---

At the Hare & Sheaf, ~10am Saturday May 4^th, 1771


Ben woke abruptly to clean sheets, bright sunlight and a heart slowing from pounding harder than it should. Slowly, he recalled where he was: the inn at Scorch Norton, where he'd returned soggy, prickled, exhausted and postless in the early hours of last night after Rob Anybody had tried to steal his horse. Memory of the incident brought up a wave of chagrin that more or less effaced the uneasy dream.

John Collins had offered the use of this room more or less on credit, and the news of the latest holdup would have gone back with the first coach or rider headed that way. It left Ben with the task of tracing two sacks of post undoubtedly dumped in a ditch somewhere within a four- or five mile radius of the scene given Rob's clear disinterest in the visible contents, and the less than welcome prospect of the other post boys' laughter on his return, getting ambushed by the same brigand in three different places.

Long Shanks had aquitted himself well that night, however, waiting flatfooted like a dumb and placid cow as Rob sent his master back towards the Andersfield road on foot with a slap on the rump and a mocking cry of "jog on, old thing!". Shanks'd waited just long enough for Ben to be out of easy pistol shot to chomp his captor hard enough to draw blood, knock the man down and come level with Ben at a trot. It was almost a pity there'd been no witness but the waning gibbous moon and a highwayman screaming curses behind them to see Ben mount his Essex pony like a Cossack, their steps and motion so perfectly aligned that Ben was simply in the saddle again and speeding up. They'd hastily taken a few turns to shake pursuit, Shanks had spooked and run a little at something swift that crossed their path with a low motion half dog, half baby, and then it started to rain. By the time Ben could determine where he was, both of them felt about half-dead from weariness and cold; heading across to Scorch Norton seemed the easiest path.

So here he lay. Neither the whitewashed plaster nor the time-darkened bare beams above gave him any ideas of how to immediately proceed with anything, and the brightness of the sun outside proclaimed midmorning. Some of his clothes seemed to be near the fireplace, at least. A gentle knock came at the door, and Hessie Collins' careful voice, muffled through it:

"Ben? You up yet?"

---

 "...like a bell."

                    "...haha, dash your brains out and scour your skull for that'n.."

Maggie woke in the hay to the the last prod and subsequent clatter of a stable broom, and knew by the alarcity with which the younger stable lads took to their heels that they'd been saying horrible things about her. Dark-haired burly Kit Meaker sauntered up - not a friend, exactly, but a lad willing to pay for favours without pressing for more than he'd purchased - and gave her a smirk, leaning on a post of the hay store she'd apparently bedded down in.

"Just about still morning, Maggie - we've had a full house here and Nancy says there's a good meal in it for you if you turn over some of the rooms that's empty." He waited to see how she'd take that offer.

Ben sat there propped up on his elbows, the soft down having shifted around him to form a shallow nest, likely nestled there by his unconscious movements throughout the night.

The young man's throat was dry, and his heart was still beating fast, frantic and shallow. His head also felt somewhat gauzy and light, as if he had gone some duration in the heat.

But all of this was secondary, a mere addendum to the unsettling memory of the dream. The vivid colors of the night terror slowly faded as the moments passed, as did the scents, and finally the sensations that lingered in his very flesh, the combined experience growing more hazy by the minute.

The bulk of the episode was there, and likely would be for some time, but his body was gradually awakening to the present. The tinge of wood smoke, a distant conversation and something that smelled savory was wafting in from around the cracks in the door.



At the sound of Hessie's voice Ben suddenly and painfully remembered the events of the day before. He sighed softly to himself in an exasperated way, swallowed hard in a dry throat and replied.

"I am. Give me a moment and I'll be right out" he replied in a familiar way, then forced himself up to sit on the edge of the bed as he tried to recollect where he had put his things.

Nothing he owned was new, and both the stockings and the nightshirt that he had awoken in were yellowed slightly with use. His breeches were worn disgracefully thin about the crotch and his taupe waistcoat strained at the buttons, another soon to be victim of his latest growth spurt.

The only item that let him pass for a Christian was his bottle green coat, and the only reason it had been spared was the protective influence of a truly disreputable oilskin that was now rolled up and tied behind the cantle of his saddle.

After he had dressed, but with two days growth of stubble over his face, he cracked the door with a warm, yet somewhat embarrassed expression. "Morning Hessie" he greeted her. "I imagine your Father needs the room?" he asked in a very understanding way, and let the door open another foot or so.

"Urrrghhh..." Maggie groaned as she combed straws from her tangled red locks, trying to remember if she'd bedded down singly last night. Getting too old for this, Meg. She squinted at Kit, blinking in the shafts of sunlight filtering in.

"Oh, aye, tell Nancy I'll start at top o' th' house." She rose and slapped away at the dust and hay that clung to her rumpled clothes, paying no attention to Kit's gaze as she twitched and settled her clothes into place over her body and clapped on her mob cap. She'd kept clear of the horse dung, at least.

She patted Kit's shoulder with a slight smile as she went by, stepping out into the morning. One of the ratty stable boys was dipping a bucket into the trough and she bumped her hip into him as she passed, sending him sprawling into the water. "Tha's payback," she said merrily as he splashed and spluttered.

She went in through the kitchens, plucking a crust of bread from a plate awaiting the dishwater, and swigged the dregs of a mug as well. She climbed the stairs to the upper floor, her hips protesting a bit. Striding to the window at the end of the passage, she looked out over the yard and stretched her back and limbs. Then she began to go from room to room, knocking on doors and going in where there was no answer to set the room aright.

As she worked, she found herself humming Trugred's song, even dancing a few steps as disjointed and confused images recurred to her. By the time she got back to the stairs at the end of the hallway, her stomach was rumbling and she could smell the scent of stew wafting up from the kitchens.

Looking back with but the one room to go showed Hessie with a tray at the other end of the corridor talking to someone in the corner room; Maggie must have been loudly turning down a bed when she went past. They'd catch up soon enough, and so Maggie set about the last unresponsive room with gusto, opening the shutters fully and leaving the casement open a way to air.

It was as she was checking under the bed for anything that needed to go in the piss bucket that she found a stocking, shortly followed by a fine blue sleeve and the coat it was connected to. As the sudden realisation that all the clothes were here sank in, part of the heap of bedclothes two thirds of the way down the bed turned over and lazily unrolled itself. Master Fox blinked up at her through tousled hair, still half asleep and possibly still partway drunk, not at all sure what she was doing there. "Mnnrgh...join me?"

In reply to Benjamin Craddock (msg # 2):

"Morning, Ben," Hessie replied with a smile just shy of grinning. She held up the tray she'd been carrying, which bore a teapot cosied in woad blue knit, a cup, saucer, and a thick slice of bread with actual butter on it, brown as it was. "Pickings to get you started, there'll be curried mutton to be got in a half-hour, and mostly Dad wants you to move your, um-" Hessie paused and bit her lip in thought a moment, trying to rearrange what her father had said into something repeatable, then giving up: "-horse. Take him over to tether on the green awhile."

She handed the tray over, careful not to catch his fingers or otherwise unbalance it. In the background Ben spotted Maggie Yendale the village doxy come out of a room and tap a couple of doors, doing some honest earning for chores. To be fair, Maggie was a huge woman she was hard not to spot, it just always seemed odd to see her indoors, like she ought to be out with the other stock or the wild deer, roaming free. Hessie looked a little distracted a moment - perhaps weighing whether to tell anyone to check the girl's pockets for things lost - then focused again, remembering the rest of her message.

"He also said that the vicar turned in one of your post sacks this morning, and that if you want to help with a search for Mistress Durbin that might turn up the rest besides, he'll arrange that you can keep the room and be fed a day extra, for public service, like." The missing girl was news to Ben, but there were surely worse places to spend a day or so than Scorch Norton.

Ben's glanced hungrily at the bread, despite his effort to present himself in a Roman like fashion. The boy was not one to worship his belly, but he was still growing, and he was among the many of his station that never really seemed to be sated outside of holidays and special events.

He took the platter gingerly, his fingers gently and inadvertently brushing against hers as he did so, and thanked her earnestly. "Aww, Hessie..." he began in a familiar yet still friendly tone, then trailed off as she kept talking.



"Right" the young man nodded more seriously. "First thing after breakfast." he assured her. People that were at all tolerant of Long Shanks were to be treasured, in a sense, and the beasts reputation was already solidified in the imaginations of most of the locals. He would not dawdle with that request.

But there was more...



"Truly?" Ben asked, his stoic façade abandoned in his relief "Oh, Lord that's a weight off my chest. God bless'em." he cracked a smile and turned now, more awake, less burdened and more friendly in general. He took a few barefoot steps and set the tray down on the nightstand with a faint clatter. The young man had always bordered on clumsiness. "The last one took me the better part of a..." he trailed off again, grew more concerned. "Did you say that Mistress Durbin is missing?" he clarified with emphasis on the name. "For how long now?" his voice having grown more quiet again with the revelation.

Maggie knew that anything in skirts would've got the same offer from the still-soused young rascal. "Awww Master Fox," said Maggie with an impudent smirk, "It's work I have t'do. Just now. Besides, th' whole house is stirring.

"I'll be back t'make up th' room when ye're out o' bed." She drops her usual awkward curtsy. "G'day!"

She turned with a flirt of her hem and quit the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Passing along the corridor with soiled linens for the laundry, she caught sight of Hessie in one of the rooms.

"Hessie," she giggled, "Wait'll I tell ye-- Oh, Postboy! How's old Long Shanks doing? Has he gentled ye any?"

There might have been some mumbled response from the youth before he rolled himself up in the sheets again, but Maggie didn't catch it.

"Mistress Durbin, yes - that sort of cat-looking one, dark honey hair, birthmark smudge around the back of her neck almost, on the left-hand side. We're for sure she was at the May Revels all day on the first, 'til nearly ten, and that she went home after that," Hessie wandered into the room, relaxed enough to lean up on the wall and share gossip.

"-Though I have it from Sally Ragge that she went off awhile towards Fox Hall early in the evening, for maybe an hour, give or take. She'd been favouring stepping out with Long Tom Bees who lives that way, though, and he'd gone off before else he'd have been with his sister and Widow Sexton - her mother doesn't think much of the match, but she threatens to give poor Polly to beggars as often as she says she's only fit for a landed man, so it might be they were...that they confirmed the choice for the church to do it later, you know. I don't think Polly would've regretted that so much she'd have...have left," Hessie tripped over the other possibility as she said it, that the finality of lost maidenhead might have brought on drastic action.

She swallowed, reasoning on: "At any rate, she seemed in high spirits when she came back. We don't know what passed at home, only that her parents thought she was sleeping in or out early in the morning, and didn't check her room to find her gone until nearly noon day before yesterday. Dad's questioned everyone that's been through, and asked that questions be sent on, but she's not been seen anywhere by anyone. Not even...in a bad way, in the mill race, something like that. If she'd died somewhere, the crows would notice, surely. She's just gone."

Maggie startled the solemnity out of her a bit, bringing out a sudden smile. A glance at Ben's feet and the sound of Maggie's brought a slight grin to Hessie's face as she flushed a gently dusky rose colour, mildly exhilerated to be in the society of people so free and content with themselves.

[[when you're the shy nerd at a topless party...or rather a sockless party, it being 1771.]]

Hessie giggled a little, even as her hand crept to her shoulder as though to squeeze her presence down out of sight. "See, Ben, Maggie might remember your name too if you bite her," she said in a flash of wickedness, mock fight-starting with the laughter scarce hiding in her throat.


[[Spot Hidden, ye barefoot rogues and wenches!]]

Maggie rolled 98 for Spot Hidden 25. Not so very observant, our Meg.

”Is it Polly Durbin ye’re talk in’ of then? Have they found her?

“No, postboy, don’t be thinking on bitin’ me, less ye wanta get bit back, hey?” Maggie poked him lightly in the ribs to show she was just joshing, the poke pushing him back a half step. She giggled, a most unlikely sound from a creature her size.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:34, Thu 22 July 2021.

"No, not a ribbon - Dad's organising a search since there's been no news from the roads," Hessie answered of Polly, then came up to catch Maggie's elbow and haul her away from bothering Ben, like drawing off a carthorse, still grinning. "Don't put holes in him, Maggie, he needs those ribs."

She looked up at her huge friend, and since they were in such a tangle already, reached her free arm across to Maggie's other forearm and pulled her into a bit of a reel. Trugred's Song joined in somehow, hummed between them by mutual impulse or caught one from the other, bare feet and shod shuffling over the floor in merry confusion as though the May Revels were come again.

At the head of the stairs, laughing, Maggie pulled Hester to her in a quick, impulsive embrace. Then she straightened, taking a step back and a deep breath. Glancing out the window, she saw several neighbours quietly, slowly approaching the green.

"What's this?"

Leaning out the open casement, she saw the stag with Andrew Sexton and Thomas Bees approaching it warily.

"Look ye, Hess, 'tis th' Lord o' the Wyzenwood himself. Suppose he's brought word o' the wanderin' Polly?"

[[...yeah, sure, you can succeed at Spot Hidden for Ben, since he's but one day short of being officially sent to the Land Of Over There Somewhere. Try not to usurp the mechanics often, though, I did have contingencies planned.]]

Hester had pulled herself in small and close at the hug like a child, though the quick grasp and tension of her left arm around her friend's back was indication enough she didn't mind. She smelled of rosemary, of salt and smoke and girl and washing soda. Her amused gasp faded to a quiet and then the silence of a bated breath at Maggie's words. She crowded in to see.

"What...? Oh, I've never seen he like of that...but nothing lives in the Wyzenwood, does it? Nothing animal, save when hares go shelter there in the day..." Her voice grew rough and taut, following the thought, that maybe this was not an animal, or that news of Polly would be what he did bring, gathering the folk to lecture with the voice of a man.

"You don't think that's where she is, do you? I know she went down to Goodie Westcott's a time or so when her mother thought she was here n' chaperoned, but why would she...?" Hessie's eyes were wide when she glanced up at Maggie, then back out of the window. "No, he'll belong to some lord's menagerie that's missed him, like the panther at Bristol...it's a Mistress the Wyzenwood has, isn't it? I always heard it was a lady."

She sounded uncertain, but better that, surely, than Polly in the Wyzenwood and this emissary come to tell them of it. Polly in the Wyzenwood lured by Mercy Westcott, Polly in the Wyzenwood by choice, carried off by the Devil. Polly in the Wyzenwood and part of it now, root and branch. Hessie tugged at Maggie's sleeve.

"Come, let's go down the parlour way and you dump the stuff for washed by the kitchen door; we'll go out to see. Ben! Look you out there-" she indicated the window to the lad in the room they'd danced out of, "-we're going down to see!"


Hessie hitched her skirts and trotted. When the girls got downstairs all seemed empty until they were hailed in the taproom by Bart Phippin, the only person there:

"Hoy! Ah, Maggie, come over n' let me up on your back, girl - Arnie's got work at the tanner's and I'm not goin out there without legs."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 12:33, Tue 27 July 2021.

Even the quiet Ben cracked a real smile at the antics of the girls, although the news that Mistress Durbin was well and truly missing stifled some of the young man's mirth.

He enjoyed the dancing however, not even in an overtly animal way, just the unrestrained, spontaneous movement of the two and it brought a hint of real joy into his eye, as if he somehow wished he could just join in. The comments about biting one another adding just a hint of something electric in the air.

But he obviously did not, no, he cleared his throat. "A Lady for sure, of the Wyzenwood that is. I've always thought of her as a Lady, in any case." he finally chimed in, broken from his reverie.

"And Longshanks is just fine thank you, got me out of a bind just yesterday, the noble animal. Regal even some would say." He added playfully yet defensively.

He began readying himself, wolfed down the last of his breakfast, and taking his belongings in both arms he followed them out, still getting properly dressed in the hall on the way down.

oday: Benjamin Craddock rolled 4 using 1d100.  Spot Hidden vs 50.

Peering out of the window on the way down showed Ben what Maggie had described as 'the lord of the Wyzenwood' and rushed away to see - a black stag standing in the middle of the village green like a void carefully excised in the world.


Ben had thought that it might be pretty simple to get his calf buttons done up and his shoes slipped into on the hoof, as it were. However, at some point he'd miscalculated when his stride would reach the stairs, which meant he was flailing about with his coat and trying to pull the one gaiter he'd got on up at once, all of which on a narrow vertical incline with steps.

He managed quite well three quarters of the way, enough for a burst of encouragement and a glance at the remaining gaiter, which distracted him from the fraction the first wasn't laced enough as it slid down a finger's width from one step to the next; Ben stepped, slid gripless on the trailing heel and flailed for balance. Of a sudden, all was rush and gravity as he accidentally hurled himself down the stairs...
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:32, Wed 28 July 2021.

Ben must have made some kind of yelp, for Hessie turned in the insant before collision, eyes wide. "Ben!"

She threw her arms out, caught his shirt at the chest and coat at the arm, realised there was no way she could stop his momentum by main force and simply held on, swinging him about as she threw her weight backwards. Ben found solid floor under his heels. Hetty let go rather than be dragged dangerously forwards, Ben staggered back on the flat, gently bounced off the opposite wall, and then the heap of laundry to be done mauled his ankles and came up to devour him: Ben sat with a floomph of suspicious sheets, heart hammering but only a little knocked on the bottom to show for it.

Hessie stepped forward and crouched to inspect him, startled enough herself. Everything was hyper-focused to Ben for a few moments and he noticed the particular length of her eyelashes and the fine striations in her stone-grey irises with extreme clarity. "All right?" she asked.

Seeing that he mostly was, she smiled in relief and offered him a hand up, pulling him to his feet and onward through the parlour to the taproom, though she took her hand away before that. As it turned out, her father was not there to observe them, only Maggie letting Bart Phippin haul up on her back.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:32, Wed 28 July 2021.

"Aye, Bart, climb aboard," Maggie replied, stooping a bit to take the cripple up pick-a-back, "But I'll 'spect somewhat in recompense come Saturday night." She turned with the man on her back to face Ben, no strain evident in her face or bearing.

"A Lady, aye, but a Lady must have her Lord, don't it seem? Or retainers surely.

"C'mon, Hessie, let's go see th' sight."

And she stalked through the door, not forgetting to duck a bit as she went through, mindful of Bart's noggin.

Bart hauled up and held easily about Maggie's shoulders, his arms still well-muscled for all the drink and relative idleness. He smelled mostly of rum and tobacco, partly of man and some kind of oil or steel polish. "D- Why, what day d'ye think it is, Maggie?"

"We're coming," Hessie affirmed, crossing the room with a slightly shock-bewildered Ben.

Bart nudged the fringes of Maggie's cap aside with his face the better to see over her right shoulder as they passed into daylight. "Ha, now what're they playin' at?" he said, watching Long Tom the beekeeper and Andrew the carpenter crossing the green almost in step to approach the beast.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:39, Wed 28 July 2021.

"Aw look you, Bart, 'tis a fine, strong beast, eh? Think he might be Robin Goodfellow in a prankish guise?" Meg was entranced by the size and majesty of the creature, whatever it might be. "D'ye think he might let Andrew mount his back and bound off with him on a wild ride round th' county?"

"One of Lord Langham's black deer I'd guess, or the like of 'em - they says he has three in his forest, but that's a long way from here. Looks like the beast has been at some apples tossed out or laid frozen all the winter and just this season gone to rot. Those two'll be sorry if he's a fighting drunk, for sure." There was something slightly brittle about Bart's confident tone, the way he had to force it through the quiet and the way drunkeness little matched the sense of purpose the big animal brought.

"Could be those apples're nearby here - Nancy had a mad pheasant in the kitchen this morning, did you hear of that?" Bart shifted slightly, uneasy with the prospect they might be watching men in more danger than they thought. "Hmm...there's folk comen in from the infield now...step up on the green, Maggie, and see if he'll not run away at the sight. If it is Puck-Fron-The-Hill, maybe he'll carry Andrew Sexton off and leave him in France, that'd be entertainment."

"Listen, Bart, Andrew's talkin' to th' beast an' he's touchin' it. I'm goin' closer t'see can I hear what he's sayin'. D'ye want me t'let ye down here?"

Maggie begins a slow, cautious walk across the green.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:04, Fri 06 Aug 2021.

"Clean out your ears, girl, if I meant 'step up yourself but leave me marooned on a barrel' I'd've said the same. Hup along!" Bart responded, clapping his stumps to her sides to spur his 'steed' into hastier motion.

"Oh, careful, you both!" Hessie said, seeing that they really meant to do so, though that only drew some tongue-clicking of encouragement from Bart and a firmer grip.

Crossing the green, Maggie saw the stag go from stationary to tensed to bolt as Andrew Sexton approached with soothing words. Somehow the great animal stayed put when reached for, but then the muscles bunched under the soot-dark pelt and Maggie had just time to hear "Oh, there'll be no good of that..." from Bart before the stag seemed to try and spring backwards or twist away, stopped mid-rear as though yanked back to earth, and came crashing down into the carpenter, hurling him into the dirt.

Behind her, Hetty shrieked in startlement and shrank back - there were other cries, other people moving, but Bart held closer about her shoulders as the stag danced about the fallen man and took off running for the trees. "Leave me by 'im and you run for the doctor," he said, immediately taking charge of casualties.

Up ahead she heard Thomas Bees shouting something similar. The stag leapt into the distance, the ground vanishing under his stride until he was a dark flash amongst branches.

[[You can move over through Thread 1b if complying]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:45, Sat 07 Aug 2021.

Maggie turned her body to look at Hessie, "C'mon, love, we're going closer."

Then she turned back and took a couple paces forward as the stag reared up, striking her with awe and joy.

But it plunged down again, striking Andrew to send him flying backward. She saw blood on the fallen man and cried, "Oh!", dashing forward with Tom Bees to the injured man's side.

[going to thread 1b]