"To Market" - Reaper Message Board

Several years ago, I began running Lost In America, a GURPS fantasy campaign set in a post-post-post apocalyptic America, ca. A.D. 10,000. All the player characters were haunted by recurring dreams, and gathered to hear them interpreted by Titania, Queen of Faerie. Google "GURPS Prophetic Riddles" from rec.games.frp.gurps around February 2001 for the complete list of backgrounds and prophecies. There's a picture and a summary of the last session here.

My wife generated a witch, whose sketchy background and prophecy are here.

For a writing class a couple of years back, I decided to flesh out that background, incorporating the NPC love interest my wife had devised for her character. She was the only player to employ the my-entire-village-was-destroyed-by-orcs background option, so the following shows what she was up to when disaster struck. It even introduces her familiar, modeled on one of our own kitties. There's a definite recurring vision theme, as Rachel's shyness runs up against blindness, a particularly attractive pair of peepers, and a town full of prying eyes, finishing with a taste of her ability to see through her familiar's eyes.

One for the pot and two for the fire,
Alder and ash with the rowan conspire.

The words of the rede toyed with her thoughts as the coins fell into the stout oaken till--one, two, three--and Rachel took up the pouch of expensive cinnamon that now was hers. Realizing that she had been spoken to, she blurted, "No, G'bless you, good mother. I'll not need the oil of clove."

The elderly woman studied the younger, as though staring could set aside her blindness, and rasped breathy laughter. "The chapel had best be fire-proofed, iffen ye light the holy tapers wif that." She coughed, gagging, and Rachel snatched the precious spice out of harm's reach. The cough subsiding, the crone leaned forward in her rocker, knees akimbo, and spoke slyly. "I hope that the Bountiful Father and Mother know well the measures, or sure as not there'll be trouble. This is pure. Pure as ever we see in the realm, and you bargained well, pretty lady."

Pretty as any you've seen in years, I'll wager, mused Rachel silently. Not pretty enough for most with good eyes, though wise enough not to think long on the subject. Wedging her purchase carefully into the sack that hung from her belt of hempen cord, she remembered her manners. "G'fortune attend thee, grandmother." All done, then. Enjoy the market, and don?t be too hasty to turn homeward and attempt the casting.

"And you, sweeting." The bargain complete, the white-haired woman instantly lost interest, and returned to rocking, worrying the frayed edge of her shawl. "Spices and herbs," she cried thinly to passersby from her lean-to.

What has Hampton to offer today beyond these cheerless supplies? Rachel wondered as she stepped toward the sound of music, feeling for the hilt of her new knife among the bottles of oil stowed in her bag. On market day, the town hid its grime beneath festive ribbons, and its smell of livestock beneath that of fresh fruits and ale. The noise of the crowd and the afternoon heat fought for her attention, too, but rising above it all was a familiar voice, a young man's gentle tenor singing playfully.

Where does my love go?
O where does she wander?
What can be keeping her, there over yonder?

A harp hummed along beneath the words, teasing them with rhythmic kisses of an old, old tune. Grey-bearded Michael Cooper, perched atop one of his oaken barrels, pulled his fingers lightly over the stained gut strings, his watery eyes on the singer. Gareth. In a crimson cloak hanging carelessly from one shoulder, beneath a matching cap that shaded his eyes, handsome Gareth threw his head back and roared his challenge to the nameless, faithless lover.

I'll find me another
Of whom I am fonder,
And leave this young lady her cold heart to ponder!

Other voices joined his for the last line, and cheered approval at the singer's easy bow. "Let's have another one, young Master," called someone unseen, as a mug of summer brew made its way toward Gareth over the heads of those assembled. Rachel took the opportunity to duck her head and turn away as he drank deeply and laughed. None of his teasing for me today, she decided firmly. Perhaps the bakery.

"To where do you wander, Miss Rachel?" came his dreaded call, and heads turned her way as she was recognized. Someone off to her left laughed.

Flushing, she whirled about to face those startling grey eyes. "About my business, Master Gareth, as I would the Baron's son would be about his own--" Her rejoinder faltered as the pouch she had tied so securely chose that disastrous moment to fall, scattering secrets in the dirt around the green folds of her dress.

A long moment followed in which the sun's heat seared her face, Gareth's grin faltered and returned, and nearby folk opened their mouths to laugh again. A crow on the roof of the tavern guffawed.

"She wanders to escape your tongue, Master," chortled a wag from a tavern window.

"See how the sight of you undoes her, young master!"

"A witch in daylight is helpless, eh, Miss Rachel?" dared a hidden woman?s voice, and despite a gasp or two, the laughter followed. So the word was already used openly against her? And if in Hampton, then what is said at home?

Gareth pushed his way toward her, his smile gone. "R--Miss Rachel, permit me." The red cap was in his hand as he stooped to assist her, his long frame for once appearing clumsy as he dithered momentarily over which small bundle to pick up. Quickly as she could, she was stuffing packets back into her pouch, a part of her noting that its strings were quite intact. The square knot had simply come undone, minutes after she had tied it with practiced fingers.

"No, I thank you, Master Gareth. Please," she muttered and frantically gathered her purchases.

Mercifully, no one laughed again, but neither did any other hands move to help her. "I'll be off now, Master Gareth, so please you." She tried to rise, but was stopped by the thrill of his hand on her wrist.

"If it please me not? What then, Miss Rachel?" His smile was back, and kindly, so gentle that she couldn't bear it, not beneath his eyes that stared so in front of half the town. She tore her hand from his, and gripping her pouch as if to ward off his grey regard, backed away, the crowd parting to let her pass. Once more she turned from him, and from them, and fled up the dusty street, his final "Miss Rachel!" unheard or ignored. No more teasing.

The east road home would still be full of travelers' eyes, and so beyond the elms at the gate she turned up Beacontop, the hill that overlooked the river valley and a little-used path that would afford some privacy. And there, peering between stalks of maidenbroom, was the grey tabby who'd trailed her for days, offering the cat-sight that let her out of herself.

Softly, then, little friend. Let me in, breathed Rachel, standing still and allowing her arms to hang loosely at her sides as her own eyes closed. What see you?

The glare of sunlight, for one thing, as the little cat crouched facing the reddening western sky. Rachel was a fuzzy silhouette that did not wave in the hilltop breeze as did the tree-branches. Then weeds slipped by and Rachel loomed larger, the animal creeping closer to examine the left boot toe that peeked invitingly from under her dress. Nay, more than that, as the cat's eye found a split in the leather, though which her yellow-stockinged foot was visible. I really must remember to stitch it this even, Rachel thought, or the whole world will be looking in. Again. Goddess, this is not my day to hide!

The novelty gone from this game, Rachel let the vision fall away from her, and she was looking down into the inquisitive face of the cat, which rubbed its jowls over her boot. "Care you not that you are so familiar with a witch, catkins?" Rachel smiled at her pun, and reached down, to play with the stripes of fur between the cat's ears. "No fear of dark magick?" No fear of me. "Follow me home, then, hunter--oh, ho!--huntress, and we shall see what the river-men have caught today."

A sudden thought interrupted her pleasure at the cat's rumblings. "I cry your grace, then, kitty. You'll pardon me if we take a roundabout way? I've some spices, fresh today, that will shape a fire spell. Don't be frightened, little one. I'll ensure your safety, if not my own." So saying, she shaded her eyes, looking for a quiet grove in which to begin a long ritual away from the sight of others.

Reaper Message Board: "To Market" - Reaper Message Board

"To Market" character background, pt. 1

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