, shoulder and flank to her ghostly blade that she brought about and stabbed into its side –

Until everything faded away.

The woman had made it to safety…she thought. The shepardess shot a glance back up at the tower walkways, her keen eyes searching for the grim, lonesome figure of the long-gone sentinel, but no trace was found.

Had they broken the curse? Had she, Briant and Bella finally brought an end to the tortuous cycle that played out once a year like some eternal limbo? Something told the girl they had, something deep within her where the spirit was perhaps spread throughout the body, that they had brought a modicum of rest to the ancient Bretonni that had fallen in these fields. Or, perhaps, to the only one whose consciousness remained, his vigilance once a duty but now a curse, one that they had lifted by offering their mortal coil to assist the lone woman and her child, allowing her to re-unite with her partner in the next lifetime.

Taalia spoke quietly with Briant and Bella as they shot each other questions and posed theories, but the shepardess rested well as the soul seemed warmed by the deed they had done. Even though her dreams contained memories she wished were not true, they reminded her that she had been surprisingly lax when traveling with a possible font of knowledge on the matter.

And so, when they were back upon the road and traveling towards Castle Quenelles, the shepardess would speak to Briant with her gentle, sonorous tone.

“Sir Briant?” she would ask cautiously.

“From what lands do you think I hail?”

This would be followed up by a description of the Bretonnian Knight she could remember, as well as the details of the device upon his shield and colors that he wore. Taalia had come to learn that these were important identifiers in the land of Chivalry. Perhaps it was a worthwhile lead?

[MrAbdiel]

Briant seems a little baffled by the question - perhaps mostly because of the sincerity with which it is asked of him, of all people - but he listens genuinely as you try to dredge up details in your vision of the knight. You remember the massive two handed sword on his back; at the time, it seemed like the biggest sword possible. Now with your stature, you consider that you could probably wield such a weapon comfortably enough. You remember halved fields of black and white on his tabard. You remember many Fleur de Lys worked into his armor and gear; a symbol of a gold grail on vambrace, with a stemless gold cup beneath it, into which the content of the grail was spilling.

All three of you in the saddle, Briant on Cleménce and you and Bella on riding horses the knight effortlessly wrangled on loan from the last village, you are able to have the conversation eye to eye with Briant on account of your less glorious steed.

"Well, black and white are ducal colors for two places. The duchy of Brionne ...", he thumbs back over his shoulder along the bank of the river Brienne, westward. "If you were to follow the river all the way to the bay, you would have Brionne on your north face and Bilbalian Estalia on your south. But the halving of black and white in panels is more like Montfort..." He gestures north, aside the line of the approaching forest of Loren and into the distant mountains in the northern horizon. "Montfort is, ah... Frankly, it's Parravon's poor cousin. Parravon south of the pass to Sigmar's land; Montfort north. The Fleur de Lys, well... Those are everywhere in Bretonnian heraldry, so I fear there is no help there. The greatsword suggests he was a questing knight. When knights take up the quest for the grail, they put aside the lance and take up the sword, often the great sword. A knight errant would likely be bearing his shield, lance, and arming sword. A knight of the realm also, but they would not be so far from home as often as other tiers of knight. And a grail knight... well. You would know, if you had met a grail knight. You can tell. Everyone can tell."

The western face of the curtain wall (or 'enceinte' as Briant prefers) rises grand and fair in the distance. You can just pick out the great blue banners, and the unicorn iconography of Quenelles flying proudly. A pair of dark songbirds flit by your ear, and chase each other off into the sky. You like to imagine they are the ones that hatched in the structure of Cestié's flying machine, but of course you can't know that for sure.

"The grail and cup, though. That may be something. The gold grail is obvious, but the gold cup is something. Nobility use silver for cups, knives, forks... Silver is the noblest metal, even if it is not the most expensive. Merchants use glass or gold for their dining ware... I would take the grail pouring into the cup to mean the knight's family sprang from peasant-merchant origins, and received noble title from the King. That may be any number of generations back, but it is a distinct enough feature of a line to spring from that perhaps someone more familiar with Montfort's courts directly would know it. If you suspicion is connection to the Wasteland, that would fit; Montfort does a decent amount of trade and needling
into the Wasteland; Marienburg is more concerned with the border with Couronne than such small efforts."

That's something go off - more than you've had before. If you are going through Axe Bite Pass, you will be going by Castle Montfort near enough that you might even swing by and ask some questions without deviating too much from your destination. But a sound your finely tuned ears pick up snatches you away from your own thoughts. It's off the road, past a tall clutch of grass and under an overhang of tree roots from a scrubby little fig tree whose earthen base had been dug away by some animal. It's a voice - a soft voice.

A child's voice.

Upon closer inspection, a baby's voice.

The swaddled child lies under the cover of the fig's roots, sheltered from the surrounding snow, but not particularly sheltered from the cold. It is crying softly. Initially, you take this to be mild distress; but the babe is shivering and softly moaning such that you can only conclude it has wept its lungs raw out here all through the night and is now at the point of exhaustion. There are no tracks in the overnight snow - someone abandoned, or hid this child here last night and never came back for them. Left much longer, the child would certainly die. It may still. It had to have been after the blizzard had quieted down, but before it had burned itself out completely.

Who would do such a thing?

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

There was a simple and base enjoyment to be had in discussing the devices and iconography of Bretonnia and its connection the lay of the land, particularly as it she was personally related to the topic. As she sat atop her riding horse, periodically leaning forward to rub the beast behind the ear, Taalia smiled and listened and asked the odd question, but otherwise found herself happy in conversation as the snow-touched fields rolled out across them. So far, during her entire time within the realm, Taalia had relied on Bella for translation duties, which had created something of a barrier between herself and the natives around her, such as Briant. But now that she was coming along with the language and could hold relatively moderate conversations, she was able speak with more ease and enjoy his company further. Who would have thought that something so rudimentary would be so pleasant, as the Shepardess learned more about the culture of the Land of Chivalry and received several clues as to where she herself might have originated from.

The Wasteland. Terra desolata.

"I might be from a wasteland, Bella," Taalia leaned her head back to peer at her friend over the back of the taller destrier that Briant was upon, the shepardess' mouth in a cheeky grin.

"That makes sense, doesn't it? Hehe!" she giggled in self-depreciating humour, while dwelling on it more within the privacy of her own head. The Wasteland. It didn't sound particularly pleasant, and yet for such a grim and foreboding name, Taalia could only remember greenery and her parents apple orchard and cider production, while the village subsisted considerably off of fish drawn in from the adjacent waves, the ones that had borne aloft the wretched Norscans. It was in that moment that Taalia knew she would need to try and find a large map of Bretonnia and the Empire, to try and discern where this 'Wasteland' was. And if what Briant said about their journey was true, the shepardess would have the opportunity.

Of course, in regards to language, Taalia still thought in Queekish. That would perhaps be a permanent legacy of the rat-men, something from which she could never escape. To them, the term 'Wasteland' could be pictured in their scrawled, hasty writings, but she didn't wish to spoil the pleasant afternoon by bringing words from that foul language into the air.

Abruptly, the sounds of a babe's wail yanked Taalia back into the present. Blinking and turning her head about, the shepardess quickly spotted a small pile of wriggling clothes nestled within the exposed roots of a fig tree. Without hesitating, her eyes open in shock for half a moment, Taalia dismounted the horse and hurried over - but paused. Apprehension and warning stayed her hand as she came to a dead stop just ten or so feet from the sobbing child, as Taalia now shot her gaze to the surrounding trees in search for any sign of an ambush or trap in the making. Afterall, how would such a child come to be here?

Then she remembered the fate of their Road Warden, Bert, and the way that the Demons Moon had seemingly cloned him. Had it also produced this child, wrapped in linen and deposited it here for some poor traveler to take pity on the babe and bring it home, only for years to go by until the true horror was revealed?

Unable to spot any ambush or trap, Taalia nevertheless withdrew her firearm and held it ready to loose a shot. Crouching, she carefully approached the child, eyes on it for several seconds, before scanning the tree's once again, then eyes back on the babe...

[MrAbdiel]

Briant keeps his eyes on the road as he awaits the fruits of your investigation. Bella is dismounted and halfway to you before she detects your wary posture and holds from completing her journey, lending her eyes to the surrounds as well.

There are small clusters of trees in the snow along the banks of the Brienne, but no big blocks of forest to hide an ambush. Indeed, most of the tree cover west of the Quenelles seems to have been cleared of lumber on account of everything east of it being sacred and forbidden.

Closer inspection of the child suggests only that it is miserably cold and suffering badly. It must certainly be starving for its mother's milk, not to mention warmth; but having given its best cries to the pitiless night air before it has little left. Its cheeks gleam with the frost-touched tracks of countless tears.

Spoiler: OOC: Perception (+20, Visual)

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You see no signs of ambush here; no where for anyone to hide.

Spoiler: OOC: Perception (+20, Smell)

Show

You get none of that ozone tang of magic afoot in the area.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

For several long moments, Taalia remained sill as her keen eyes scanned the surrounding trees, searching for any trace or hint of movement that would betray the presence of one laying in wait for a gullible traveler to take the irresistible bait.

Nothing.

Just the rustle of naked branches and the small compression of snow beneath her boots, and the sobbing of that wrapped up child.

Her caution satisfied, Taalia continued forward, though still on guard. When she drew close enough to the child, her hetereochromia eyes fell upon the screaming infant, sympathy and maternal care immediately rushing into her orbs as her mouth opened gently in surprise and concern. Shouldering her firearm, Taalia reached down, her hands moving underneath the mass of clothes as she clucked her tongue gently at the infant, her sonorous and smoky voice doing its best to sound soothing as she held the child up and to her chest, kissing it upon its naked forehead and rubbing her nose against its own.

"Bella - Bella!" Taalia spoke, turning about to face her friend.

[MrAbdiel]

"Miei dèi!"

Bella flies to your side and goes through the same roil of panic and hope and panic again.

"La cara bambina!"

You create a little island of warmth between you for the shivering tot. It settles almost immediately with the human contact and kindness, and warmth. Briant is just as startled when you bring the child back and he can see. You see him grimace as he suspends his kindness to ask the necessary question.

"Is it... mutated?"

With due haste and care, you and Bella look over the child. Bella was right - a little baby girl. Bella rips up some scrap cloth she has been using to bandage you from her bag to clean it and reswaddle it - she has been sitting in her faintly greenish-yellow leavings presumably all night, and has developed a rash as the least of her problems. Seeing the color, Briant gives a worried look, but only reveals how little he has dealt with children of this age. There is no sign of mutation to be found.

"It's normal enough, Sir Briant; she would need something much stranger than this to qualify as a mutant." Bella assures, as she secures the bundled babe and you set Milo gently atop the swaddle to add his disinterested warmth. "She's very young - though the green means only she hasn't been feeding from the pap properly even before this. What could she be doing out here...?"

The knight shakes his head in wonderment. "I don't know. I would have guessed an ambush, and a mother hiding the child, but there is no sign and it would be madness so close to the city. Maybe a... kidnapping, with the kidnappers fleeing the city by night and hiding the child as they gave up? It's a wonder she made the night, and no animal-"

"Stop, stop!" It's Bella's turn to grimace at the prospect and she shakes her head to dispel the very notion. With a little help, she's back in the saddle holding the little girl in a blanket to the warmth of her chest, with Milo on top for good measure. You don't need to communicate it, but naturally keeping your hands free to deal with the unknown is the logical choice.

"At least the city is so close - maybe we can find her a wet nurse before it's too late."

* * * * *

Castle Quenelles and its surrounding fortress city have some of the same quietly elvishly-informed achitecture sensibilites you recall from great cities like Remas and Miragliano, but moreso. The castle itself is set towards the north of the city and is surprising modest all things considered, but features elaborate soaring parapets instead of the fashionable 'leaning towers' like the one you were imprisoned in. There is a roundness to the turrets and towers that makes them seem grander, somehow.

Getting into the city is easy enough. There is a small line of early arrivals - mostly pilgrims come to stand on the eastern road and gaze into the Fay forest. But Briant is the only knight at the time of your arrival, and everyone stands aside on principle. There's no toll for you as part of his entourage here, though you and Bella are both looked on like you have horns growing from your heads. You are foreign women with uncovered hair wearing men's clothing - pants - and armor. Being foreign is the only thing that makes you objects of curiousity, rather than criminals.

There are far fewer beggars and paupers here in the city than any city you've been in elsewhere. You must assume the indigent are driven out to the outlying towns and villages where they are the burden of local elders rather than the city. What you understand of the local political structure is that the line between peasant and noble is much sharper and more demanding than simple wealth and the pretence of sophistication one requires to advance in Tilea. The peasant class is absolutely subject to the noble class, here. In return, the nobles are expected to provide robust protection for the people. Given the problems they seem to have with orcs, the fact that there are people here at all must mean they are getting some value out of that transaction.

You have other goals in the city, but the first priority for your group is naturally welfare of the child. Briant, with his local authority, takes the fore, and walks straight to the first building he sees with a decent hope for warmth - a little house inside the gate with a healthy plume of smoke rising from the chimney. A stocky local farrier and his wiry apprentice are a little startled at this intrusion, but can only welcome you all into the home behind his anvil where his redhaired wife is first shocked, then pleased to have company.

"Ooh! The poor little one!" She fusses, turning away from the puzzling task of carving little faces into turnips to receive you and give deference to the knight. "Well, it's nice and warm in here, certainly, chevalier; I can send on of the apprentice to fetch fresh sheep's milk..."

Bella doesn't like the option - the baby is far too young for that to have much hope, but without a wet nurse, the only options left are the forlorn ones. She takes a simple wooden seat by the fire, and lets the child bask in the warmth, atleast. "Briant, where can we find a wet nurse..?"

The knight purses his lips. "Women so dedicated I may find in the castle - I must go there directly to inform the Duke's household I am passing through, and for... another reason. If I find one there, I will send her directly. But you are likely to find a nursing woman closer by - one not moved first by pity might be moved by a few coins. But I will be back as soon as I can."

The farrier's wife - her name is Irenna, her husband Gregor - has only recently moved to the city with her husband by request of their lord who has given them over to ply their craft to knights coming and going near the gate. With no special insights into where to find and negotiate for a mercenary breast, with Bella minding the child's immediate care and Briant duty bound to first attend the castle, it falls to you, in this strange new place, to see what you can do. But you have always been quite good in new circumstances, and haggling for nursing services feels like it ought to be the same as haggling for any service...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

It's Gossip time. Feel free to weave any interest you might have for finding in the city while you're at it - I'll bundle that into the roll for no charge.

Normally this roll would be at +20, but you're taking a cumulative penality of -30 from...
1. Dressing in man's clothes in defiance of custom
2. Dressing in armor in defiance of custom
3. Being foreign (can't be helped).

With those at -10 each, you're looking at a total of a -10% Gossip roll. If you beat it by a margin of 2 or more degrees, you will super-duper succeed.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

With immediate security assured, Taalia took the time to indulge the little infant, handing it over to Bella as the other girl desired and remaining a constant over-the-shoulder shadow. Briant's concern for mutation was an importance the girl had not consideredd, which might be surprising given her regular exposure to its deleterious effects both within the halls of the ratmen and on the surface since her escape. But, thankfully, the little babe had no such profanities etched upon her skin nor carried any other visible malediction. No ambush. No mutation...

"Perhaps a married woman covering up an infidelity? Or a father hiding the family's secret brought about by a promiscuous teenage daughter?"

Whatever the case, the little girl was fine, and Taalia could tell that both she and Bella felt an affinity towards the poor little thing, by different backgrounds but the same unifying reason. The shepardess didn't have to be a rocket science to connect her friends deeper concern for the girl, seeing in her a much younger version of herself, her infantile age perhpas sparing her the pain that would have come if her parents had chosen to abandoned her as a young adult...as had happened to Bella. Likewise, Taalia felt her heart pulled towards the tot for similar causes, her own separation from her origins being forced upon her by outsiders, but happening nonetheless.

Indeed, Bella's visible distress at Briant's proposed grim fates that could have befallen the infant spoke to Taalia's instincts over her friends connection, as the taller and, doubtlessly, more 'desensitized' shepardess remained close to her friend and their new, vulnerable charge on the way to Castle Quenelles.

However, what Taalia did not consider due to her ignorance of Bretonnian culture, both national and regional, was the possibility that this girl had been left out for the inhabitants of the Athel Loren to discover.

oOo

The group pressed through the snow-capped forest and soon entered the beautiful, white-glistening fields that surrounded Castle Quenelles. A creation of simple beauty, Taalia thought, it had that touch of elven design that she was still able to detect and pick out from the imagination of human creation, as the angles and pointed, conical tower peaks rose like elegant fingers high into the air around the deep walls and surrounding city of the Duccal capital. But it was something else behind that veneer that truly stood out to the shepardess when she saw how easily Briants station granted them entrance, the way peasants and traffic would swiftly make way for the mans passing that troubled her about this ostensibly beautiful land: the social hierarchy. Now, Taalia was not, as one might imagine, averse to social order. Indeed, the slavery of the Skaven had left its mark on her mind, but she instinctually felt that some type of social propriety was needed, but the further she delved into this land of chivalry the more grateful she became that it was Tilea in which she had re-emerged into the world. In that sun-kissed, passionate land of beauty and farming, man was relatively free to go about his day and master his own destiny. There were the misfortunes of life, of course, and some were more capable or motivated than others, but had Taalia returned to the surface in a village within Bretonnia, could she have accomplished what she had created in Tilea? From her modest little flock of sheep she had proven the savvy and very hard-working businesswoman and, despite her youth, she had gone so far as to acquire a vote in the Verazzo senate. Though some may pity her for having spent so long beneath the lash of the rat-men, and indeed it was an unpleasant experience, but perhaps it was a dark little irony that the slavish work ethic Taalia exhibited that had gotten her so far, was another of the marks the Skaven had left on her psyche. But...had she joined mankind once more in the lands of Bretonnia, she dreaded to think that that same drive and moxy would have simply filled the coffers of some local lord, rather than her own and, by extension, denying her fellow community members of the jobs and wealth that would have been generated. A rising tide lifted all boats, after all.

Who knew. Things went the way they went, and thankfully it was Tilea where she had gained freedom, as she watched Briant so effortlessly commandeer a house belonging to a couple who had been 'requisitioned' or passed off from one lord to another. Taalia, for her part, though Briant was a gentle man in his dealings, looked visibly troubled by how easily people could be bossed around and traded as if they themselves were livestock. Would the Empire be any better? Was this 'Wasteland', where conjecture suggests was her place of origin?

"Grazie mille, thank you very much for your use of your home and hearth, you show great kindness to strangers and the vulnerable," Taalia would say to Irenna and Gregor, making sure to thank them personally for what they were doing, and to show them some recognition for the imposition they had placed upon them, seemingly from a lofty place of authority.

But, it would take more than friendly gratitude to help her now, Taalia realised. Briant had duties...somewhere within the castle-town. Bella, meanwhile, was understandably absorbed with care towards the infant. That just left her, the shepardess, former slave and gun-carrying, armor wearing foreign woman who still thought in Queekish, to brave a new, alien town where she could try to find a wet nurse that could provide the infant with what she needed.

Did Taalia stand out?

Like a dogs funstick.

A head taller than even the men, her proportionate stature visibly athletic and covered in mail armor, her hetereochromia blue-or-green eyes peering out from beneath a steel helm atop her white-blonde head, she had her firearm over one shoulder, a shield across her back, two pistols on her hip and a sword too. But there were other small details that assisted with the demarcation of her from the common populace, to the quality of her black riding boots, the beautifully made pouches and leather belt around her trim waist and the scars on her otherwise pleasant features. To say that she did not look like she fit in was something of an understatement, and it showed. When she ventured out into the crowds of the castle town, Taalia could feel the eyes on her. She had not experienced such a sensation since the first time her tall, lanky self had wandered into the markets of Bella Collina, only to be surrounded by children that wished to be hoisted high, high, high into the air and spun about. But, there was no such welcoming committee of anklebiters, there were only stares and hushed whispers. Where-ever Taalia moved, people got out of the way, and they stared. Foreigners were not uncommon, but ones of her unusual combination of traits made her a striking and eye-catching figure indeed, and the effects were soon felt.

"Well met, I encountered an abandoned infant on the road into your beautiful town and am in need of the services of a wet nurse, do you know where I can find one?"

"Bonjour, the Lady bless, my traveling companion has a child who needs a wet nurse, if you are so kind, where may I find one?"

"Bonjour, Lady Bless, may you please direct me to the Maison Dieu?"

Nothing. Nadda. Scratch. Taalia showed none of the timidity of the local Bretonnian women, their manners of social etiquette lost on her, causing teh tall girl to simple approach when she thought polite, smile and ask her question, all to receive blank stares, slow, shaking heads or abrupt waves of refusal.

Taalia inhaled then exhaled, standing admist the main market area and looking about her. This was going to take some time.

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

It's a hard slog with little response. Disheartening, considering the emergency nature of the issue.

"You say a little one? A little baby? Hey, ah... good for you, then. Good for you! Babies are blessings from mother Rhya. Here - here, maybe you buy one of my dolls?"

It's a distraction from your current pursuit, but atleast this merchant is giving you the time of the day. Turning to attend the voice, the man is certainly odd to behold. He is dressed in a fine tunic and breeches, but with sandals on his somewhat large feet. A floppy, conical hat tilts down the side of his head. He is middle aged, clean shaven, even somewhat well bathed. There are some gold rings on his fingers, and his garb is a not-unattrative motley of black, green yellow, all rather well sewn. But tied to the front of his face is a ridiculous, oversized, protrusive nose carved from wood. It sticks out about six inches from the front of his face, and his smile seems almost apologetic for it, without mentioning it.

He is selling dolls from a decorated handcart. Most impressive are wooden dolls carved in segments from soft wood and threaded with colorful cords at the joins so they click and jangle when played with. Most are smaller and softer, little linen pillows in doll shapes packed with hay and feathers.

"You're a traveller, so it doesn't diminish you not to know; but all babies need dolls, certainly. For the Fay."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


The shepardess smiled gently and warmly at having someone just finally engage her in conversation, as the marketplace about them had provided little more than a frosty reception. Though not outwardly hostile to her, the crowd was not particularly welcoming either, instead choosing to treat the firearm-carrying, armoured foreign girl taller than most of the men as a curiosity to consider rather than someone to actually interact with.

Not so for a man selling trinkets and dolls, apparently, though truth be told...Taalia felt little affection for the creepy little baubles.

"Oh, how sweet," she lied through her smile, picking one of them up for inspection.

"Why would the Fay be interested, or dissuaded, by small trinkets such as these?" the shepardess asked after several moments of feigned interest, drawing her heterochromia eyes back up to look the man in his face, her composure gentle and her old haggling instincts returning to present a pleasant front.

"Because it seems a newly delivered child might be in greater need of a wet nurse, monsieur," she spoke politely with a touch of the playful, "they seem quite valuable too!"

[MrAbdiel]

"Well, our people have ancient and deep ties to the Fay, ma'amselle. By ancient accord, the Fay watch over the children of Bretonnia as they sleep. Sometimes, as it please them, they take certain children and spirit them away to the Fay realm to live there, instead. And sometimes, for reasons we cannot know, they leave the child but take the doll instead. The Fay are strange and powerful, and we cannot know what becomes of children who go. I... Like to think they grow strong and safe in the Fay realm, full of glamor and plenty, but..."

He gives you then a smile that strikes you as heartbroken. Beneath that ridiculous green nose, his smile holds up his face like a titan holding up the world. "...But who can say. They never come back. But it is against the ancient royal law to hide children from the Fay's inspection - the punishment is the child's life, though such tragedy has not been carried out within my lifetime, so far as I know. But, ah... You are right; a doll will not provide mother's milk. But I meet many expecting parents, in my business. Many throughout town - though you might try even two lanes over, the home of Hamil and Lydia. Lydia was pregnant again when I last heard from Hamil - the woman is as fruitful as the king's own apple tree - but even if she has not birthed, the last one is likely still at the pap."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia could recognize the tip of a sob-story iceberg when she saw one. It was one of the oldest sales tricks in the book, and one that she, as a lass, had had employed against her numerous times. However, this was a foreign land to Taalia, and one that she did not know particularly well. After all - she had been taken from her family as a youngster, and they had just come across a babe left abandoned in the woods after all.

But also...the merchant did not try to push his goods upon her beyond the initial little sales pitch.

Pursing her lips, looking at the man, Taalia leaned one shoulder comfortably against the sturdy wooden frame of the merchants stall, peering at the man with a playful scrutiny. Flicking her lips, her demeanour remaining that of the humorous skeptic, the shepardess reached to her belt, undid a little buckle on one of her pouches and withdrew two silver coins and placed them flatly on the wooden exchange board that separated her from the oddly dressed man.

"That's for the pointer, and that's for one of those," she gestured to a little doll, the one that caught her eye the most.

She would, of course, show it to Briant first before presenting anything to the tot, just in case the story around its use was a load of poppycock. Still, Taalia thought to herself as she thanked the merchant and went on her way to the home of Hamil and Lydia, in this world there was at least a kernel of truth to many superstitions. Better to have and not need, then need and not have.

Besides, at least others in the merchant square saw her buying something. That had to help to help warm them up to her, at least.

[MrAbdiel]

"Hey! Hey, thank you, ma'amselle! Lady bless you, wanderer!"

He's delighted to have the sale - a little odd for a man with such jewelry to be so pleased with a sale, but you can't imagine that nose is a big draw for customers. You take your chosen doll - a little down-stuffed fabric shape whose limbs flop about where they are stitched to the body - and follow the direction to the home of the indicated peasant-burghers.

* * * * *

"Hey!"

You halt on your approach to the little house. You can hear the squalling of a babe within and you're sure you've followed directions, but a little blonde boy stands in your way with his fists on his hips and his jaw set. He is weedy but fiery of temperable, and tall - for an eight year old.

"Hey, I don't know if I like the look'f you, ma'amselle!" In a move that reeks of having been practised relentlessly for just such moments, he tucks his toes under a stick on the ground flicks it up with his foot, and snatches it out of the air into his grip. It's a good stick, for what it's worth; straightish, three feet long, and featuring the nubs of snapped off twigs to make a sort of sloppy crossguard.

"What's yer business?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia gave the merchant a small, but sincere and playful little curtsey, before stepping away and admiring her new little trinket in one of her gloved hands. She held her longer fingers around the centre, from behind, turning it one way, then the other, watching as the little baubles on the end of strings that served as its 'limbs' swung back and forth with each little twist. What would the Fay want with such trinkets, she wondered? If they even wanted them at all.

Her thoughts were yanked back into the present, however, when the shepardess came upon the guardian of the Hamil household, her eyes drawing up from her small toy and witnessing the blonde before her, brandishing a stick as if it were a sword and puffing his chest out protectively in defense of his house.

Taalia couldn't help but smile.

She put the little bauble away and held both her hands up gently at her side.

"I surrender, brave knight," she spoke, her sonorous, smoky voice easily reaching the lad, a hint of humour on her face and tone.

Taalia noted the boys height, a kindred spirit already forming. He'd be a tall one one day, and even at this precarious age he wasn't afraid to confront strangers approaching his home. However, Taalia had a pleasant face, despite the scars, so he might act differently if particularly rough or intimidating men came about to cause trouble.

"I am searching for Hamil and Lydia, I am in need of a wet nurse and was told they could be found at this house that you are guarding so well!"

[MrAbdiel]

He lowers his stick at your surrender, as gracious in victory as he is brave in the face of challenge.

"A wet nurse?" For a moment you prepare to explain in your third-best language the nature of that relationship, but the boy seems to understand. He tuts and considers.

"Wassit pay? My ma's been wet-nursing for years, so she's probably pretty good at it."

He's leaning on you, foreigner you are; but you suspect if you can convincingly press the idea this is in service of a knight he'll be forced to yield. On the other hand, he seems pretty keen to parlay for coin, and it probably wouldn't take much coin to make a difference for such a poor family.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia's smile remained, her sense of humour intact and finding an odd fondness for the lad. When she was his age...well, she knew. Needless to say, witnessing one like this in mans natural element, there was something comforting about it all that the shepardess liked, as if this is what life could be.

"Well, my brave knight..." and Taalia trailed off, her cue being for the boy to reveal his name. Once she learned it, she returned the favour, "Taalia Giovanni," with a curtsey.

"Wassit pay?" she repeated the question, deliberately using his contraction, "well, Sir, it depends how many wet nurses there are and level of demand for their services. May I pass and see her?"

[MrAbdiel]

"Just one here, but she's my ma so she's the best. Seven children she's had... Oh, well, I guess...a bigger number, now." He looks at his empty hand, but having run out of fingers at five and unwilling to relinquish his stick advantage, he resigns to the abstraction.

"But pa says it's really important we get paid for the next nursing, and we don't get ripped off like last time! So I'll go get ma if you pay me... Two pennies! For the interview!"

The bouncer/manager/knight/imagineer holds his open palm before you, apparently convinced he has driven a hard bargain by controlling the supply of the demanded service. Wheeler-dealer though he is setting out to be, he seems sincere enough.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

The much taller woman smirked and then snorted lightly in amusement.

"Two pennies?" she asked incredulously. A part of her wanted to thumb-flick a silver coin the lads way, but she knew that word would get out and back to his two parents, and who knows how much their rates would go up if they thought Taalia had money to hose around town. Which she did...but she didn't want them knowing that.

"How about..." Taalia said softly, now kneeling to bring herself down to eye level, but also so that she could speak very softly to him lest anyone else here.

"I'll hold off paying you two pennies now. But, after I hire your ma, I'll give you half a silver instead."

Rewarding him for his diligence, teaching him the benefit of delaying gratification, and saved the shepardess the trouble of producing copper pennies here in the street.

"Deal?" she asked, perking a silvery-blonde eyebrow and putting her hand forward to offer a confirming shake.

[MrAbdiel]

You watch his eyes bulge a bit before he can tamp down his avarice and act cool.

"...Wait here, ma'amselle."

Then he rushes to the little home behind him, around the back, and through some open door or window in the rear. You hear excited chatter, and a little later, the door opens and Lydia emerges; a red haired woman just into her thirties, but with the understandably tired features of a woman who is managing, as the lad suggested, more than seven children. She has the youngest with her; a baby in its own swaddling, latched to her breast, covered in a curtain of cloth to preserve her modesty as he she engages with you. After, naturally, the moment of surprise at your height, and foreign ways, and scarring.

"Oh... My, you're quite tall, ma'amselle. There's nursing work, you say? Well, that's good. This little creature wouldn't be the first to have a milk-cousin. I can come right away, if it's urgent - three pennies I charged last year, three pennies a day... But for something longer term, I shall need to speak with my husband and know the wheres, and hows."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia's friendly demeanor remained as the mother came out, her own budding maternal instincts moving to the surface, long buried by slavery but whose embers had been fostered by delivering lambs and tending to young animals on her farm. She couldn't help but smile a little wider, a "t'saww..." escaping her lips at the sight of the little new-born, as she reached a hand forward and with a silent, 'may I?' affectionately stroked the soft skull of the tot in Lydia's arms. Would she, one day? Such a thought was as far from her mind as could be only a few years ago, but now? The hope was growing.

"A beautiful babe, congratulations, ma'amselle..." Taalia spoke, her smoky voice low and her Breton passable enough.

"Yes, your brave knight here," as she gestured to the boy, that sense of humour remaining, "mentioned it was a profession of yours. My companions and I found an infant abandoned on the side of the road on our way to this castle, and the poor thing is in dire need of a wet nurse. How long it would be for I cannot say, but I can meet the fees you seek. We have checked for mutations and there are none, no sign of deformity or infirmity. The poor little girl seems to have been brought into the world by a mother who could not have her, and so trusted to fate or the Fay to provide."

[MrAbdiel]

You can't see much of the little one - the shroud concealing the suckling provides appropriate modesty - but you gather she's a healthy little girl. The cloth foot of a doll pokes out of the bundle. Lydia smiles as you stroke the bub's head through the cloth, and you detect some melancholy in her face - but there's a lot of that going around, so it hardly seems unusual at first.

"On the roadside..? Well, that's... horrific, ma'amselle. She must be starving - let's sort out the rest once we've seen to her. Let me just... Adrien! Adrien, mind your brothers and sisters! I'll be back in a few hours, but your aunt is next door!"

Adrien - knight of stick, first son of Hamil and Lydia - opens a window and pokes out his head to confirm the transfer of responsibility, but gives you a narrow eyed remember-our-deal look before popping back in.

It's not so far from the farrier's house, and so not a long walk leading Lydia and her child toward Bella in the care of the abandoned one. But right before that, just as you cross the snow-slush road across from the city gate that leads to the farrier's home, the baby at Lydia's breast has had its fill, and settles in to doze contentedly. Lydia discretely covers herself again at a slowed stride, and is able to pull the shroud back from the baby so you can see her for the first time.

There is a sense in which many babies look very similar. They have not had a life's worth of weathering, diet, growth, and learned expression to become particularly distinct. But you trust your eyes; apart from being warm and loved and held, this baby's face is exactly the same as the one worn by the child you rescued from the road. Either they are twins, or something supernatural is at play.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia did a double-take on the child, her mouth opening slightly before snapping shut like a trap. Looking straight ahead again, the cold of the snow upon the ground suddenly crawling up her legs to knot in her stomach, the shepardess could only think of poor Bertuccio, his life derailed as the Demon Moon formed a copy of his image for a mutant to wear.

Swallowing softly, "Ma'amselle..." Taalia asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper and only just audible to Lydia.

"...I am a foreigner to these lands, so please take no offence to my question. The recent Demon Moon was the first that I had ever seen on Bretonnian soil. Fortunately I got indoors before any calamity befell me. You have so many children, how do you manage to control them on such a perilous night?"

[MrAbdiel]

Lydia seems a timid sort of woman, unwilling to take offense even if the option were available to her.

"Well... There is not much to do. When the sun goes down, we gather inside and say our prayers and sleep. My husband rakes the muck in the streets in the day, but when he comes home he is their favorite; so I can play the tyrant and he plays the sheltering father, haha. We impress on them the fearsome things that are at play on nights when the wicked moon is high... The greenskins take it for a god, so they are more active... Hamil, like many others, is called out to be at-arms in waiting on such moon nights. But with the windows and doors closed in our home, it is very dark; so there is not much for the children to do but whisper to each other until they fall asleep. I sleep nearest to the youngest so I can comfort them when they wake to cry, and the window is within arm's reach if we need moonlight. On such nights, we draw up together and thank the Lady for things we have - walls, and warmth, and love."

Her voice cracks a little on the last note, as you arrive at the farrier's house. She covers the child's ear with one hand to soften the ding-ding-dinging of the apprentices pounding out horseshoes at the anvil. She looks to you, shy by nature and trying not to stare at your visible outlandishness, but also perhaps deferring to you to manage the door ahead.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia listened in patient silence. She had all the positive hallmarks, if such a thing existed, of someone with her awful history, namely patience. Her expression was neutral and her tone understanding, as she listened to Lydia explain the general ritual that she and her family undertook whenever the Demon's Moon reared its disgusting face across the skies of the mortal realms. The little detail that her husband may have been outside and armed with the local militia at the time, had no escaped the shepardess' notice.

However, towards the end of Lydia's answer, Taalia was becoming visibly uncomfortable, as if she carried a terrible secret within her that was like a hot coat burning away at her ribcage. Swallowing, biting her bottom lip, the taller woman reached out and prevented the native Breton lass from progressing, but her gesture was not threatening, it was protective. The shepardess was visibly younger than the experienced mother, with 12 years distancing the two of them, at least, while Taalia was visibly the much taller and more physically capable of the two.

"Lydia...there is something you should know..." Taalia started.

"I have only just viewed your babe for the first time," she gestured to the little tot Lydia carried protectively in her arms.

"But...the girl that we found, abandoned on the road? They look exactly alike..."