Legacy of Margaret Rigsby

[Kadda]

INFIRMARY RECORDS FROM THE ROYAL APOTHECARY OF ALLAMARONE

PATIENT NAME: Margaret Rigsby
AGE: 28
BIRTHSIGN: The Angel
NEXT OF KIN: Jack Rigsby (Brother)

GENERAL HEALTH: Good
HEIGHT: 5’7”
WEIGHT: 130lbs

11th of Goldleaf, 1344:
- Patient admitted with 2nd and 3rd degree burns after failed alchemy experiment
- 2nd and 3rd Degree burning is present on left side mandible, both forearms
- 3rd Degree burns present on both forearms

8th of Highharvest, 1344:
Patient is approved for discharge

9th of Highharvest, 1344:
Discharged under the supervision of Jack Rigsby

Discharge instructions:
Wash wounds daily with simple topical antiseptic and daily ingestion of simple antiseptic tincture until skin is healed. Simple numbing agent as needed for discomfort.

[Kadda]

17th of Frostmarch, 1344

Margaret let out a cathartic exhale; her herb gathering near Aiwella was done for the day. The place had always put her on edge, even without having witnessed Durga committing murder just outside, but the medicinal components were too precious to skip over.

While hurrying back to the Fort, she noticed someone and suddenly froze. The Little Bird stood in the middle of the wagons as if in a trance, unstable. Her delicate frame could have blown over with a breeze. Birdy didn’t have obvious scrapes or bruises, but Margaret could tell the girl was not fully aware of her surroundings and needed immediate medical attention.

Earlier that morning, Margaret had reached an understanding with Marcus after airing her grievances. To Margaret, as an outsider to his Order, she felt the knight confused chivalry with chauvinism at some point in his training. Only hours before this, she had run into him at the tavern. He immediately said, “Margaret you were right, I shouldn’t have talked to Little Bird”

Margaret approached the girl, “Birdy?” She spoke quietly, saying that nickname always took effort on Margaret’s part. Little Bird. It symbolized that the girl was a pet of the Order, not an equal. Dehumanizing.

“I… I don’t have anywhere else to go” Birdy replied. Margaret followed the young woman’s gaze to Aiwella and subconsciously put a guiding hand on Little Bird’s arm. Was she giving up after everything she’d endured?

Margaret knew the answers, “Do… Do you not want to return to the Fort?” The Bird shook her head. “Do you want to talk about it? She looked up at Margaret for a moment and replied, “Do you want to kill me? Did he ask you to kill me?”

- - -

After some gentle coaxing, Margaret led The Little Bird into Jack’s house, filled with the smells of flour and lumber. Birdy’s eyes darted around assessing any threats as she entered before taking a seat on a crate.

Margaret knew her brother was right. The witch hunters had already broken in once because of a prank sign claiming his house as the Order’s, he didn’t want to get involved in Order shit again by housing Marcus’ pet Bird. Their sibling squabbling was cut short by gentle knocking; two figures were outside. Jack shot Margaret a look of “I told you so” while she devolved to the younger sibling and stuck her tongue out at him. The Little Bird scurried under a table at the sound, already on edge from the bickering…

- - -

Little Bird sat on a rock, staring out to the sea, “All I wanted to do was return to him, and to Thorn, and I think they both want me dead... why?”

When the witch hunters came upon Jack’s house weeks ago, they were unnervingly polite. Margaret had nothing to hide, she never thought to study magicks, but still… the eerie feeling lingered on for days after. The idea that Little Bird suffered tortures from them to show only faint bruising and immense mental trauma felt likely.

She finished her story to the three of them. The salt in the air did wonders for Birdy’s nerves, but her resolve to run away also came back with a greater strength, “I fully intended to make my way north… I don't have many options available to me.”

Margaret already knew Briars Hollow and beyond were not viable options. She had accompanied a group of Fort residents to the Hollow days before to find villagers on edge, strange marks on the trees, an unfriendly mayor… The waters were poisoned, and she meant to find out why. No, Little Bird would not survive on her own up north.

Gryhun turned to his companion, “You think Marcus actually wants her dead?”

The other shook their head and countered, “He'd never risk Victoria finding out about something that would offend her so.”

The Little Bird wrapped her arms around her knees as the group began dissecting what they had heard. The trance returned to her eyes. They were losing Birdy again to whatever haunted her.

Margaret shook her head and held up a hand for quiet. She remembered the loss in Marcus’ voice as he walked out of the tavern earlier that day, “Can I make a compromise?” she stepped in between the assembled group and turned to Little Bird.

[Kadda]

19th of Frostmarch, 1344

The smell of freshly ground garlic was strong; it permeated the room where she sat with The Little Bird. Margaret wore a face mask as she worked to prevent her from sneezing, but her eyes stung.

“What’s all this cotton for?” Little Birdy looked in a crate as she spoke.

“Bartering. We Rigsbys came into the world as farmers… Can you go fill those water skins with river water?” The young woman was clearly bored and needed something to do.

On her return, Birdy looked in backpack, “Can I have some of this bread?”

Margaret suppressed a sigh, “Of course, you don’t need to ask -”

“ - Do you have admirers, Margaret?”

She drops the kindling she was preparing, “S-sorry?”

“Admirers - Do you have any?”

The Little Bird would’ve seen a flush of color on her cheeks if not for the mask. Still, Margaret self-consciously threw her braid to the left side of her face to obscure her scar, “No. I don’t have any admirers.” She meant it, “Who would look at me when so many beautiful women lodge in the Fort? …I’m married to my work.”

“Then what’s this?” The Little Bird handed Margaret a note, her amusement plain.

There are two reasons I love Margaret.

Both reasons are on her chest.

If her eyes could have roll any harder she had risk injury, “That’s just Gryhun messing around.” Little Bird giggled as Margaret used the paper to start her kindling.

*The water in the kettle begins to heat up*

- - -


They trudged through the Briarwood, Birdy took to the woods quickly. She twirled her hatchet as she scanned the forest floor for the medicinal plants Margaret taught her to spot.

Margaret stopped a moment as a foul stench was in the air and turned to Birdy, “Oh.. We’re close to the Hospital.” The Little Bird wrinkled her nose but remained quiet. The pool outside was filled with dead. They continued on to the Town.

“So then where do they cart their water in from?” Little Bird asked.

Margaret shrugged as she put her face mask on, “You can add it to the list of odd things about this place. The mayor was not interested in explaining his water carting enterprise, other than it’s a lucrative one.”

“What about food? Where are the wagon tracks for the supplies being carted in?” Little Bird continued. Margaret thought the matter was settled – Briars Hollow doesn’t make sense – so she said nothing; she didn’t want to quell the young woman’s inquisitive mind.

[Kadda]

6th of Icereign, 1345

Arthur Gibbs was never a mage.

Perhaps to a simpleton, or a hallucinating opium-eater, it could be misunderstood as magic, but what he actually did was much more spectacular.

Margaret and Arthur first met as children in the Midlands. They grew close again in the First Province the same way they had before; their mutual love of blowing shit up.

They had worked together over the past few weeks to produce black powder, then actual bullets… Arthur alone knew the secret to acquiring a constant supply of salt peter. He told others he brought it with him, but Maggs still knew him as the scrappy, gangly kid who could procure just about anything.

The irony is Arthur could’ve easily used these firearms and pyrotechnics against his assailants, he instead decided turn himself in to the guard for questioning. He died as he lived; trying to do the right thing... and he was punished for it.

Margaret wanted to drag the accusers to the guard to have them hear firsthand that he had no spell book or magical contraband whatsoever. She didn’t even want to think of how much ammunition the guards chucked away in some jail crate, never to see the light of day. All that work, wasted.

Margaret sat alone in her house and cried. An innocent man and dear friend was wrongly executed... All because a few belligerent rangers wanted to play Inquisitors; with enough mindless bloodlust to trust the wild rantings of a drug addict.

[Kadda]

16th of Icereign

Preliminary water testing was a bust. Layne Bridges intercepted the Institute members on arrival to the Hollow, and despite his polite demeanor it was made plain that they shouldn’t press the issue further.

So as far as anyone was concerned, the Inquisition was providing clean water and supplies to the town of Briars Hollow; and if the people were being helped, that was enough to for the Institute… at least formally.

“Before we begin, this information will start a war” Raithe Atlas says. Margaret motions for him to take a seat.

He takes out splotchy, rushed notes copied from the VIC Ledger and lays them on the table.

[Kadda]

27th of Icereign, 1345

Layne Bridges had asked around the Fort after Margaret earlier in the evening, and by some miracle no one had given him directions to her house.

Gryhun packed up the latest round of samples and materials from Briars Hollow supplied by Avi. Meanwhile, Margaret placed her original water study on her desk to remain transparent in case Bridges ever came knocking. This version would reinforce the narrative she gave the him in her letter.

Margaret flipped to the end of the notebook to where the loose papers Raithe had copied remained, and read them one more time to commit to memory.

She then opened the latch to her lantern and stuck the incriminating documents inside to catch flame; Erilian had made copies, and Bridges didn’t know of Erilian. The work would continue.