Lineart I did as a reference for the fanfic that we’re writing. I’m planning on coloring this but I’m still undecided on which color palettes to use for some of the characters.
So... from left to right: Sir Tidemont, Peyford, Xaxiana, Reader, Manley and Avrec.
The next day, the blackwagon is rolling along across the Downside Prairie and the Reader is caught up in her own thoughts again.
After the Rite, before heading back to the wagon, the Reader had looked up at the stars and once more gotten a vision, this time pointing them towards Jomuer, the dusk star. Peyford had noted with some amusement that that is the location Manley had predicted they should have headed towards to begin with. Rather than bringing this fact up and souring the sap’s mood further, they had simply decided to continue on as planned, and thus were now headed towards the Spring of Jomuer, ostensibly under Manley’s directions.
Now, In order to avoid further confrontation with the leader of the Chastity, the Reader has decided to engross herself further in the Book of Rites. After getting back on the road, she still could not let go of the feeling that there is more she could have done to help in the last Rite, and perhaps the book might contain some useful insights. More than its written contents, what catches her attention this time is the book’s clearly mystical nature. The Reader had already noticed that the book’s bindings were highly unusual, and she now extends her investigation to its pages, the way it was written, and its curious lack of wear despite its age. Indeed, at times it seems to be exuding a power which threatens to overwhelm her senses. Suddenly, there is a flash of inspiration. She cannot tell if it comes from herself or from within the very book she is holding, yet there it is. It suddenly seems so obvious. If the book has an inherent power, then she has a feeling that perhaps she can actually have some small influence on the Rite itself, as a reader with the book, through the presence of her own mind.
She thoughtfully closes the book right as the wagon suddenly stops and Xaxiana calls out from the roof.
“There’s something… no wait, someone, on the road! Looks like they’re dead...Perhaps we should grab their stuff?”
The Reader shakes her head, not sure if she heard the harp right at first. Though the question seems consistent with what she’s seen of the harp’s callous nature so far. As she ponders, Manley, who was reclining on a chair against a wall, presumably sleeping, moves his hand dismissively.
“What a terrible, terrible shame.” He replies. “Well, let’s just go around it. We’ve got somewhere to be and there’s no time for detours.”
The Reader, bothered by the implication that no one is going to move a finger for that person, stands up.
“Wait! Are we really going to leave someone who might be in need of help? We should at least get out and check if they’re actually alive.”
It is then that Peyford, who has been silent this whole time, heads towards the wagon’s exit door. As he leaves he comments over his shoulder.
“Indeed, it warrants a closer look. And if there is nothing to be done we can at least move them off the path.”
He is quickly followed by the Reader as he exits the wagon, and a moment later she hears a grumbling Manley following suit as well as Xaxiana hopping off the wagon roof to join them. The first thing that strikes the Reader as they head out is the sudden change in climate. Rather than the temperate weather of the Prairie, the sun is now blazing down on them, seemingly welcoming the triumvirate to the area known as Jomuer valley. She shields her eyes from the sun and looks towards the road, quickly spotting the prone figure in front of their cart.
As the group approaches, with Peyford in front, the figure slowly lifts his head, immediately disproving Xaxiana’s assertion that they were dead. It appears to be a ragged, unshaven man who’s apparently been out in the desert for a while. As his eyes fall upon the triumvirate before him, they widen and he suddenly scampers up onto his hands and knees, hurrying over to them and cupping his hands in front of him.
“Oh, ooh good people. Can you please spare a few sol for a poor soul? You see, I ended up wandering into the valley by mistake and- terrible mistake that was, thought I wouldn’t make it y’see? But it must’a been fate you see? I ended up meeting people as well-off as yourselfs who surely could at least gimme a lift outta this blazing valley in that fancy wagon of yours and...”
The beggar, and that is obviously what he is by now, keeps talking, effusively praising the triumvirate’s looks and repeatedly asserting how some rich people such as them surely must show some generosity to him as they most likely have enough to spare. As he talks, Peyford glances back over his shoulder at the rest of the triumvirate, raising an eyebrow. Manley scoffs in return, deliberately averting his eyes from the dirty man in front of them. Then the Reader overhears Xaxiana mutter to the sap.
“If we’re really in a hurry, I could just end his suffering and we’ll be on our way.” She leaves no room for doubt as to what she means by flexing her talons in the sand, making an ominous crunching sound.
The Reader balks at this, turning around to face the two of them while blurting out a hushed protest. “What are you talking about? You can’t just get rid of him for being in the way?!” To the Reader, this situation seems disturbingly similar to how they had found her only a few weeks ago. And that suggestion seems vaguely familiar. “So what? If I had not had the mark of a reader you would have simply murdered me?” Her accusing stare is avoided by Manley and met dead on by Xaxiana, leading to a short staring contest between the two of them. Though, unsettled by the harp’s intense eyes, she quickly turns back to Manley, addressing him directly, but still quietly. “My life is in no way worth more than this person’s, and I feel he should be treated with the same respect I was.”
At this point Manley takes a step forward and puts a spindly arm around the Reader’s shoulder, quietly leading her a couple steps away from the group. Seemingly this is unnoticed by the beggar who seems busy praising the small yet ornate badge pinned to Peyford’s collar.
“Now, Reader dear, it’s not that I disagree with you. On the contrary, your point of view is indeed, very, very admirable.” The Reader can sense the flattery is about to run out in favour of getting to the point. “It’s simply that, the Chastity does have some standards. Regrettably, it’s not as if we could pick up any fool we come across. You understand, hmm?”
Before she can stop herself, the Reader mutters under her breath “yet here you are…” followed by her immediately tensing up, hoping that Manley didn’t hear her. However, a brief tightening of Manley’s grip on her shoulder signals that he probably did indeed hear the jab. He continues speaking, the corners of his smile twitching as he tries to retain his composure.
“Oh but well! I suppooose those standards have been plummeting as of late, right around the time we took on our last member, mhm? After all, dear Reader, our latest addition has only lead us to more failure and hasn’t even proven themselves to be worth anything, have they?~” The sap’s usual arrogant smile becomes more secure as he watches the Reader grow red with embarrassment and anger, showing that his comment hit home. Without saying another word she pulls herself loose from his arm and walks back over to the group.
By now the beggar seems to have just made himself comfortable on the ground in front of Peyford, sitting cross-legged and holding a one-sided conversation with the stoic nomad, though he turns his head as the Reader approaches.
“Heyah lass. He’s not much of a talker eh? Can’t even tell me if he’s got any change, ahah!” He lets out a guffaw as the Reader clears her throat.
“Well, as a matter of fact…” She slowly starts explaining. “Though we can’t necessarily spare our sol right now… We’d be willing to offer you some food, drink, and shelter for a while if you don’t mind travelling along to where we’re heade-”
Her offer is suddenly interrupted by the beggar springing to his feet and catching her in an unrequested and highly uncomfortable hug, accompanied by a loud overacted kiss on her cheek.
“Scribes bless you lass! Name’s Avrec, lovely to meet ya! You won’t regret this decision at all!” He then scurries right past her into the wagon, likely to raid their stores of food and drink.
The Reader, still frozen from the sudden unexpected invasion of her personal space mutters to herself “I already regret it…”
As she stands there and tries to recover, the rest of the triumvirate head back into the wagon. Peyford and Xaxiana seem slightly entertained by the display, while Manley pats her on the shoulder and comments.
“Well well, it appears that when you pick up beggars from the road you don’t get people who share my gentlemanly nature, hah.”
The Reader sighs heavily and reluctantly turns back towards the wagon as she hears Avrec call from inside. “Hey, where do you folks keep the booze?!”
