1??????????Soul Bound
1.2????????Taking Control
1.2.4??????An Artful Carnivale
1.2.4.20???Retum edulo
On the other side of a small street were a pair of double doors 15 meters high, made of thick dark oak bound in brass. She doubted even Tomsk could move them unaided. Luckily the right-hand door was open. Above it, carved into the aged stone of the archway, was the stylised outline of a dove with some words beneath it. She tried to puzzle out the weathered lettering as they crossed. “???retum ?edulo” or something.
Inside was a large cobblestone courtyard covered in coloured pavilions, where Lovari were standing around in groups. Some were mending equipment or practising skills. Others were just shooting the breeze while passing around a porron of chilled Lutendranck from a nearby waist-high terracotta urn resting on a grating in the shade. All look relaxed.
There was a sturdy wooden rail in one corner of the courtyard where the riders from the previous act were watering their mounts and tending to them. Casimir brought them over to the archer and, now that she was close to him, Kafana realised he somehow ‘felt’ different to other people. They grasped each other’s forearms and leaned in close, exchanging a whisper she couldn’t hear.
Bulgaria: {The archer called our one “Casimir” and Casimir called him “Yago”. I think names are a private thing, possibly only shared with kin. We should do the same.}
Kafana: {Sys, what are the literal meanings of “Mare-Dukker” and “Jammer-Byor”?}
System: [“Mare-Dukker” is “Big Seer” and “Jammer-Byor” is “Singer Woman”]
She experimented a bit and them informed the others of their handles
Kafana: {Bulgaria, here you’re “Blarney-Ballier” meaning “Silver Tongue”; Tomsk, you’re “Minger-Pal” meaning “Capitano”; Wellington, you’re “Peri-Banik”; Alderney, you’re “Nippy-Lackin” meaning “Velocità”; Bungo, I’m sorry, you’re “Mare-Shivari”. I’m “Jammer-Byor” meaning “Singer Woman”. You can ask System for a literal translation, but watch your inflection and word order - it’s the difference between being known as a dangerous person to trade with, and a person who deals with danger. I’ve added them to our shared overlay.}
Yago finished tending his horse, with deft sure hands, and then approached Kafana. Yes, there was something different about him; something wild? It wasn’t his facial expression, which was controlled and serious. It wasn’t even his wavy hair and thin short-cut beard and moustache. But it was there nonetheless; when he walked, every eye followed him. He reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Yago: “I know Olga and she has mentioned you. Welcome to our camp.”
System: [“Rockerin Mare-Dukker, pallywagger Jammer-Byor. Tisztar malliesan Sigy-Tabar.”]
He took a porron by its handle and used his right hand to angle it so that a long squirt of the chilled wine entered into his mouth without spilling, before passing it to her, spout forwards. She instinctively reached towards it but then remembered how she’s seen the others passing it around and, instead of grasping it by the spout, she used her left hand to hold the base and waited until he’d release it, before using her own right hand to hold the handle and direct the wine towards her mouth.
Luckily she’d travelled Europe widely when on singing tours and had used one before; she drank deeply without spilling a drop, savouring the cardamon, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg in the sweet diluted Lutendranck. It was surprisingly refreshing and invigorating. When she examined it with her Truesight she picked up traces of mana - someone with a bit of mage talent had brewed this.
Kafana: “I accept your welcome with gratitude, and will act as a good guest should while in your camp.”
System: [“?Tobyar?”]
*ding* [Your party’s reputation with the Lovari has increased by 50.]
*ding* [Your reputation with the Lovari has increased by an additional 200.]
Kafana: {I think they have purity laws. Be careful not to touch food or drink related stuff with your left hand. And since that often extends to gender roles, I’d mind your manners when approaching, talking to or even looking at the opposite gender.}
While the others ritually shared drink too, copying her words and example, she investigated further.
Kafana: {Sys, what’s the literal translation of “?Tobyar?” ?}
There was a perceptible pause before System replied.
System: [“Road mates.”]
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Kafana: {Sys, sorry, did that question cause a problem?}
System: [No, not a problem. A challenge, maybe? You’re now a beta tester, so I’m authorised to tell you a bit about how things work, to aid you in spotting the difference between a bug and a feature. XperiSense doesn’t simulate the whole world and its history at a constant level of detail. Bits we know the players will use have been generated, but we’ve left a surprising amount of flexibility in the back-history that we only nail down as and when needed. I had to wait for ooc-Zer to come up on the fly with bits of Lovari culture for when they interact just among themselves while travelling, that he’d not been scheduled to calculate for another three weeks.]
Kafana: {Ooops, sorry, are we too much ahead of the curve? Would it be helpful if I just let you translate, and stopped asking for the precise words?]
System: [Kafana, your party is consistently ahead of the expected curve. Which is fine. But yes, if you wouldn’t mind not asking, just for a day or two, ooc-Zer would owe you a favour.]
Kafana: {Sys, that’s what friends are for. You needed only ask. Here, I’ll say it formally: “System, please cease dual-translation.”}
Yago led them over to a table in the shade. There were no chairs - the Lovari either stood or squatted. On the table was a map unlike any other she had seen. It was made of stiff leather and it didn’t show towns and political boundaries. Instead, in loving detail, it showed roads and campsites near them, all the way from Magusa and Salerno in the south to Tucano and Nuovilion in the North and beyond. Not just major roads, but tracks up mountains that horses could pass only in single file, and routes through swamps that carts would sink in.
Yago: “What news of the roads?”
Tomsk spent a few minutes filling him in upon the latest dangers he’d heard about through the Watch, and Alderney sketched the route they’d taken from Villa Landi to show where the bandits’ camp had been. Kafana studied the map with them; the length of each route was marked not in terms of distance, but instead as a number of “rides”. When they’d finished, she asked a question.
Kafana: “You seem very close with your horses. How long does the association go back?”
Yago: “A long way. Our legends say that the first Lovari lived in a village in Transylvania famed for its horse breeding. When Nemesis first awoke, Lun sent a vision to one of them, a Horsemaster who was part Lunadan and known for having a touch of second sight, warning him to take all who would come with him, abandon the village and everything in it, and ride as fast as they could for the border.”
Yago: “He was a respected man, and five families put their trust in him. The others were too attached to their fixed homes, their warm walls and comfortable chairs. Or they were too wedded to violence, and felt it shameful to turn and run. Or they were lazy or stupid or afraid. It doesn’t matter why. The ones who heeded the warning escaped the country only minutes before it was overrun with ghouls and ghosts and darker things we do not speak of. None who remained, survived.”
Yago: “In the years that followed they became horse traders, never stopping for long, always staying ahead of the expanding borders, increasing their numbers as others also chose to flee, splitting onto separate roads yet always hoping to meet up again. Some groups learned the ways of living that protected them from Bel’s curses, diseases and poisons. Others died out and were mourned.”
Yago: “We are the Lovari - those who deal with horses. Our name honours the trade that first kept us alive but, more than that, horses are our safety. They let us flee danger fast enough to outrun it, but they are also our independence. They keep us safe from being tamed, being ruled by city authorities and tied down to one location. The places we stop are only temporary camps - our true home is the road.”
Kafana: “I’ve never seen anyone ride the way you did. It was as though you and the horse were one being. It was beautiful. I’m only just learning to ride but even I can tell your bond is something special. Can we see them? Your horse companions?”
Yago flashed her a smile, like she’d touched upon something dear to his heart, and it transformed his face. She could scarcely take her eyes off him. This was what she’d sensed earlier, this animal magnetism. He was like an urban fox; he might be living in a city for a time, but he was still a wild thing with the instincts of a curious scavenger/predator, alert for opportunities, but always aware of its surroundings and ready to flee if something too dangerous appeared. Was it possible some Lunadan blood still ran in his veins?
The party split, with Bulgaria taking Bungo and Wellington off to chat with other groups and pick up quest information, while Yago took her and Alderney to admire his horses, with Tomsk sticking like glue to Kafana’s side. He didn’t touch her, not so much as clothes accidentally brushing, but he was never more than an arm’s length away and when he addressed her, it was as “Sister Singer-Woman”.
Far from resenting it, Yago accepted this as natural and treated Tomsk respectfully as they discussed the finer points of rouncies versus coursers for archery, and whether a palfrey or jennet would suit Kafana the best. When Tomsk produced the set of epic horse barding from his stash, Yago gave a low whistle.
Yago: “That is made for a destrier, and a mighty one at that. The only one I know of in Torello that might be large enough is Bucephalas, an uncut stallion owned by Septimus Bruno who was gifted it by the Iberian ambassador. He’s had it six years now, since his 16th birthday, but he’s too proud to admit he’ll never mount it. If he were wiser he’d have let us train it, or put it out to stud and started properly with a foal from the next generation, getting the horse used to his scent while still a suckling.”
Alderney looked fascinated: “How do you do it?”
Yago: “Some swear by the first piss of the morning, but sweat works better. Keep a rag under an armpit for a week and then tie it over the newborn’s nose. Lift and carry the newborn around, and it will grow up thinking of you as bigger and stronger than it, even when you no longer are. Feed it by hand, not from a bucket or trough. Spend as much time with it as possible in the first weeks, so you notice when it needs water or grooming even before it notices. Never use cruelty, never lose patience. Act like a good herd guardian when it comes to discipline.”
Kafana: “Guardian? Does the strongest male horse not lead the herd?”
Yago laughed.
Yago: “Nay, horses are like the Lovari. The males protect, or rove trying to prove their worth, but the real leader is the matriarch who has lived through the most and still survived with spirit intact. Age is proof of wisdom, for the foolish die young or fall by the way. The women set the course, and it is the woman who invites the man to intertwine lives, not the other way around."