all the men and women merely players
Mildw
Falke Guildenstern
The "Fixer"

Age: 40 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 18 - Int:
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#1
We're all just ticking time bombs
Even a man in service to others has his needs and as the Fixer is quite single, he might as well take advantage a few ‘tit for tat’ deals made. His services for theirs. Not the patients themselves, of course, that would be wrong on so many levels, but the Houses, yes.

Even Falke can admit when he’s rather vanilla, and with time spent half on the sex part and half on the companionship part, he’s an easy customer. A genuinely good time. A respectful, happy client. So he was tonight, and the Fixer is now both pleasantly tired and feeling lighter as he steps out of the doorway of a brothel, a well-endowed Madame waving farewell to the man with the cane.

And now, he thinks as his stomach rumbles - for food. A place just around the corner with simple, hearty fare - purposefully placed to entice the post-coitus crowd. Moving languidly, Falke heads for it, letting his mind wander more than usual.
FALKE
Swamp Witch

Age: 517 | Height: 5'2" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#2
M i l d e w

Come down, little darling,
and lay at my breast
There for meeting the other Demi-Gods, Mildew had decided to wander the town for a little while after the event. It had been odd; they all seemed to know more about what was happening than she did, and she had somehow offended her fellow Frey-sister. Social norms did change over the years, and she supposed it had been a few centuries...maybe she had some things to learn.

She passed the brothel with a flicker of amusement. It had been a very, very long time since Mildew had felt the touch of another, but she found that she simply had higher priorities for the time being. One thing she did need though was food and the smell of something filling and hearty attracted her to the small cafe.

There was one seat left; next to a man she did not recognise, but Mildew hardly knew anyone in this town, so that was hardly a problem. Slipping into the remaining seat, she smiled at him, not one to keep silent when a conversation could be have. "Hello there darling, could I sit here?"
Oh, come a little closer
and I'll do the rest
Falke Guildenstern
The "Fixer"

Age: 40 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 18 - Int:
OPHELIA - Regular - Brown Weeper Capuchin
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#3
We're all just ticking time bombs
Mid-bite, Falke smiles around his toasted sandwich and nod vigorously, dipping his head to one side in an abbreviated ‘please sit.’ Of course she is welcome, the seat is empty! He quickly chews his way through that mouthful, surreptitiously glancing at the woman from the corner of his eye. People didn’t often call him ‘dear,’ and her tone is enough to give him enough pause. Unable to put a finger on exactly what intrigues him, Falke swallows and then turns a bit towards her, bright and curious despite the hour.

“What keeps you out tonight?” he asks, setting the sandwich down for a moment. A tired, slightly harried looking man comes out of the doorway to the newest client and asks what he can get her, impatience dripping from the notepad and pen he’s poised to write with.
FALKE
Swamp Witch

Age: 517 | Height: 5'2" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#4
M i l d e w

Come down, little darling,
and lay at my breast
It was nice to see such a welcoming face. Mildew had found that those in Stormbreak did not like the unfamiliar. Because of her association with those respected as close to the Gods, she had been tolerated so far, but she'd seen many a disparaging glance at her muddy dress and bare feet, her rough Wilds accent that none had heard in many years. Smiling at Falke, she leaned forward, elbow on the table to speak to him, when the server appeared.

"Oh. Ah...I'm still not entirely sure what it is you all eat in these place. Look, anything you have will probably be fine, darling. With water, please." She didn't trust all their weird fancy drinks.

As the server left she turned back to Falke, tucking some of her wild hair behind one ear. "I was called to a meeting that ran rather late...though I've never been one for an early bed time. And you?" Mildew asked, her eyes dipping down then back up to his.
Oh, come a little closer
and I'll do the rest
Falke Guildenstern
The "Fixer"

Age: 40 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 18 - Int:
OPHELIA - Regular - Brown Weeper Capuchin
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#5
We're all just ticking time bombs
At first, the server just looks at the woman like she’s an idiot for a minute. Then he shrugs and makes some kind of decision, not one to argue if she’s going to hand him carte blanche. It’s either the most expensive thing or the easiest thing on the menu.

Falke doesn’t intervene in that whole thing; he’s already working his way through another bite, a bit of overly-enthusiastic sauce painting the tip of his beard, unnoticed. That’s probably because he had noticed something unique about her.

“I was visiting the Silk Houses,” he replies after swallowing, open and without shame. “Worked up a bit of an appetite, not quite ready to forego the company of people.” Even strangers and mere passersby - Falke enjoys the energy of Stormbreak, even when he’s just observing it. “Forgive me, but you said ‘this place.’ You’re from elsewhere? Somewhere… very different?” Which is what he can’t quite puzzle out by himself. All the other places seem relatively normal - at least by food standards. Except maybe Halo, but that’s because Ursur meat has a very particular taste and they use it so often...
FALKE
Swamp Witch

Age: 517 | Height: 5'2" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 2 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 15 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 11 - Int:
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#6
M i l d e w

Come down, little darling,
and lay at my breast
Mildew stared right back at the server until he accepted her order. It would have been far more embarrassing and awkward for the both of them had she tried to actually specify any foods; she was sure that here they didn't serve soups and stews made from swamp leaves and creatures or salted strips of mushrooms dried over the roof on a hot day.

"The silk houses....oh. The brothel." She returned, equally shameless about the matter. "And did you have a good time there? It has been so long since I've even seen such an establishment I almost forgot of their existence."

Indeed, she was from somewhere very different, and Mildew loved to speak of her home. "I come from the Feverlands, dear. In the Wilds. The most beautiful place in Caido, though many find it a little too deadly for their tastes." She shrugged, as if this estimation was simply a bad opinion. "Have you ever been? There's all kinds of wonderful things there. Wild magic and creatures and even witches."


{I\'m so sorry I completely forgot I had a thread I owed on Mildew D:}
Oh, come a little closer
and I'll do the rest
Falke Guildenstern
The "Fixer"

Age: 40 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 18 - Int:
OPHELIA - Regular - Brown Weeper Capuchin
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#7
We're all just ticking time bombs
Not one to kiss and tell, Falke occupies his mouth with another bite, nodding vigorously in the affirmative.

He best eat as much as he can, because the woman’s next revelation is one that truly grabs the Fixer’s attention. She lives in the Feverlands? That alone is enough to make him want to pull out his notepad and ask her a hundred questions, but that desire wars with his equally strong sense of conscientiousness. So he ends up quiet for a minute, trying his best not to scare her off by being a giddy school-boy.

“The Feverlands, he finally echoes, obvious awe in his tone. “Now that’s one place I’ll likely never be able to go. Can you tell me more about it? Books and catalogs of flora and fauns are fine and all, but nothing compares with someone who lives there.” And then, of course, he’s reminded of the Order’s last meeting and the mention of one of Frey’s demigods. He does not assume, but what other reason would someone who lives in the Feverlands have to come here?

“Have you ever met a witch?” An innocent question, of course, but oh, how his eyes sparkle in the lamplight as he asks.
FALKE
Swamp Witch

Age: 517 | Height: 5'2" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#8
M i l d e w

Come down, little darling,
and lay at my breast
It was sweet to see Falke's obvious excitement about her home; Mildew smiled in the way a patient grandmother might, seeing in him a very young mortal discovering the world. "My dear, why couldn't you go? There aren't any walls." She asked first, tilting her head; true, the Feverlands was hardly a nice place to visit, but it was open to anyone that was willing to overcome it's many flaws.

"You'll need to ask me more specific questions than that. I live in the midst of the swamp in a house I built some time ago and I share my home with the creatures there. There are beetles, worms, flies...then larger things too. If you look in the right areas there are fish - and mushrooms...though I wouldn't recommend you harvest them unless you know what to look for." With over five hundred years of experience identifying them, she was confident, but Mildew had seen inexperienced mortals fall to poisonous plants far too often.

As for witches...Leaning forward with her chin on her hand, she grinned. "Yes, dear. In fact, I have a secret for you: I am one." She didn't normally reveal her identity so early, but she wanted to see his reaction.
Oh, come a little closer
and I'll do the rest
Falke Guildenstern
The "Fixer"

Age: 40 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 18 - Int:
OPHELIA - Regular - Brown Weeper Capuchin
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#9
We're all just ticking time bombs
Oh, of course, it isn’t obvious right now. Rapping on his thigh, Falke is oblivious to leaving accidental, tiny grease marks on his pants. “My leg wouldn’t do well there. Old injury, never healed right. If the cobblestones here occasionally give me trouble, I can’t imagine what a swamp might do to it - ah, me. So she can see that it’s really just a practical avoidance and nothing to do with not wanting to go there.

More specific questions? He can do that. And he’s just about to when the waiter returns with her food and that glass of water. It’s nothing fancy, but it smells good; a dark yellow cheese drips over the edges of fried bread, covering a glistening bit of fat-rimmed meat. Somewhere in there is a sauce with a bit of a kick to it, just to round out the flavor profile. Dropping it unceremoniously in front of Mildes, the waiter is gone just as quickly as he came.

Falke waits just a breath before launching in. “Oh you’re a witch?” He clearly takes her at face value. “Where did you get your powers from? It can’t be the same as magic, then, otherwise you’d be dead… hmmm." Is that to her? Or to himself? The Fixer is already making notes in a small notebook. "How long have you lived there? Do people comes looking for you for ah… potions and charms and such?”
FALKE
Swamp Witch

Age: 517 | Height: 5'2" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
Level: 2 - Strg: 17 - Dext: 15 - Endr: 17 - Luck: 11 - Int:
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#10
M i l d e w

Come down, little darling,
and lay at my breast
"Oh." Mildew nodded, considering if she'd be able to help something like that with her magicks and cures. Maybe so, but she knew not everyone wanted that kind of help; if he ever yearned for it, she would offer. "There are still other places in the Wilds you could certainly visit. Kings End is flat and merely grass for the most part." Not quite the savage beauty of the swamp, but still something special in of itself.

The food placed in front of her was certainly more decadent than she was used to, Mildew mostly eating stews of leaves and mushrooms and whatever meats she could find in the area, but she wouldn't complain. With a little smile on her lips, she daintily picked up a fork and knife and began to eat, nodding with a 'hm' as he asked if she were a witch.

Once she'd swallowed, she explained: "It's not magic in the way Abandoned have it. It's Frey's gifts used right. There so much in the world around us that can be used; this leaf for healing, that flower for confidence, and so on. Mix them together, say the right prayers...through the Gods, we can achieve much." That, and she'd been around for 500 years and knew how to deal with many things, but one revelation at a time. "They
used to, some time ago. The barrier and growing fear of the Wilds sent them away for a while...but now they are returning. And indeed, I make charms and potions."
Oh, come a little closer
and I'll do the rest
Falke Guildenstern
The "Fixer"

Age: 40 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 18 - Int:
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#11
We're all just ticking time bombs
Falke nods enthusiastically. “Perhaps one day Ronin will make a skyport there, too. Then it’d be easier.” He doesn’t feel the need to go into why King’s End is still a difficult trek for him, no need to burden this demigoddess with his issues and yes, his stubbornness against healing his hip.

Falke jots down a few of her phrases - Frey’s gifts used right and say the right prayers - which made him think that Mildew very much had the herald’s ear. And that seemed like a very special thing. He takes another bite of his own sandwich, careful to wipe the oil off his fingers before taking up the pen and paper again. “We still heal here the old fashioned way - no charms, no magic, just medicine and rest and time. I focus on the mental ailments, but - I do have quite an impressive herb garden if I do say so myself. I’d be curious what I could add or how to use them better. If you have the time.”

There’s no doubt in his mind that Mildew is quite busy. And he’d never be so bold as to ask her outright for something special. At least - not on first meeting.
FALKE
Swamp Witch

Age: 517 | Height: 5'2" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#12
M i l d e w

Come down, little darling,
and lay at my breast
"Yes, he is being quite industrious with those. I'm not sure I'd love all the extra people, though. A few visitors is fine, but the Feverlands is hardly equipped for tourists." It was dangerous for the average person, but more importantly than that to Mildew, their stomping feet and careless loud voices would disturb the nature and creatures that existed within her beloved Wilds.

She noticed him writing, let her eyes follow his pen as she began to eat in earnest. What was he noting down about her? Mildew wouldn't ask, but she was curious.

Smiling at his request, she nodded and smiled. "Of course. If you like I could even give you some of the herbs in my bag for experimentation. It's worth saying too that there's nothing wrong with the 'old fashioned way'. Our bodies are designed to be hurt and recover all on their own." If one wanted to read into it, this could be taken as a dig at the Ascended, but from Mildew's innocent face and smile, it would be hard to know. "You say mental ailments, though? Are there a lot of those in Stormbreak?"
Oh, come a little closer
and I'll do the rest
Falke Guildenstern
The "Fixer"

Age: 40 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 3 - Strg: 15 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 14 - Luck: 18 - Int:
OPHELIA - Regular - Brown Weeper Capuchin
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#13
We're all just ticking time bombs
From what the Fixer knows of the Feverlands, he doubts people will go traipsing through there for fun. But he won’t disagree with the demigoddess and instead, nods in agreement. Her home. Her wishes. Besides, he doubts many would be comfortable there for any extended period of time.

“Really?” Brightening like a child given a new toy, Falke perks up incredulously. Does he dare believe his ears? “That would be most generous of you.” And for a moment, he’s a bit speechless, taken aback by the offer that came so easily. All the demigods he’d met had been varying degrees of generous, yes, but he is essentially a stranger to Mildew. “I’d be honored to make a place for them in my garden.”

And to his relief, they’re moving on. A switch of sorts flips in Falke and if he’d been wearing his glasses, this is where he would take them off for a serious conversation. “Well, life as an Order member isn’t always easy. We work hard, especially these days, and the situations are dangerous. Sometimes the things that make us great at what we do don’t always carry over well into what I’d effectively call a wartime scenario. And Cian is… the Eye for a reason. There is no room for gentle and cuddly in that role.” Offering Mildew a tight smile, he shakes his head. “And of course, there are the occasional Abandoned mutations and that always throws the families into traumatic situations. The Dragoons have their own unique problems, particularly if a companion passes away.”

He shrugs a bit, and rubs the edges of his beard. “So I guess there’s quite a variety to treat here. Not all of them are serious all the time, but there is always someone who needs to talk.” And that’s where the Fixer gladly steps in.
FALKE
Swamp Witch

Age: 517 | Height: 5'2" | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Nomadic
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#14
M i l d e w

Come down, little darling,
and lay at my breast
"Of course. You'll just need to give me a little time to write up a label, so you don't treat someone for a scraped knee with poison." Mildew chuckled, winking at Finn over the table before continuing to eat, thinking about what she would give him. The Feverlands offered many delights to the would-be forager, and some of them were too particular to her specific healing ways to be of much use to anyone else.

The Order was something mostly unfamiliar to Mildew. She knew of it, knew roughly that it was there to combat the Ascended, that the members were quite powerful; when it came to what their work actually looked like though, she was unsure. "So...what is it you do in the Order? Have you personally come up against any Ascended?" She asked, idly twirling her fork as she thought the next question over: "Have you ever killed one?"

Possibly in a conversation about mental health asking for Falke's body count was a little tactless, but Mildew had never been one to hide her thoughts.
Oh, come a little closer
and I'll do the rest


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