[M] Tales of the Highland [IC]

[ElizabethStark]

Malyss watched as Morgan and the young woman walked out of the bar but he said nothing more to them, instead he turned to the last two men, "Name's Malyss, by the by, Malyss Blaik. Hunter by trade." And without another statement, he walked outside the tavern.

---

He gave a knock on Margaret Campbell's door. Nobody came to the door for what seemed like five minutes and so he knocked one last time. He glanced up at the door's number and confirmed it was nineteen. He knew he was at Nether Street as well. Malyss waited another couple of minutes and as he turned to leave, someone opened the door rather slowly.

It was a young girl, maybe around the age of six or seven, she seemed wary of Malyss. Of course, that came of no surprise considering he was a complete and utter stranger with an imposing demeanor. His only guess was that she may be the daughter of Margaret Campbell. He bent down at her level to seem less intimidating, "Your mother home?" Malyss wasn't good with children, not at all. He could only assume going down to her level would help as it did sometimes with animals - appear small and you're less of a threat.

The girl looked away for a moment as she said with a timid voice, "She's sleeping..."

Malyss sighed and the moment he went to lift himself back up, a woman appeared behind the girl, "Who is it?" She looked worrisome and exhausted - when she noticed the strange man she grabbed her assumed daughter and in an angrier tone said, "Who the hell are you, and what do you want at this hour?" She then turned to the girl, "What did I say about openin' the door like that? After..." Margaret, he guessed, trailed off and her expression shifted.

Malyss continued her sentence, "After what happened with your husband, I presume?"

Her countenance turned to sorrow, "Yer not from 'round here..." She hesitated, "D-do you know something?" And then her expression changed to something he could only describe as a mix of hope and dread.

"No, but I thought you might have more information than I."

The woman hesitated before shutting the door, for a minute Malyss wasn't sure if she had decided to ignore him... until she came out again and shut the door behind her, "Yer name? And how you heard?"

"My name is Malyss, Malyss Blaik. I hail from Orkney. Some folk down at the tavern mentioned your husband went missing, and I'd like to investigate these occurrences." He paused, "They've said your husband wasn't the only one."

"Margaret Campbell. And ye be correct, there's been one too many..."

"What happened the day your husband disappeared?"

"Oh, I'll tell ya. My dear Robert was out hunting in the eve about a fortnight ago, I told 'im not ta, but that man is, well, a stubborn one. I guess most of ye men are."

Malyss didn't object to that last comment, "Aye."

Margaret continued, "If yer here to help... he went huntin' north of here, off in the woodland. Some say it was the fey but I call nonsense. Someone took my dear Robert from me and my daughter and I'd like to know who, I'm not one for those silly little fairytales.

"Besides, my husband is devoted to me and couldn't possibly be taken by some fey lass."

"Is that all you know?"

"Unfortunately so."

Malyss sighed quietly, "I'll continue my search in the morn, I will try my very best to find out what happened to your husband. I make no promises, however."

Margaret smiled solemnly, "Yer not the first, but I appreciate the gesture."

"If I could just get a dirty article of clothing that belonged to your husband, my bloodhound can trace the scent."

"Yer bloodhound, say you? That's just what we needed..." Margaret suddenly turned around to get back into her house and probably find something that he could use to track Robert. When she returned, she handed him an old handkerchief - one that had been used plenty. She handed it over, "Here. This oughta help, it's my husband's favourite hankie. He usually wouldn't go out without it..." Malyss could hear a pang of sadness in her voice.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, "It will be of great use."

"I should hope." Margaret pursed her lips before heading back inside without another word.

[Highland Sniper]

"Finley McIntyre. And you're Morgan?" She asked, "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine." Morgan's smile returned. "It's always nice to see new faces in Kirkcaldy beyond the usual traders at port. Even if they bring sad news."

His tone softened. "My deepest condolences for your loss. I'm imagine your journey here must be quite the tale."

"Probably won't hear the half of it," she smirked, "It's been quite the adventure."

A watchman strolled down a crossing street, and waved at Morgan as he passed, before continuing on.

The Blacksmith returned the gesture to the watchmen as they crossed paths.

"Tell your father I'll be seeing him soon Morgan! Me blade's duller than a plank of wood!"

"Aye George, I'll let him know!" He returned his attention to Finlay and shrugged. "Just about everyone knows everyone here and everyone knows everyone's business. Be prepared to be riddled with questions when you arrive, especially from Isla. She's Molly oldest; seven years old and already running the house. Named for her grandmother, she was. She'll talk your ear off and show you her dolls. Conor's the quiet one, he's five, and stares like he's trying to unravel the mysteries of the world."

"Yeah, May Haimer was kinda like that, too." She said, "My my," was all she had to say about Isla, while Conor got "Well he's gonna be a handful soon enough." as they walked along.

"If you plan on staying you'll be part of the furniture soon enough." He said as they turned into Dunnikier Road. A line of fair sized houses presented themselves as children in their Sunday best. The cobbled streets giving way to greenery and gardens framing the buildings. Morgan indicated the house at the corner.

"That's Molly's, the one next to it is mine. The pair across the road are my parents and father's forge respectively. Welcome to our patch of the town."

"Seems like a nice place," she said as the made their way over and to the door.

Morgan didn't knock but simply opened the door; Molly's home was practically his second home after all. The room it opened into showed all the signs of a house populated by young children.

Wooden building blocks decorated the rug before the roaring fireplace, a doll sat propped up by a cushion on the well worn sofa, framed by armchairs which were the centrepiece of the living area. Scraps of paper smudged by ink lay on a table next to a doorway that marked the entrance to the kitchen. The table itself bore a vase filled with wildflowers. The high pitched voices of children at play could be heard from the backyard.

"Molly?" He called.

"Morgan!" Came the reply through the doorway. "You've been dragging your heels little brother; I started ten minutes ago. I hope ye haven't trekked any dirt on my clean floor!"

"Nay." His smile was back. "Not now, or the last hundred times ye asked me."

"A likely story. That forge is a nest for grime and, oh." The woman who'd appeared from the kitchen was certainly Morgan's sister. They had the same eyes and mouth. Molly's black hair was tied back in a bun and clearly much longer than her brother's roguish locks. She wiped flour-covered hands on her apron as she approached the newcomer.

"Well there's me carrying on when I have a guest in my home. What must you think of us with the house being the state it's in." She extended a friendly hand. "I'm Molly, Morgan's sister, have you known my brother long? God knows trying to get talk out of him about his social life is akin to squeezing a stone for blood."

Finley looked over at Morgan and back to Molly, "Oh, no. Just of a few minutes," she said, "I was only passing through and hanging around the bar. We started talking and I offered to help you two with dinner when he mentioned it."
She wasn't exactly in the neatest shape. Though it wasn't a mess, her long red hair wasn't very neat.
And she was in her trousers, with a cloak over a good blouse. Her back was obscured in it's folds.

"Ahh, you've a heart of gold missy. First let me take your cloak and fix you a drink. This great lunk can make a start on the potatoes. There's a few carrots that may need dicing a little later but put your feet up first. You look like you've travelled a fair way."

Morgan tipped his sister a sarcastic salute and made his his way to the kitchen as she opened a cupboard and pulled out a pair of glasses.

"Are you a whisky girl? Fairbairn across the way owns a distillery which swears runs on the purest spring water. But that man could say 'good morning' and lie twice." She motioned to the decanter on top.

"Well thanks," she said at the offer of taking her cloak, and she handed it over, with a "Whisky's fine," at the offer of the drink, and motions to help with the glasses. as they moved to sit down.

Molly handed Finlay a glass and tipped a generous slug of amber liquid into the container, pouring an equally generous one for herself. The pair sat in armchairs as the sound of chopping punctuated the air from the kitchen.

"He's a good man." She said, nodding in Morgan's direction. "Forever helping out with the bairns he is." She leaned in. "I must admit I'm curious about how you inspired him to bring you back here after a single meeting. We saw neither hide not hair of the last lass he was courting for three months."

The sound of the back door banging open was a gunshot from the kitchen. Loud cries of 'Uncle Morgan!' followed.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," she said almost hastily, "Honestly, he said you were a kind woman and might have an extra room to spare. I figure I'd at least visit with others for a while before moving on."
She took a small sip of her whisky and gave a slight wince at the burning sensation, "aaah."

Molly chuckled.

"Aye, that does sound like my brother. He'd give the shirt off his back to a beggar in the cold. And he's right, you're welcome to stay the night in any case. Assuming you can stand the racket."

Morgan reappeared at that moment with a small boy hanging off his hip and a young girl leading him by the hand.

"Come on Uncle! You said you'd introduce us!"

"So I did, so I did. Isla, Conor, this is my new friend Finlay. Finlay, this is Isla and Conor."

"Uncle said you were going hunting with him." Isla declared, boldly running up to the newcomer. "I keep asking him to take me but he says I'm too young. Can you use a bow? Are you a good shot?"

Conor, for his part, elected to remain quiet. The five year old sucked his thumb while regarding Finlay with the intensity of an art critic examining a masterpiece.

"I'd like to think I can shoot well enough, though the pull on my bow is likely a tad lighter than most bows a man would handle," she said, "I'm still about as good shot as any decent bowman."
She motioned encouragement for the children to sit with her as she patted the seats next to her.

"I've had to be a good shot for the past while, else I'd have gone hungry, see." She continued, "Been on the road for about a month now, only stopping at a town for a day. Tops. Been a bit rough, it has."

Isla clambered into the seat next to Finlay with saucer eyes.

"You sound like an adventurer." She declared. "Like from the books my Ma reads. They're always men though in the stories though."

"A highland lass is worth ten of those soft southerners." Morgan said, earning an approving look from his niece. Conor began to fuss. The blacksmith set the boy down, who promptly located his building blocks and began rapping a pair together. "I'm sure you'll have adventures of your own when you grow up Isla."

"Are the potatoes done?" Molly said, changing the subject abruptly.

"Aye, peeled, sliced and in the stew."

"What kind of adventures did you have? Did you ever meet the fae-folk?" Isla inquired.

"I recon I've seen a few," she said, "but I must have been lucky, 'cause I only saw the fading shadows of most of them." But she did see the childres experiment faces.

"I did have a few close calls, however." She said, "Once, I heard what sounded to be a fine party in the middle of the woods and found a fine lot of syters. Probably wouldn't be here quite so soon had I stayed. Probably would be rounder, too."

"I heard there's lot of types." A mischievous look crossed Isla's face. "I bet they eat little boys for breakfast!"

Conor seemed unconcerned by his sister's hypothesis. He held out a wooden brick in a chubby hand to Morgan.

"Bwick." He said informatively.

"It's dinner I'm more concerned with." Molly stated, getting up to make her way back to the kitchen. "It should be ready in twenty minutes or so. Beef stew for growing children."

"You got beef?" Morgan asked, surprised. "I heard the cattle trade was in a slump."

"Peter set some aside for me."

"The butcher? Dubhach?"

"Unless you know of another man named Peter who sells meat. Yes."

"And why would he do that?"

Molly shrugged, although a touch of a smile rested on her lips.

"Perhaps because he is a kind gentleman who gives consideration for a single mother."

"I'll bet." The blacksmith sighed. "I'm getting a drink."

[ElizabethStark]

Maylss awoke with Sable cuddled up beside him. Once again he had slept in a stable. It wasn't exactly perfect but he'd rather be in here than out there and spending pence to sleep in a bed was not ideal. He wasn't opposed to sleeping out in the woodland, however, it was safer in the stable and provided him a considerably more comfortable sleep. He didn't have to wake every couple of hours to make sure there were no evil fey or woodland predators about. Usually, the animals stayed clear thanks to Sable and her ferocious attitude along with Russet's large stature. They were quite the imposing three. Normally bloodhounds were more docile but due to Sable's past of being beaten into submission by awful men, she sort of learned to bite back.

It was dusk by the time Malyss was ready to fully awaken, but when he opened his eyes again a woman was stroking the head of Russet from outside the stable stall. He watched her for a moment without a word. She spoke softly to Russet and Russet seemed to be enjoying herself. He finally got up and the woman flinched in surprise, "Oh my, I apologize I just-"

Malyss cut her off, "It's alright, this here is Russet. She's a good horse, wouldn't hurt a fly."

"She's just beautiful, I couldn't help myself... big, too, especially for a mare." The woman smiled and continued to stroke Russet, "What sorta horse is she?"

Russet was quite massive - standing about nineteen hands and she had a quite muscular body.

"I wouldn't know, she's most like a mutt mixed with several different breeds," he replied.

The woman suddenly started... blushing? As she said her next words, "Well a powerful and impressive man certainly needs a large horse to carry him along."

Malyss stared at her blankly, "I s'pose you're not incorrect." He paused, "If you'll excuse me, I must be getting along.

"Sable, heel." And the bloodhound did just that. She stayed at his side as he walked out of the stall with Russet behind.

"Oh, um... my name's Anabelle. It's been a pleasure..." She stated as she watched them walk away.

Malyss turned to face her, "Malyss Blaik." And then he continued out of the stable and walked towards the tavern with Russet and Sable at his side.

[Rothwell]

Morgan rolled out of bed at the cockerel's crow with his usual morning groan, more from force of habit than anything. He pulled his breeches on bleary eyed and made his way to the kitchen to cut himself some bread.

His home was a simpler affair than his sister's; a well maintained bachelor pad with little of it's owner's personality to be seen. As he ate, he reflected on the events of the previous evening. It had been a fine meal with pleasant company, yet throughout the Blacksmith had a growing feeling in his gut that something was going to happen soon. Something big.

"Ahh, the legendary gift of the Creel clan." He chuckled.

The Creel's were his mother's family; half of them claimed to be soothsayers and fortune tellers. Always talking about 'the omens' this and 'the destiny' of that. How often they were right was a matter of debate. It seemed some of their foresight had rubbed off on him though.

Morgan headed to his backyard in search of a rain barrel to dunk his head into.

[Highland Sniper]

Finley had gotten up just before the cock crowed. It wasn't anything unusual for her, she got it from her mother.

She had nearly hopped out of bed, donned whatever she had taken off, retrieved and donned her cloak, grabbed anything else that was hers, and left. The horizon had gotten a wonderful ribbon around the edge.

She made her way back to the Majestic Otter as the cock crowed. Everyone else should be arriving soon.
So, not thinking it a good idea to go inside, and doubting she'd be able to anyhow, she leaned against the wall as she waited.

[Rothwell]

"Ah! There's our fair huntress!" Hailed Hamish as he rounded the corner with Duncan at his side. The pair strolled over amicably. "Did you have a pleasant evening with our boy? His Molly makes a fair stew doesn't she?"

[ElizabethStark]

There seemed to be not a lot of people around at such an hour, but Malyss was always up and ready at a fair time in the morning. Aside from the hunting he had scheduled with some of the town folk, he still needed to search for whatever he could of Robert Campbell. Morgan had said three weeks prior while Margaret had stated two weeks ago her husband went missing; he hoped the woman was correct and that it was a fortnight ago. That was still quite a while ago but there was a possibility Sable could pick up the scent yet. It wasn't unthinkable, unlikely maybe but not impossible for her. She had found people in the past, one related to the fey... however, that was a dead end.

In the distance, he could see the woman from last night hanging around the tavern. He wondered if the place was even open. Malyss sighed quietly and greeted her when he was close enough, "Mornin'. Never got your name from yesterday eve." Then came the two others from last night, but he ignored them to continue the conversation with her.

"My name is Malyss, Malyss Blaik." He didn't realize just how small the young woman was until he was much closer to her. Sable started growling when the two men grew closer and Maylss had to command her to sit next to Russet which was a simple, "Sable, go to Russet." And a gesture towards the horse. The bloodhound lowered her head as she walked to sit next to Russet.

[Highland Sniper]

"Aye, she does," She said with a small laugh, "It was quite nice."
She stood straight as they came before turning to Malyss.

She still wasn't sure what to think about the man.
"Finely," she said, "Finley McIntyre."
She couldn't help but shift a little uncomfortably, her hand holding her other arm behind her back, her weight shifting from one foot to another.
Besides the rage this guy seemed to had locked somewhere, and what felt like hidden sadness, this man had this overwhelming intensity.
"You're... you seem a bit... intense." she said, "Sorry... it just makes me a little... uncomfortable."

[Rothwell]

Morgan arrived at that moment wearing an apologetic smile.

"Molly was right." He said, directed the comment at Finlay. "I do drag my heels. Morning to you all."

"Morning is near half gone ya bampot!" Duncan called. "Been waiting for ages, we have!"

"Aye, I'll bet. Shall we make for the trail? Hamish, did you bring a change of clothes in case of bog tripping?"

"Just a strip of cloth to gag you." Hamish replied as Duncan began laughing. "Come on people, he have deer to hunt."

[ElizabethStark]

Malyss was slightly taken aback. He realized he was... intense. Not that he tried to be. He stared at her with his deadpan gaze for what seemed like forever until he realized that was probably rude and looked away, "I apologize, my intent is not to intimidate," he took several steps back, "I should hope this makes you more comfortable." Not a lot of people say such things out loud to him. Malyss had to admit she was brave to show any kind of emotion at all. He then turned to Morgan and nodded, "Malyss, Malyss Blaik."