Johannes Dain (
shepherddain) wrote in
northclifflogs2020-01-25 12:20 pm
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Entry tags:
[Open and Closed] did someone ask for a small crisis of faith
WHO: Dain, some closed prompts, and YOU
WHAT: Dain's in a bit of a tailspin and people who have been Worried about the presence of a Shepherd in the village may notice that something is different
WHEN: Now-ish, late January
WHERE: All over
WHAT: Dain's in a bit of a tailspin and people who have been Worried about the presence of a Shepherd in the village may notice that something is different
WHEN: Now-ish, late January
WHERE: All over
A | Open
For almost two months, Dain was a friendly presence around the village, offering help where needed and cheerful conversation otherwise. Not even the arrival of the soldiers seemed to change that much, particularly when small clashes started occurring and Dain could help smooth some of them over. He always acted more like someone part of the community than someone apart from it, a person who cared and wanted to help.
Something changes that. It's not completely clear what -- it could be the situation where a member of the Watch was publicly flogged, or it could be Sir Theobald of Haguenne and his blindingly golden locks. Whatever the reason, seemingly overnight Dain's behaviour changes; he's more distant, more aloof, more preoccupied. He's more likely to watch than to participate, whether inside the tavern or the chapel or outside in the freezing village streets, keeping apart from others. Unconsciously or not, he acts much more like a Shepherd, only there to observe and nothing more.
This is not to say he stops being Dain. If someone else initiates conversation, he's as friendly as always, lighting up like a switch is flipped. If someone asks for help, he's always happy to give it. But he's rarely the one to initiate anymore.
B | Adhemar
Dain tried to get an early night, in the somewhat vain hope he would get a good night's sleep for once. Perhaps somewhat predictably, it doesn't work. So he gives up on that, wraps himself in coat and scarf, and settles in the chapel's library with some candles and the books.
It's something he used to do, back when he was starting his training and felt like he was going to snap from the mental tension of villifying the Night. He would read, anything and everything related to the Path of Light he could find, after everyone else was asleep, and silently contradict everything he knew to be wrong. It helped, in a counterintuitive sort of way -- not least because the one time he was caught, his instructors had only been impressed by his dedication -- and over the years it became meditative. It's been several months since the last time Dain had this much trouble sleeping, so he takes the first book off the pile and opens it to a random page in the middle, ready to start from whatever passage he lands on.
It doesn't work. Every time he's able to focus, the worry consumes him again.
To an outside observer, it looks like Dain's searching for a particular book and being stymied at every turn; he reads a page or two, exhales a frustrated breath, swaps books, tries again. His movements grow jerkier as the minutes wear on, until at last he slams a book shut with enough force that the candle wobbles on the table, and he lays his head down on top of it with a hoarse groan.
If he can't even do this properly anymore, how can he expect to keep his poker face in Cliffside?
B
Having returned from one of his secretive midnight sojourns, Adhemar is still dressed for the outdoors when he first pauses, silent and still, at the open door to the library to watch the Shepherd's back as he works. He checks his coat pocket swiftly and some of the tension eases from his shoulders; the key to his personal collection of more damning apocrypha remains in place, and it does not look as though the high shelves where the books are bracketed has been disturbed. But he cannot be sure without getting a closer look, and he cannot get a closer look without announcing his presence to Dain. An infuriating conundrum.
He opts to prepare for the worst, and kneels with extreme caution to withdraw a knife from a concealed pocket in his boot. A nimble bit of fingerwork tucks it instead up the sleeve of his coat--
--but before he can step forward into the light, Dain slams the tome in front of him forcefully down upon the tabletop and all but collapses atop it. Startled, Adhemar regards him like one might a poisonous snake behaving erratically, one that it would be far safer to treat to a wide berth just in case its condition makes it more dangerous than normal. But a vulnerable opponent is more prone to making mistakes, and could be more easily overpowered, should the need arise.
He steps into the dim candlelight. "Brother Johannes," he observes quietly, allowing his face to express some surprise. "You seem unwell."
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There may be a touch of relief in his exhale. "Father," he acknowledges as he sits back, eyes closed. This is why he's so careful even when he appears to be on his own; he certainly doesn't have the gift for knowing when he's being observed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
If, indeed, he did. The vicar isn't dressed for bed.
There may not be any of the danger Dain is accustomed to, but he still chooses his next words carefully. Finally, he decides on: "I had some trouble sleeping. Reading often helps with that."
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--then whatever fierce wind had possessed the Shepherd moments ago seems to fade, and when he sinks back into his chair with his eyes closed, Adhemar deftly and discreetly pockets his knife. Not time for that just yet after all.
Perhaps some intelligence gathering instead. His brows come together in an excellent and well practiced expression of mild concern, and he steps out of the doorway and into the library. "Bad dreams?"
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This might turn into a proper conversation, instead of a simple passing of boats in the night. Dain is quiet for a moment, looking down at the cover of the book he's treated less than respectfully, and he pulls together enough composure to be fairly sure he won't give himself away. He is tired, he needs to remember that -- but there's no reason a Shepherd wouldn't be happy to have a discussion with a vicar.
"I'll stay here a little longer," he says, "if that's all right with you. But surely you need your sleep. Your mornings are always so busy."
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Which means, of course, to continue behaving as normal, for there is no reason why the village vicar should not welcome conversation with a Shepherd.
"Please," he replies quietly, "make yourself comfortable. There are supplies for tea and coffee in the kitchen, which you may avail yourself of if you like." Then he pauses, deliberating over the wisdom of his next move, before he offers it anyway: "If you would prefer company or a listening ear, I can provide that for you." It's part of the job description.
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Still. Dain can't claim he's fine; he's already admitted he isn't.
"I'm not sure it would help," he admits carefully. "Something I thought would never change... is changing faster than I'd like." He pauses briefly, then: "It's a minor complaint, when compared to the trials many who live in this village endure. I'll adapt; I always have. Thank you, however, for the offer. Would you care for some tea to take to bed?"
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Interesting. They are more alike than Adhemar could have expected. How unsettling.
"I thank you for the courtesy, but no," he answers with a subtle shake of his head and a thin smile. "While it aids my focus when writing homilies, I find it does little to help with falling asleep." He takes a step backwards and towards the door to the small library, intent on seeing himself out.
"If you change your mind, Brother Johannes--" about the listening ear, of course, "--you know where I can be found."
He could always use more leverage.
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Where has Adhemar just been? Dain's not aware of any duties that might take a vicar outside the church so late at night, save perhaps for an unexpected death -- and if that is the case, then Adhemar is either impressively level in the aftermath, or far less talkative than other vicars Dain has known. It reminds Dain a little of himself and his own methods; if you're not specifically asked, then there's no reason to explain.
He won't ask. He never does, when he's not sure of the answer. It's safer for everyone.
Instead, Dain lets Adhemar leave without comment, looks down at the book -- sighs, and tries again. If at first you don't succeed...
👀
A
It's on one frigid evening that Dain finds himself with a (rather tall) ((ginger)) shadow, who comes up beside him, hands muffled under his upper arms to protect them from the cold.
"Wind's picking up," comes the amiable remark, "come inside for a cup of tea? It's getting dangerous out here."
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"It's miserable this time of year," he says, "how are you handling it?"
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"-- Finian, isn't it?" Dain pulls his scarf down, but doesn't even begin to try to remove any layers yet. Not until the warmth of the fire begins to work its way through him properly. "Not very well, really." He chuckles at himself. "I'm starting to understand why so few people live up here."
'Starting to', as though he hasn't been here for two months now alternating between freezing and slightly-less-than-freezing.
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"Yeah, I was born here or I'd probably agree. Been down to Cliffside once, in the summer, and thought it got too hot." He grins over his shoulder at the Shepherd. "I can't even imagine what it's like in Fairport."
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"It is rare, however, that in either city someone would be willing to invite you in out of the cold for a cup of tea," Dain remarks with a smile. "Thank you very much for that."
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Finian seems genuinely surprised by that. Everyone here is constantly having tea with each other, especially on cold days; it's just how they interact.
"My pleasure, of course." He's got the cups ready, but sits down to wait for the water to boil, his knees and elbows poking away from him like twigs off a sapling.
"If you don't mind my saying it," he says amiably, "we all kind of thought there'd be trouble, with you coming into town. The last time Shepherds were here it was." He winces.
"Grim business."
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He unwraps his scarf as he sits down by the kettle, and momentarily looks for all the world like a sunbathing cat as he basks in the fire's warmth; that expression fades as Finian reminds him there are still other Shepherds in the world, even if he happens to be alone at the moment.
"Of course I don't mind your saying it," he says solemnly. "It's the nature of our profession, that people believe our arrival means someone is in trouble. I tend to prefer when misgivings are given voice, because it's difficult to address them before that." He gives Finian a small smile. "In this case, I was sent here to investigate those ghosts appearing, and my timing was just terrible enough to ensure I'd be trapped here all winter. As far as I know, no one is in trouble."
He gives the kettle a longing glance. "Can I ask what happened, the last time Shepherds were here?"
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The smile dwindles again at the question, and Finian suddenly looks pensive.
"They'd followed a man up the mountain," he says, "a-- a Profane." He quickly meets Dain's gaze, clearly trying to make the best impression he can. "When they brought him back down, they slit his throat in the square."
There's no comment on their method, but his expression says a lot.