Sarmoya (prime)/Preparation, Preparation

Preparation, Preparation

Originally posted on the official forums by VICIMER on 2/7/2019 at 3:26 PM.

Workers filed in and out of the warehouse on the shoreline of Rivers Rest. Some carried crates in, others out to waiting ships. Sarmoya stood some distance away, watching the day laborers go about their work. Once an object of much discussion and some concern among the town's residents, he had heard little talk of it recently. As the months passed since the last sighting of the Green Lady, talk among the town became more normal. Who is marrying whom. Who chopped down their neighbor's tree. The usual rumors about the Guard Captain. This also meant less outward hostility toward the imposing Half-Krolvin walking the main streets of the town. Sarmoya cherished the normalcy, even if he understood its fragility. He also understood what he was about to do could break that fragility. The words of his master came to mind: Some things are meant to be broken. And some things must be broken so they may be remade stronger. He identified a man who could be the foreman. Two things hinted at his status. One, he was sitting on a stool, clipboard in hand. Two, what appeared to be a mug of ale openly sitting on the barrel next to him. One of the rumors Sarmoya had heard involved the trader Mazorn and a new habit. If it was true, it would make sense to trickle down to his subordinates. A dangerous trend. The man did not look up from his clipboard as Sarmoya approached, only sighing, "I already told you, Jer, we're not going-" he stopped short as he raised his head and saw whom he was speaking to. Hastily, he jumped out of his stool and placed his clipboard on the barrel. It did not escape Sarmoya's notice he attempted to hide the mug. "Oh. Sorry. I thought you were... sorry. Yes. How can I help you?"

Sarmoya bowed politely. "Good morning. Forgive me, I do not mean to intrude or interrupt."

"No, no. It's fine." A tone of nervousness in his voice. Did he have ideas as to why Sarmoya was here? Or was he intimidated?

"I must speak to Mazorn. Is he here?"

The man frowned. "No, sir, I'm afraid he is not."

"Do you know when he will return?"

The frown deepened. "I wish I did. We haven't seen him in a while."

"I understand. If he does come, would you inform him Lord Sarmoya seeks him? He will know where to contact me."

"Yes, of course. Is there... anything else?"

"No. I shall not keep you from your duties." Sarmoya bowed. "Farewell." The man returned the bow in his own way, then watched as Sarmoya turned on his heel and strode back toward the middle of town. When the swordsman was out of sight, he took a long draft from the mug.

Not surprised, Sarmoya was still disappointed. He knew little, if anything, of what the voice urged of him. He has never met this Nazhor, or a Scion, or Elspie, or anything else he heard. He had only even made the acquaintance of Darcena on a handful of occasions. And he did not know what to make of that strange bard. The only thing that made sense to him was Mazorn had a connection, so he was obligated to inquire. But if he cannot find Mazorn, he has no road. Surely, the voice must know that. But why visit him again? Why would it not answer his questions? And why would it not give him any information? It is clear someone needs help. But who? Where are they? What is a Scion? Why will the voice not tell him anything? He worried the voice was misguided, that it is seeking something Sarmoya cannot provide. He is not an investigator, a seeker. It is strange, how not being able to provide help makes one feel so helpless. It is a feeling he has trained for so long to prevent. But his problem solving always uses a sword and there's no target he can see. It said to prepare. He only knew one way to prepare.