The Cursebreaker

[Sensualist]

Bolivar Jackson had left the town of Koldwell before dawn, and though it was not yet midday had passed through a bishopric, a baronetcy and a petty kingdom. The borders of the Tattered Marches intertwined like a nest of vipers, a maze of enclaves, occupied territories and shifting battlelines, sometimes marked by banners or strings of flags hanging from the trees and bands of toll collectors and border guards, but often lacking any kind of demarcation. Now he was in what seemed to be a no-man's land – there were no signs of soldiers or lords, only a few clusters of abandoned hovels alongside the road, burned-out barns and abandoned paddocks.

Koldwell had been suffering an infestation of boggarts in its great Celestial Clocktower, the vicious little imps throwing off the progress of time and season and constellations and causing much consternation amongst the aldermen of the city. The boggarts were no longer a nuisance, thanks to Bolivar... but the aldermen had decided that a disreputable vagabond Cursebreaker was a threat. They had pressed his purse of payment into his hands, and made it quite clear he was not welcome in their city any more, and should he remain there past nightfall he would find himself in the gaol. Unfortunately for the aldermen, Bolivar had had an appointment with an old acquaintance in Koldwell he saw no reason to put off; a lovely and talented young wizardess from the Imperial College named Maddalyn, who had been hired to repair and re-ensorcel the clockworks before the boggarts were discovered. It was she who had recommended Bolivar for the job, and she with whom he planned to celebrate the accomplishment of the commission most pleasantly.

So Bolivar had crept out of Maddalyn's chambers hours before sunrise, and evaded the patrols of guards scouring Koldwell for him as he made his way to the gate. With his zweihander blades and shimmering elf-silver armour shrouded in illusions and his face altered by a simple alchemical concoction, they had not suspected a thing, and he rode clear past them onto the crumbling highways that wandered the Tattered Marches, remnants of the time they had been outlying provinces of the Empire of Dietenstad.

On Banter's air-light tread it was easy for Bolivar to half-doze, recovering his energies from the battle of the previous day and the passion of the previous night and its precious little sleep. Easy for him to savour the memories of Maddalyn's warmth beneath him, around him, her nails on his back, her voice breathlessly moaning and invoking fragments of spells meant to enhance and prolong their pleasure in his ear. The Cursebreaker snapped instantly from his reverie when he heard a barn owl hoot from the woods around the highway. An owl? In the middle of the day? No... a signal.

And responding to that signal, men began to seep out from behind the trees. Hard, mean looking ruffians, clad in leather jacks, dirty felt coats, steel caps and other mismatched bits of armour. Some wore bits of uniform of heraldry belonging to one lord or another, but none with pride. They wielded clubs, knives, pikes that had been cut down to make them more wieldy, and a couple had crossbows at the ready. There were about a dozen of them, and Bolivar could imagine what they saw when they looked at him: no silks and jewellery, but well-cut and well-made clothing. A horse – not a cheap thing to own or keep. No weapons or armour visible.

Easy pickings.

Their leader was an ugly man, even before his nostrils had been slit and a gothic D for Deserter branded on his cheek in a welter of red and black flesh. He was broad of shoulder and heavy of belly, and tapped his spiked morning star against his open palm thoughtfully as he blocked Bolivar's path, the rest spreading out around the mounted man. “'Ello, guvnor. Fine weather for travelling, aye? We'll gladly let you get back to enjoying it, once the matter of the road tax is settled.”

“'Ere, Ghord,” a grizzled old veteran said doubtfully, leaning down to squint at Banter's legs. “Is that 'orse floatin'?”

 

[Niksis]

A heavy sigh escaped the Cursebreaker, it had been a rough night with little to no rest. And what little rest he did get had been on top of Banter, his trusted steed. These men, these brigands, they outnumbered him, sure. And while Bolivar was confident in his ability on a normal day, today had not been that. The spells and incantations Maddalyn had used to prolong their time together had worn on him. Taking out these brigands would be of little issue, but was it worth it?

In a gruff, grizzled voice Bolivar responded "Why don't you all just scurry on back into the woods from whence you came, save me the trouble of having to get off my horse and kill you."

He had invested, and partly been rewarded, with equipment that would hide his true self, hide just how dangerous he was. It had been a blessing and a curse. It allowed him to blend in better, to seem weak and unprotected. It allowed him to be a Viper among men, allow him to spring to action with the deadly precision of years of training. But it also provoked situations like this, brigands and bandits who saw easy prey.

Bolivar prepared himself, he had every intention of fighting these brigands but would rather not, he'd much rather go back to sleep again. Though should they move to attack, he would be ready.

 

[Sensualist]

The leader of the deserters turned highwaymen, Ghord presumably, sneered at Bolivar's threat. He looked pointedly at Bolivar's hips and shoulders, where no weapons could be seen. “Aye? And how will ya do that? With the edge of yer tongue?” His smirk faded to an ill-tempered glare, and he spat on the worn, muddy cobbles of the highway. “I'll give ya a five-count to give us your gold, mate. After that, we'll take it and you blood.” He held up his hand, palm splayed towards Bolivar and began counting down on his meaty fingers. “Five... four...” The two men with crossbows hoisted them to their shoulders, aiming at Bolivar from the flanks.

The older man, using his pike as a walking stick lowered himself to ground level, putting the side of his head to the road so he could peer at Bolivar's hooves. The horseshows of the zephyr created a cushion of air several inches thick that allowd the horse to walk without trace, over near any surface, and the brigand stared into that gap apprehensively. “'Orse is definitely floatin', Ghord. This 'un might be a wizard,” he muttered, and a few of the other brigands looked down worried as well.

OOC: Intimidate 12 vs. Will save 6. Enough to demoralise them, not enough to scare them off. The brigand will be shaken for a couple of rounds when combat starts. Ghord is standing about 5'-10' away, the rest of the brigands are scattered around 30'-40'.

 

[Niksis]

Bolivar sighed, it was far too early in the morning to be killing idiots, but, these idiots had brought it upon themselves. Leaning forward, Bolivar whispered a few quiet words to Banter before he looked to the group again "Alright, let me get off my horse then." he needed room to fight and his swords were far too large to be used on horseback.

Slowly, he raises his arms into the air, as if to signal that he surrenders. Of course, it was only to get a hand closer to the handle of one of his swords. A handle he gripped tightly as Bolivar moved to jump from the horse, drawing his massive zweihander mid-air. He had to get ready for combat, and judging from the count the crossbowmen were doing, he was running low on time to act. If possible, and if time allowed it, Bolivar would use the reach, surprise and strength to try and cleave Ghord, the closest Brigand in two.

OOC:

Acrobatics Roll, if needed:

See more

Roll(1d20)+4:
10,+4
Total:14

Attack roll, if needed:

See more

Roll(1d20)+5:
17,+5
Total:22

Roll(1d20)+10:
16,+10
Total:26

Damage roll, if needed:

See more

Roll(2d6)+3:
5,2,+3
Total:10

Roll(2d6)+3:
4,4,+3
Total:11

 

[Sensualist]

Ghord grinned in greedy triumph as Bolivar appeared to make to dismount – then gaped in surprise as he kicked up from the stirrups and vaulted through the air. The hair-triggered crossbowmen snapped off their shots; one bolt flying too high, the other grazing the meat of his bicep below the sleeve of his mail shirt.

The air shimmered as Heartseeker became visible, near enough six foot of razory adamantium-steel appearing from its invisible sheathe. The blade yearned towards Ghord, almost pulling Bolivar's hands with it, drawn to his panicked heartbeat. With a meaty schunck of meat and bone he hacked through the deserter's shoulder and ribs, a spray of gore erupting as the blade went nearly from right shoulder to left hip. Ghord's carcass was thrown to the ground and Bolivar had to place a boot on his chest to wrench Heartseeker free with w agrunt off effort – bringing it around in time to impale another of the brigands as he charged. The rest advanced in a yelling, confused, angry mob, forgetting whatever military discipline they may have had, jabbing at him with pikes and swinging clubs. Luckily, there were enough that they got in each other's way and could not all attack at once, and Banters whinnying and kicking kept one side clear as the brigands gave the horse a wide berth.

A few blows deflected off his disguised mail with metallic clinks rather than the sound of cloth to the attacker's surprise, but as they flanked him a couple were able to lay into his back as he was distracted parrying and warding off the ones in front of him. Bolivar felt gashes and bruises forming as heavy cudgels pounded at his spine.

OOC: Bolivar takes 6 damage from a light crossbow crit, and 10 damage from flank sneak attacks from the brigands surrounding him. HP 47/60.

 

[Niksis]

A groan through gritted teeth escaped Bolivar as he felt the bolt dig itself deep into his bicep, this morning was quickly turning from bad to worse. Though he was confident that these Brigands would prove nothing more than a painful speedbump on his journey.

Wielding Heartseeker in a tight grip, Bolivar prepared himself to cleave another two brigands in two. He had been too busy leaving Koldwell quickly that morning, that he had not had a chance to prepare his potions in advance. He would have to rely on his physical prowess to get out of this one and see to his wounds later.

OOC:

First Attack:

See more

Roll(1d20)+10:
14,+10
Total:24

First Damage:

See more

Roll(2d6)+3:
4,5,+3
Total:12

Second Attack:

See more

Roll(1d20)+10:
10,+10
Total:20

Second Damage:

See more

Roll(2d6)+3:
4,1,+3
Total:8

 

[Sensualist]

Bolivar whirled, bringing the zweihander around in a decisive arc. He swept left, severing an arm at the elbow; he counter-swung right, etching a deep red line into a brigand's belly; he used the momentum to follow through, face-checking a third man with the weapon's hilt.

The remaining brigands staggered back, avoiding the length of enchanted steel, and the grizzled older man spat as he raised the haft of his pike defensively. “Ghord! Elgan! Damn it! Rut this for a laugh. This 'un's no babe in the woods. Pull back!”

It was more of a rout than a retreat, though. The brigands tossed their weapons aside in the effort to flee more quickly, though one man seemed to retain enough espirit de corps to grab his dismembered friend, the screaming man with the missing forearm, and drag him towards the cover of the woods. Banter reared up, lashing the air with his hooves and whinnying in triumph as the thugs fled.

 

[Niksis]

Bolivar breathed heavily once people began retreating. It had been close, mostly due to Bolivar not being prepared, something he usually were. Thinking back, the night with Maddalyn was bordering on being worth it now. The wounds, both from the bolt still sticking out of his arm and the various bruises and cuts on his back could have been avoided if he had prepared his toxins, potions and bombs like he normally would every morning.

Sheathing his massive sword back into it's invisible sheathe, thus turning the sword itself invisible once more, Bolivar walked over and ran his hand down the flank of Bantar, "Good job boy, let's find someplace and camp for a bit."

He made no effort of chasing the brigands down, it was not his job nor his worry to deal with them. They had learned their lesson just like he had and he assumed they would not be back anytime soon. Looking down at the bolt still sticking out, Bolivar grunted, "This is bad..." he knew that it would take awhile before that wound had healed up.

Stepping over, he mounted Banter once more and clicked his tongue twice, which instantly set the majestic horse in motions once again. He would continue on the road until he found a place where he could set camp for a few, seeing to his wounds and brewing some potions for the rest of the trek.

 

[Sensualist]

It was evening before Bolivar came across anywhere more hospitable than bramble thickets and muddy fields to rest. A farmstead lay to the side of the highway, the house set far back from the road. It looked like it had once been prosperous, but had seen better days; many good fields lay fallow, unplanted, and those that were were past due for harvest, the wheat almost dripping off the stalk. There were a few outbuildings and hovels that looked abandoned, but a thin coil of smoke rose from the house's chimney.

What most caught his eye, however, was the Guildsign scratched into a post by the path that lead towards the farmstead. Guildsign was a code Cursebreakers used to leave messages for each other about rumours and threats they encounters and contracts they had done. In this case, the symbols looked to be a few years old, judging by the weather, and were a report of the information a passing Cursebreaker had gathered about the farmstead.

• A triangle with a thorny dash protruding from each side. A curse afflicts this place.
• The holy symbol of the Church of the One, inverted, with a wavy line beneath. Demonic forces – uncertain?
• A crescent with a stylised sheaf of grain before it. Curse is time dependent – recurs at the harvest moon.
• Three overlapping circles. Payment offered.
• The last symbol was a personal mark belonging to the Cursebreaker who enscribed the message. Rhodri's signature, if Bolivar remembered rightly.

If Bolivar's internal calendar was right, the harvest moon as three nights hence. Perhaps this was worth investigating? If nothing else, the farmstead offered the most promising place to rest and treat his wounds for miles around.

 

[Niksis]

Bolivar stopped at the gate leading up to the farmstead. It was almost too good to be true. Sure, the Guildsign warned of a threat, but after traveling for a whole day without pause, well, the thought of a roof over ones head was a welcome change. Dismounting Banter, he pulled his Shifter's Sorrow from it's sheathe and made his way up to the Farmstead. Ignoring the Guildsign, any thing or anyone could have made this place their home, and Bolivar had already been caught off guard once already.

He decided it would be best to investigate the curse, if nothing else then for the payment. However, first things first. Bolivar decided he'd clear out the farmstead of whatever inhabitants it might have now, be that brigands, wolves or something far more monstrous, then he could see to his wounds. Then, and only then, would be look into the curse.

With careful steps, he made his way up to the farmstead, expecting trouble to be coming out at a moments notice. As trouble had a tendency to do when you least expect it. The bolt in his bicep was still there, he hadn't pulled it out yet until he was ready to treat the wound, so his movements would be slightly hampered for fear of breaking the bolt still lodged inside. Using his Deathwatch Eyes, a pair of extremely expensive lenses he had been granted as a reward for a particular troublesome contract, Bolivar moved closer, checking for anything alive, once alive or dead.

 

[Sensualist]

A cool evening breeze rustled the overgrown fields as Bolivar stalked towards the farmhouse, his eyes slitting as his mutagen-enhanced darkvision began to kick in. His gaze flicked to empty, unshuttered windows and open doorways in the hovels and sheds surrounding the house, but there was no sign of life or movement there. A few animals scratched around in the barnyard; chickens under the watchful eye of a rooster, goats stretching their necks between fenceposts to nibble on the grass and a worn-looking cow.

As he approached the farmhouse, Bolivar heard a low, sweet, sad song rising from the kitchen. A woman was singing an old folk song about a maiden pining for her lost love. The door opened, and the singer emerged, toting a bucket of kitchen slops. She stopped suddenly as she saw the armed man standing in her barnyard and stared in surprise, the bucket spilling on the packed earth below the threshold. A comely woman, perhaps in her mid thirties, she had raven hair, dark eyes, and full, sensual lips. There was an air of fatigue about her, but her back was straight, her hands looked sure and her figure was lushly curved with generous breasts and rounded hips. She wore a plain, rough-spun blouse and long skirts.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “If you're here for a hand-out, I've little to spare. If you're here for harvest-work, welcome.” She eyed the bare sword in his hand, its blade glittering silver. “No... you're a Cursebreaker, are you not?” Surprise, anxiety and hope dawned in her eyes.

 

[Niksis]

Bolivar stopped the moment he noticed the raven haired woman, he had expected the farmstead to be abandoned. As she addressed him, Bolivar allowed his guard to drop as he once more sheathed his massive sword back into it's invisible sheath "Sorry miss, didn't mean to startle you. Expected it to be abandoned." he started as he took a few steps closer. "I'm a Cursebreaker, yes. I hear you're having problems that I might be of assistance with?" he was referring to the Guildsigns outside, not knowing if she was even aware of the potential curse placed on the farmstead, though judging from her reaction she might know something, at least.

"I've been on the road for hours now, met some friends on the way..." he motioned to the bolt still sticking out of his bicep "Mind if I stay for the night. I can pay." at this point, Bolivar was willing to do anything, his wounds needed attention, his mutagens and potions needed to be refreshed and touched up. Maybe he could trade a few nights stay by finding out what this curse was about.

 

[Sensualist]

The woman drew herself up as Bolivar stepped closer, watching his sword vanish from sight with raised eyebrows and wincing when she saw the bolt in his arm. “Abandoned? Aye, but only by the cowards that lived and worked my fields. That wound looks wicked, and I'll not have you bleed out on my property. Come...” she turned and stepped back into the kitchen.

Inside a fire was burning low in the hearth, simmering a pot of soup. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, giving the air a light fragrance. She gestured at a chair by the table, and busied herself setting a pot of wine over the fire to heat as a disinfectant and producing a set of old linens which she began to cut up for bandages. “Are you here by chance, seeking shelter, or did you come about... the beast?” she asked as her knife whispered through the cloth, watching Bolivar tend to his injury.

 

[Niksis]

He followed her into the house, glancing back at Banter for just a moment who had already moved to make himself comfortable under some of the trees nearby. "Thank you." Bolivar said as he looked about the house. It looked far from abandoned, it looked almost cozy, well, aside from the potential curse that might be over the place.

Moving to the chair she had pointed out for him, Bolivar unbuckled the two belts going across his chest, belts that would be hidden from anyone but his eyes as they held the magical sheaths and swords to his form. Setting both claymores against the table, thus revealing them before he began to remove the magical elf-armor, he needed access to his wounds and the chain would only get in the way.

"Tell me more about this beast." Bolivar said as he began to tend the wounds he could reach himself. Sitting without armor or shirt, years upon years of battle evident on the countless scars and burns, both from mundane fire but also magical fire. The only reason his body hadn't broken down from the punishment it had endured over the years, is because of the potions he had perfected over the years.

He had come for shelter however now he had another purpose, perhaps shelter would be given if he saw to the beast, whatever this beast was.

 

[Sensualist]

The woman watched in muted amazement as Bolivar stripped off his warlike panoply, the twin blades and his shirt of silvery maille shimmering back to visibility as he removed them and set them aside. She stirred the pot of wine until it steamed, her eyes lingering on the weapons – and on the man's lean, hard, damaged body. Her certainly looked dangerous. Maybe dangerous enough to help her?

When the wine was hot, she brought the pot over to the table. She watched him remove the bolt, sending a fresh ooze of blood down his arm, and she grimaced in pain. She helped him clean out the wound with the sterile alcohol, then bandaged his bicep. As she did so, she spoke.

“My name is Adriana, and this is my farmstead. In inherited it from my father, and ran it with my husband Garet and our farmhands... until the fiend killed him.” She nodded to a dusty oil painting hanging over the fireplace in the main room of the house ina gilt-painted frame. It showed her, in younger, happier and more prosperous days, judging by the dress she wore, with her arms around a burly man with a bushy brown bear. Both were smiling broadly.

“It was... five years ago, almost to the day. We were celebrating the autumn equinox festival, preparing to bring in the harvest on the morrow when it came. It stalked out of the woods, a gaunt figure, tall and awful, with eyes of flame. My brave husband went to fight it, but it slew him.” She moved on to helping him bind the cuts and bruises on his back, her nails brushing his skin as she wrapped his torso in bandages. “Since then, it has returned each harvest moon to make us suffer, to ruin the fortunes of my farm, to terrorise and drive off the farmhands until only I remain. Maybe this is the year it will finally come for me.” Adriana gave a bitter laugh.

 

[Niksis]

Bolivar seemed more interested in tending to his wounds than he was taking in the beauty of his host. Sure, age might have taken hold of her, age and hardship, but she was still a looker with years to go. He gritted his teeth once more as she poured the alcohol over the wound, despite the many years, pain was never a thing Bolivar had gotten used to. Looking over at the woman who introduced herself as Adriana, he smiled "I'll take care of the beast for you. Can you tell me what it looks like?" Bolivar asked, he wanted to know exactly what he was up against, it was his strength, the strength of any Cursebreaker, the preparation.

Shifting around a bit, to allow the woman to assist him with the wounds and bandages, he smiled and gave a slight nod. He had learned to take care of himself, it was the only person Bolivar could count on, yet the assistance of someone who seemed to know what she did was welcome.

 

[Sensualist]

Adriana nodded, as if Bolivar's offer was what she had expected. “I know your kind does not work for free.” She glanced at the wall, where pages from a farmer's almanac listing sowing and reaping schedules, a calendar and phases of the moon was pinned, but she seemed to have the information she needed memorised as if it had been weighing on her mind. “The full moon, the harvest moon is not until the night after tomorrow, I can offer room and board. And I have coin, as since the farmhands fled they have not collected their pay. It is mostly in coppers and silvers, but I can offer you 500 goldmarks worth. If can can banish this curse that has taken everything from me and restore my farm's fortunes, I will consider it money well spent.”

The woman got up once her guest's wounds were treated and returned to the fire, where she stirred her soup pot. “I... have never laid eyes on it, myself. Only from afar and in the dark of night. I fear it, and I know in my heart it would kill me if it could but lay its claws on me. Each year, it has come closer to the farmhouse and tarried longer, stalking the fields and yard, preventing us from bringing in the crops even when the yields have been good. “ Adriana sounded weary and regretful as she spoke. “All I saw was a ghastly silhouette, taller than a man but lean as a post, with eyes like hellfire itself and a burning maw. When it creeps outside past shuttered windows and locked doors I hear heavy, creaking footfalls, and a rustling like dry leaves or cloth, and the smell of blood and rotting hay. “

 

[Niksis]

"Your offer of hospitality is much appreciated, Adriana." Bolivar said as he learned over the table and looked over in the direction of his host. It was a good offer, five hundred goldmarks wasn't too bad, though to be honest the thought of food and board was what sealed it. He'd have to find out more though, judging from what she said and what Rhodri's message said, it sounds like potential demonic forces, however it could be anything, really. And he'd have to know more before he could prepare, a shame that fighting demonic forces wasn't Bolivar's expertise.

Standing then, Bolivar walked over to Adriana and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, "I accept the contract, however can you tell me if anything out of the ordinary might have happened a few days, or even a few weeks before the very first sighting?" he asked, could have been an angry farmhand or jealous lover who had cast the curse, he'd have to look around himself, however the more she could tell him, the better "Anyone who would stand to gain from you loosing this farm?"

 

[Sensualist]

The woman stiffened at his touch, her wooden spoon knocking against the edge of the cooking pot. She seemed more startled than angry or offended, though. “This is ready,” she said, picking up a wooden bowl from the bench and placing it on the table – then after a moment, doing to the cupboard and fetching another bowl. Clearly she hadn't entertained guests in some time. Adriana ladled out two bowls of a thick barley soup, with a few nuggets of salt beef for flavout, and gestured for the man to sit again.

“You never told me your name,” she said, gazing at him with dark eyes before leaning down to blow on a spoonful of soup. “Before the first sighting...” she sighed, delving into long passed but painfully fresh memories. “No... I... don't know. It had been a hard year – a hard few years. There was a blight in the crops, and the harvests had been thin for a long time. We were near the end of our wits and our coin purses. But no, we never saw... I don't recall anything unnatural occurring. No strangers, no omens, no strife. I can't imagine what we could have done to bring this curse down upon us.

Adriana shook her head as Bolivar asked if anyone benefited from her woes. “No. We have few neighbours here, and my farmhands only stood to suffer from the farm being ruined. I always make sure to pay the 'taxes' whenever soldiers from one lord or another march through.” She raised her eyes and studied the Cursebreaker thoughtfully. “Do you truly believe you can deal with this? Defeat this terror?”

 

[Niksis]

Bolivar smiled as he watched her work her kitchen with the expertise she clearly held. He had only expected a roof, not a solid meal on top of it. Not wanting to be rude, Bolivar moved to the seat she motioned at and got comfortable. Smiling he spoke again "You may call me Jackson if you want, though most people just refer to me as Cursebreaker." he explained. First names were not something he was too fond of giving, at least not to people he didn't know well. Knowledge, he had learned in his many years of adventuring, was more powerful than any amount of gold. And names, names were even more so.

He reached for the spoon and took a few healthy bites, food hadn't been one of the things he had prioritized since he left the warmth of his lover that morning. The bolt lodged in his arm had taken priority. As he sat there in silence, Bolivar went through the information he had been given so far. It wasn't much to go with, though what he did know, he tried to think back. 'Hmmm, what could this be. A demon, really? Sounds more like a beast. But a curse? Undead?' he went through everything he knew so far, trying to piece it together. That's when he realized she had asked him a question, "I cannot do much until I know more. But dealing with curses and monsters is what I do." It was true though, without more information, going in blind would most likely only lead to his death. "First thing in the morning, I'll look around the farm. See what I can find. Do you know where this Beast originates from? When it shows up, does it come from a particular direction or even better, when it leaves, do you know which way it goes?" again, he needed more information to work with.

Taking another few good spoon fulls of soup, Bolivar smiled over at Adriana "Tastes delicious, thank you."

 

[Sensualist]

Adriana looked surprised, perhaps a little standoffish as he only offered his last name. But that was his prerogative, and certainly not the strangest or most dangerous thing about him at any rate. “Well, if that is what you do, I shall call you 'Cursebreaker',” she said with an almost-smile, brushing a lock of dark hair back behind her ear as she tucked in to her own soup. “You may sleep in the barn, if the open sky does not suit you. The hay will keep you warm enough, and the roof still keeps out most of the rain.” She nodded at his compliment to her food, accepting it with professional satisfaction, much as Bolivar might have done if someone praised his swordplay.

She considered his question, racking her brain through the painful and fearful memories of the beast's attacks. “From the woods, to the west,” she said at last. “We used to call it Barrelman's Woods, for the coopers who harvested its trees, but in truth I think the older name for it was Barrowman's Woods. After the burial mounds they say are located within it.” Adriana shook her head ruefully. “Just a childish superstition that is, though. I've never seen a barrow or cairn in those woods, and Garet and I used to walk them of an evening all the time.”

 

[Niksis]

The Cursebreaker smiled and nodded, the barn was most suitable, all things considered. "The barn is perfect, thank you for the hospitality." Bolivar said with a smile on his scarred lips as he spooned in the last of the delicious soup in silent thoughts. 'Hmm, burial mounds. Full moon, Werewolf? But why? Revenge? Love? Protection?' a few thoughts went through the Cursebreakers mind at that. He had seen and experienced some weird stuff over his years as a Cursebreaker and it was getting harder and harder to find reasoning behind most things. As once he figured he'd find the reason, something weirder than before happened.

Though Bolivar would not allow this to keep him from his contract, he had accepted it and was going to see it through. Moving the wooden bowl now empty aside, he smiled over at Adriana again as he rose from the chair "Again, thank you. I will return once the beast has been dispatched." he said as he began to collect his things. There was no reason to put on his armor since he intended to go to bed first thing when he went to the barn, so wrapping it around his arm and carrying a sword in each hand, Bolivar moved towards the exit in the attempts to locate his resting place for the next couple of days.

He intended on scouting out the forest during the day and again at midnight the night before the Harvest moon. See if he could find something, anything that would betray what beast he was hunting.

 

[Sensualist]

“Good night, Cursebreaker” Adriana called quietly as Bolivar stepped out into the cooling night air. There was a dark, bluish haze on the horizon where the sun had set; it would rain tonight. That roof over his head would turn out to be welcome, indeed.

The barn was easy to find, a large, ramshackle but serviceable building. Judging by the scampering and soft chittering from the piles of hay that filled the barn, Bolivar would have plenty of mice for company. The Cursebreaker set about removing Banter's tack and harness and giving the horse a good rub down – it seemed he would be staying for a few days, so best make sure the beast was able to rest and roam with ease. It was well dark by the time he finished, but his alchemically-treated eyes allowed him to see well, and there was no need to risk burning the barn down with a candle or lantern.

Speaking of which... through a gap in the barn's side, he caught a flare of light from the house. An oil lamp had just been lit, and was illuminating tatty lace curtains through an open window. He saw a silhouette pass behind the curtains – the window must open into Adriana's bedroom. His host moved back into the narrow frame of view, facing towards a dresser to the side, and Bolivar saw her hands working at the laces of her clothing. She stooped, dropping her skirts to the floor, and then lifted her blouse over her head. Large, heavy breasts bounced free, clearly silhouetted by the flickering lamplight. Bolivar was sure he could even see her nipples pricking up as the night's cool hit them. Adriana ran her hands down her body, hands outlining her voluptuous contours closely, as if massaging the kinks and knots out of weary limb. Her rounded hips and backside swayed as she slipped into a thin nightgown, and then sat by the dresser and began to comb her hair. After a few minutes of teasing out the thick dark waves she rose and came to the window, reaching out to close the shutters, and a moment later the lamplight died away.

 

[Niksis]

The beauty of his host had not gone unnoticed for the Cursebreaker, so when caught that first glimpse of what had been hidden underneath thick and ragged clothes his interest peaked. There was no harm done in looking, right? Besides, she had lived on that farm for so long, he expected her to know just where everything was. Was she teasing him? Or did she just truly not care who might see her? The thought of her knowingly going through these motions in front of the open window would join his dreams that night as he settled into a deep slumber. One filled with vivid images of his host and how he could help ease some of the loneliness she was no doubt feeling. But first things first, Bolivar had a beast to content with, afterwards, he could offer his other services to the widow.

Despite the pleasant images of his naked host at his side, Bolivar's sleep was interrupted by the occasional nightmare. It wasn't uncommon for him, or others of his kind. Their line of work had them see and experience things no man were meant to see or experience. It left scars, deeper than on the flesh, scars no potion could heal. It wasn't enough to wake him from his slumber, but it was enough to cause the Cursebreaker to shift and grunt in his sleep.

As morning dawned, Bolivar rose from the hay he had settled himself into. The roof had proven a valuable ally in his battle against the elements that night, the hey had done wonders of keeping his body warm and despite the crudeness of it all, it was far better to sleep in than the ground he was so used to. All in all, when he awoke, nightmares aside, Bolivar had the best sleep he could remember. Well, nightmares and Sorceresses aside. That image filled his mind for a few good seconds before those two were gone. Business, he kept telling himself, business first, pleasure after. It had kinda been his rule of thumb when it came to his work, he had a reputation to uphold after all. Or in some parts of the world, a reputation to build.

Reaching over for a bucket of rainwater, Bolivar splashed the cold water unto his hardened, exposed chest. He had not worn his armor that night, so all he was wearing when he woke up was his leather breeches. Using the collected rain water, he began washing himself down. Allowing his calloused hands to rub against his scared and burned flesh. Sure, there might be potions or magic that could remove said flaws of the skin, but Bolivar wore his scars with pride. It was proof of the life he had lived, the things he had done. And it was a constant reminder not to get complacent, a reminder that there would always be something out there stronger. And thanks to his alchemical skills, the wound caused from the bolt the day before had healed up fully, leaving nothing but a small scar where the bolt entered. Another one for the collection.

Finishing up by splashing a good amount of water into his face, Bolivar eventually reached for his magical elf-mail chainmail and thew it over his head. As soon as it fitted itself around him, the shimmering metal warped and changed. And instead of him standing wearing a metal armor, he was wearing nothing but a leather jacked and a white shirt underneath. For all intents and purposes, he looked harmless and defenseless. Reaching over, he clipped the two belts carrying his magical sheaths around his chest. They had been a reward from another Sorceress he had done a contract for back west. They went well with his armor, adding to the image he liked to travel in. For despite him wearing not one, but two massive, two-handed sword enchanted to be as best they could, once he wore them, they turned invisible to everything but the most powerful scribe. It allowed him to walk armed and armored into placed where weapons were not permitted, it meant that no matter what, he would always be armed and dangerous.

Once everything was done, Bolivar sat down on the hair again and pulled out his alchemical gear from the saddlebag he had retrieved from Banter. Should he run into any dangers like yesterday, he'd need to be prepared. So spending the next hour or two, Bolivar began to brew various potions, mutagens, Extracts and bombs. All neatly fitting into pockets, satchels and special holders on his chest and harness. All in all, despite the lack of weapons, he stroke an intimidating figure for sure, his massive, thick build accented by a rugged yet oddly beautiful face with a few scars here and there to add to the hardened, rugged look.

It was time to get to work, packing everything away again, Bolivar made his way to the western forest, looking for any and all clues that might help him. On his way there, he peeked into the bedroom of his host, had she been awake he would greet her a good morning, if she had been awake, he would continue on his way in silence.

 

[Sensualist]

Adriana, being a farmer, was up and about before Bolivar was even done with his ablutions. As dawn broke she was scattering corn in the barnyard for the chickens, pouring slop by the pigs, and preparing to milk the cow. As she crossed the yard with a pail balance don her hip to where the animal waited, patiently chewing its cud, she happened to glance into the cracked door of the barn where the Cursebreaker had slept. Adriana's breath caught. She saw Bolivar standing there, leaning over the rain barrel, splashing water onto his rough, claw-etched skin. She watched his wet hands moving over his hard flesh, fingers tracing his limbs, cold water trickling down between the toned bulk of muscles... the tapering of broad shoulders to narrow waist... the way his leather breeches clung to strong legs and the bulge...

The widow unconsciously pressed her hand to her stomach, just above her sex, feeling an almost-forgotten fluttering. Her nipples were hard against the rough fabric of her blouse, and her teeth pressed into her lower lip slightly. She blushed and made herself look away. Releasing her breath, she hurried back to her daily chores, avoiding the Cursebreaker that morning.

Bolivar set out across the overgrown fields, fighting through stalks of wheat taller than he was, the earth between the rows overgrown with weeds, chaff and husks. As he walked, his foot struck something hard. He glanced down, expecting a stone or discarded ploughshear, but saw instead the broken blade of a scythe. It was more rust than iron; clearly it had been lying here for years. The curve of the blade was not simply worn or chipped or bent, but broken in two. To do that, it must have been struck against something unyielding like an anvil or boulder... or the hide of something impervious to mortal weapons.