RP:Eirik Vergessen, P.I.
Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc
Synopsis: Pilar works at a stall delivering food to some of the local witches. For whatever reason, Eirik keeps managing to stumble across her. The berserker, asks a few questions about the camp, and begins his 'official' investigation. Those that have gathered around don't look too favorably on the crown; even going so far as referring to the Queen as a bitch. Eirik devises a way to get on their "good side" all while not even revealing his name…. For better or worse.
Labor Camp In The Forest
On the fringe of the Eternal Forest there stands a camp surrounded by ashen trees and necrotic foliage. No animals make their homes here, save the scavengers and beetles. A wall encircles barracks where laborers sleep when they're not working shifts at the various public works projects that benefit the Hard City. Locals say drow used to live here, but they were driven out, and in that battle that killed the forest, one of the two watchtowers and the entrance gate collapsed. The former was never rebuilt, but the latter quickly was. Scowling guards, many bearing anti-mage regalia, stand sentry at the gate and at the remaining watchtower. All visitors must be cleared at the guardhouse, and residents must obey a strict curfew.
Pilar hadn't been back to the camp in Larket since the evacuation. 26 of the roughly 80 witches had agreed to go, but many had stayed. They had spouses and children and lives here. Larket was their home, they weren't about to let themselves be thrown out so easily. And so, Pilar had decided to continue her work, bringing supplies to the witches and generally trying to keep their spirits up. Today, she brought with her baskets filled with treats; fruits and pastries filled with jams and cookies and even bottles of wine and cider. It was a cumbersome load, but Pilar managed to get it all inside without much hassle and set up shop in the center of the camp. Witches soon began to gather to get a shot at something sweet for once. An apple for Maria, a slice of pie for Rhonda, a glass of plum wine for Wendy, and so on.
Eirik is not his usual self. Nay for the usual armor which brands him as the infamous killer of Hanna, has been left at home. Instead, he wears colors, instead of blacks. Greens and browns, which do not really appeal to those intense silver eyes that sit in his square jawed and scarred head. The berserker, does however, still carry a sword and an enchanted tomahawk; both tied to either hip via the means of a leather baldric. A green hood lies pulled up over his features, helping to further mask his identity. Though he knew many would be far too busy to stop to ask him who he was. Besides, the atrocity happened months ago and those that were involved probably couldn't remember what he looked like. The Lycan takes careful strides, sure to scrutinize everything; the way people dressed, moved walked and talked. He needed details. The foreigner had come here to investigate after all. Perhaps he would find a familiar face among the crowd? Eirik continues his aimless walk until he arrives near the center and happens upon the stand Pilar is operating. Although he still does not remember her name, a smile dons his features. Last time he saw her, they were running from a haunted house. "It's good to see that you're alright" he's referring to their last incident. For a moment he peruses her wares. "That’s a mighty nice gesture. Where did all this come from?" Silver eyes move to those living in the camp who have come by for what she has brought.
Pilar didn't immediately notice Eirik. With so many people around, one more scent, one more body, wasn't something that would stick out. However, he was a big guy, bigger than these women, and as he got closer, she finally spotted him. It took her a moment to recognize him, with his face hidden, but the voice gave him away. “Oh, hello, sir. This? Gifts from my neighbors in Chartsend.” Pilar was still giving items to witches as they spoke. “No one there particularly liked the news of what Larket's been doing, but when they started to hear more personal stories from the witches I brought there... Well, it wasn't hard to gather supplies. I'll probably be making another trip back here soon.”
Eirik seemed rather composed today. His purpose sharpened by the task at hand. He wouldn't tell her why he was here. Not yet anyway. She'd probably get bent out of shape over it all. Would probably even claim that the King and Queen were even responsible for such magical schemes. Nonsense. Eirik would not have any of that shoved on to him. There are legitimate reasons for this camp, and a coven running rampant in Venturil is proof of what witches can do. A potion to put you to sleep? Sure thing, so long as he doesn't have to put his soul on the line for it. He knew they could weave magic to better convince people. He knew first hand, how convincing they can be. Though none of that mattered, he was here to pierce through that and find a lead. Something that would point his proverbial snout in the right direction. Chartsend? Good gods, that news hits close to home, but he stifles any form of reaction. "Your neighbors in Chartsend must be commended. Such things look rather welcome here." A hand reaches up to idly scratch at his stubble ridden features. "What news? To be honest, I've had my head buried in Xalious with my clan." Pilar would be unable to detect a lie in Eiriks voice; Mainly, because he wasn't. He was so far removed from the on goings of state that she might be flabbergasted.
Pilar raised an eyebrow. “What news? Look around you. You think these women want to be here? The monarchy's made it impossible for them to find jobs elsewhere, and they're forced to live here as a condition of working the only labor they're given. Which, incidentally, is back-breaking manual labor they aren't properly compensated for.” “And that's not the worst of it,” a witch added, “the worst is the crown murdering us for nothing. Poor Hanna's killer was let off with no real punishment, and poor Sirena was executed with no trial. If they'd done even a lick of investigation into that hexing, they'd know Sirena would never do such a thing!” “I still say they made that whole thing up as an excuse to kill her for no reason,” another witch said. “And let's not forget how the guards have been beating us!” a third, bearing a bandage over her eye, exclaimed.
Eirik didn't want to divulge more than what was needed. The Northman knew about Hanna's death. Mainly because he is the killer. He was exiled, forced to pay fines. Like that equals the life of a person. Though he would admit to himself, it more than paid for the life of a witch. They all deserved to be bound, gagged and burned. Like a heaping pile of trash. Though everything that comes after that event, is news to his ears. Like this camp? When was it constructed? Why was it put together? What happened? With the flurry of answers being slung at him, Eiriks mind grew with questions. "Wait, wait. Too much at one time." He tried to figure out how best to get some answers. "So what you're saying, is that this place is a spot for people that the crown has deemed undesirable?" Everyone here is a witch? Lords, Queen Josleen! There's enough people here with plenty of reasons and motives to do all sorts of nasty things. Whether they have or haven’t remains to be seen. "Is it really that bad here?" Eirik looks around to scrutinize those who have gathered. He's not even sure why the camp remains. "If things are really that bad." A hand points to the food being given out, and then to the lodgings which have been provided. "Why have you chosen to stay living under such a monarchy?" Eirik rather enjoyed the King and Queen, but now he is prodding for something new…
Pilar agreed that it would have been best for them to just up and leave, but Hildegarde's orders were to not make a big fuss about the evacuation. So, while she would have loved to argue with those who chose to stay, she didn't. One of the witches scoffed. “Why should we be forced to leave, when we've done nothing wrong?” “Larket is our home. We've lived here longer than the Bitch Queen, at least,” another one snarled. Pilar put the empty basket to the side and picked up another. “It's just like what happened to the gitanos of Granceval,” she said. “They wanted to blame someone for something bad, and chose people who were different. My family was slaughtered by elves... by white people. But should all elves, all white people be blamed for what they did? If I murdered you right now, would I be justified? You're white, they were white... it's the same as what the Larketian crown is doing to the witches.”
Eirik knew all too well that if he answered their line of questioning they would not enjoy it. To the Northman, if witches didn't exist, both good and bad, children like Rachel, wouldn't end up the way they do. All sorts of curses are going on too. He'd rather just wipe them out of existence. Better to be rid of it than chance it. People will always be people. "I see." Eirik nods in confirmation. He ponders over the word 'bitch' that was used by one of the random ladies. Takes note of her face. Hostility without any further provocation. How could he get 'in' with this crowd? To become trusted? He fell silent for a few moments. Finally gaze shifts back to Pilar, "I have a few contacts within my clan. We've gathered plenty of food from local farmers in Xalious. Protection gigs. I'll see if I can arrange for my clan to deliver some of that here." For now, this is enough information to get started. The berserker didn't want to dive headlong into the investigation. Not yet at least. Too suspicious. "Ladies," How he loathed playing nice. He gives one final nod before turning abruptly and leaving. Eirik would be back.
Pilar said, “Thank you. Goodbye,” and returned to handing food out to the witches, unaware of who they had been speaking to. It wasn't until later that Pilar would realize she'd never gotten his name.