1628, Earth Season, Fertility Week, Clayday
Context
After the Battle of the Heroes. Berra is still very drunk. Session S3SA: 02.
Continues in She’s Souced.
Events
As Maalira is kept busy with healing, Varanis sits by Berra’s bed. Her sword is unsheathed and close to hand and her eyes drift between the snoring Humakti and the tent flap.
Outside the tent there is the sound of a low voice, and then a head pokes in – low. A mallard with a Death Rune embroidered on his eye patch peers monoptically at Varanis and Berra. A guard says tiredly, “Sword…” like he does not want to be in this particular argument.
D’Val makes no move to come further in.
“Let him in,” Varanis calls to the guard. “Don’t you recognize him?” She gives Berra a quick glance then flows to her feet to greet the Sword of Humakt. “Lord D’Val. She’s fine, just sleeping now. We got to her in time.”
“I know Orlanthi,” the guard complains. “From Alda Chur.” But he pulls the canvas so that the duck has permission, rather than merely room, to slip inside. D’Val bows his head to Varanis. “Good to hear.” He steps closer to Berra, and notes to Varanis, “The High Szsword will be t-thending for her tsoon.” His Duck Point accent is not as heavy as some, but still clearly audible.
Varanis shakes her head, as if she is in any position to deny Eril. “She’s not ready yet. She needs more rest. She hasn’t even woken up!”
“I thuspect that will be enough of a reazson not to arrive in good time,” D’Val replies. He tilts his head, sniffing the air like he is trying to work out what the odd smell hanging around is.
“She was poisoned,” the Vingan informs him. “Some sort of alcohol. That’s the smell that’s lingering. Maybe Harrek brought it with him?”
The duck is hard to read. “Tell her I tsurvived, Thane,” he says with a nod.
“I will, and… for what it’s worth, I’m glad that you did, Lord. You mean a lot to her and to Sartar.” Varanis suddenly looks tired under the dried muck and blood. “Today was… a lot.”[/footnote]Varanis fails Insight (Duck).[/footnote]
He pauses in the act of turning to go. “You made a differentce,” he says carefully, like he is picking his way through words without the aid of an adequate map.
“That is kind of you to say.” While it’s possible Varanis has blushed it would be hard to say if it was pride or shame, especially given her current condition. “I’ll watch her and keep her safe. Should I send word when she’s awake and well enough to talk?”
“Not for me to ssay,” comes the immediate reply. “That’th between you, her, and the High Tsword.”
The Vingan nods and resumes her watch over her friend. It’s not that she’s dismissed the Sword, but she is tired enough not to split her attention any more than is strictly necessary.
D’Val ducks out.
