Marshend: An Unexpected Visitor: CatrionaIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | Pre-GameLogs | MarshendPre-GameLogs | Marshend: An Unexpected Visitor: Catriona It was late and most honest citizens in Marshend were abed. In fact, it was so very late that most dishonest citizens were probably abed as well - doubtless hastened on their way by the cold, damp mist that had risen from the lake to hang about the low wooden houses of this part of Marshend. Fogs were prevelant here - the silver fogs of summer days , the heavy grey blanketing fog of colder nights. When the smoke of the woodfires met the lake fog, the two mingled to form a yellow dense cloud that could hang around for days, the colour of pale chicken soup and - the inhabitants of Marshend said sourly - pretty much the consistency too. On nights like this, the fog showed a dull dirty brown in the lights of torches, should any be rash enough to venture out, and even to walk across the street was to ensure that one was covered by a heavy sprinkling of flakes of soft, black soot, like an inverted snow. Real snow would be here soon enough, the old ones said, and it would be a wicked winter. That would banish the fogs ... but until then, the inhabitants of Marshend coped as best they could, and rarely left their homes after nightfall. Still, gloomy as Marshend was, it looked warm and welcoming to a traveller who had been on the road for several days. The stranger stood on the last of the low hills, looking down at the small, huddled town. From here, a short walk would take the traveller to the road that lined the lake, past a few far-flung cottages, and then into the village itself. Yet, as the stranger paused there, a little light could be seen - a wavering torchlight, moving out of the centre of the town and along the road towards those sctattered cottages, and perhaps the wider road beyond ... Shrouded from the mist by her grey cloak, Catriona stood peering into the fog. Her eyes narrowed as she tracked the path of the torchlight. Her route headed into the village, and whoever carried the torch seemed bound in her direction. That light was the first sign of life she had spotted in Marshend. The sight of it evoked thoughts of a crackling fire and a warm, dry spot to sleep for the first time in days. Knowing how easy it was to misconstrue shapes in the fog, she headed cautiously towards the road to intersect the torchbearer. The hunter slipped forward into the fog, determined to catch a closer glimpse or sound of the torchbearer before she had to make her own presence known. It was a lantern, she saw as she came closer - a closed lantern, made to illuminate the path of two travellers, a man and a boy. The man was of average height, and so bundled up it was hard to tell any of his features; the boy was no more than ten years, with his face muffled with a heavy scarf wrapped around the lower half, a thick cap pulled down over his ears and, between cap and scarf, a pair of serious eyes. The lane was in poor condition, even for summer; recent rains had made the way difficult - the ruts had filled with water and at each step the heavy clay mud of Marshend clung to boots and splashed up legs. The man and boy plodded on until they approached the last cottage of all, where a single light was burning in a lower window. "That'll be the Septon," said the boy, speaking for the first time in Catriona's hearing. "He said he'd keep watch." So late a watch by a Septon could mean only one thing. A death was expected. Catriona saw the man suddenly turn to stare off into the fog, looking uncannily close to her direction. She stood still, not wishing to betray herself yet. The man eventually relaxed, and addressed the boy again. "Come on, then," he said gruffly. "Let's see what's more important than a warm bed and a willing girl on a night like this." As the two approached the door, Catriona stayed silent in the mists. She watched to see if there were any other travelers in the fog this night. Satisfied for the moment that no others were near, she allowed the two to enter the cottage, then waited a little longer. She then walked up to the cottage's door, taking little care to conceal the sound of her steps, and rapped solidly on the door. "Hello? Is anyone within on this damp night?" she called out. (Continued in Marshend: An Unexpected Visitor) |
