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Post by Lyall British on Jan 2, 2011 10:05:13 GMT -5
Mr. A, the Collector, was now in territory he didn't want to be. First and foremost, his hands couldn't reach into any pocket or space, which was perhaps the most unfavorable outcome that could happen to him. Upon contact with him, it was clear that the Collector was wry. the curve of his nose, his high cheek bones and thin lips were lined in such a way to say that he was approximately thirty. He didn't smell like tobacco like Cricket and Bain did. Lyall wore the scent of books and damp clothes. He was something else.
With a blow he couldn't avoid, there was nothing left for him to consider but the dark and how things had gone far from what he intended and yet, still... his thoughts couldn't collect themselves long. He felt the blood in his feet.
The inn keeper, in the mean time, had backed down to Cricket's tone. It was hard to say if he was going to keep his mouth shut or if he were waiting for all of them to go upstairs before he called the authorities. The town only had four men, at most, for such occasions. It would only be a matter of time that they discovered what the inn keeper had decided after they had departed and collected upstairs.
Lyall's skin was pale like the face of someone that had been throwing up. Now that he was with Cricket, he silently decided that he wouldn't allow himself to get too far from her. He could feel the line of sweat at his brow and when he saw his employer slumped over in a chair, his eyes shot between Bain and Cricket. He could not help the inclination to check on his employer and after he knew the man was breathing, he retreated back several steps, working his hands together. His mind raced with what he thought were explanations, but he didn't say anything.
Bain was, after all, the man who had orchestrated the sit down. He expected that the man would demand something of him, be it an item or explanation. His eyes were lowered ones, with dark brown eyebrows shadowing his face. One hand nervously grabbed the rim of his hat and pulled at it, down like it could hide his face and after that, no one would know he was even there. He wished he could just slip into the floor like a puddle between the cracks in the floorboards. The view wouldn't have changed too much. He was still there, though, standing in his nervous way and trying not to say too much.
If he had learned anything by now it was that the less he said the more likely his survival. He'd stick to speaking when spoken to.
The innekeeper backed down, but she trusted him about as far as she could throw him, and as Bain moved their small party up to his room, she lingered there with the keeper. When they were alone, she sighed, and her demeanor changed to less anger and more of a tired impatience. Quietly, she would persuade the innekeeper, that it was to his monetary benefit to leave them be, and it was in the town's best welfare that he not give them anymore problems than they had already. She reminded the innekeeper that the beaten Mr. A was not only the source and cause of all the ill magick that had caused the children to fall and the death of the woman that had died to bring them back, but that he was likely to be the bane of this town's existance if they did not seek a solution. When she was satisfied that he would at least consider how much money this might make him (innekeepers were a greedy sort), she left him, and hurried up the stairs.
When she entered the room a few moments after the three men, she caught Lyall's grievous look and wondered if the man were going to lose his stomach.
She glanced once to Bain and then to Mr. A, who was slumped, but clearly breathing. Knowing how Bain hated her suggestions, she did not let this stop her, as he seemed to have Mr. A well under his control. "I'd strip him if I were thee. He is likely to have any manner of magick toys upon his person." One of which she hoped was a couple of those golden travelers. To Lyall she turned her cutting black eyes, and he was indeed, about to be spoken to. Her voice was not angry, nor was her tone curt.It was neither cajoling or patronizing. It was quiet, calm and to the point. "What did he want from thee so important, Lyall?" It had to be something..something he couldnt get as Mr. A the employer..but something he thought he could get as Cricket. Let the real Cricket try.
It bothered him, his leaving behind a potentially dangerous situation but neither could he reasonable justify his remaining. Several times, he would stop and stare back in the direction of the town, torn between returning and continuing on to the portal and the tower beyond. It was as if for each two steps forward, he took one step backward.
There were so many questions he needed answered, first and foremost, what was Cricket involved in and why? There was also the question of the 'double' he thought he'd seen, if he could trust his sight. "I should go back," but this was countered with. "No." Although he felt compelled he also felt a strong reason for Cricket's request to return in five days. Had it been a warning of possible danger should he not follow her directions? Possibly. And he did have an obligation to return to the tower and relate what little he knew to the women. Knowing what he knew might shed some insight, or not.
He continued plodding along the forest road, his thoughts and speculations churning. One conclusion seemed clear enough and that was everything had some connection tethering it to what had happened to the children. Cricket, the bespeckled man, the woman,'Maggie'. There was also the man he had seen with Cricket that one night before he'd received Cricket's note. Was he the same man seen outside the tavern ? If so, was his role in this unfolding mystery a major one? Perhaps. But the "double', had he actually seen? Why a double of Cricket? A Diversion? Why? The more thought he gave to it, the more he began to think everyone involved was after Something. It was beginning to look like it at any rate. And if that were the case, did it have any connection to the children? And what had happened to them?
Had The innkeeper used the word "dead" in his narrative? That in itself was intriguing. To appear to all the world dead but not. He shivered at the thought, thinking the experience would be like Hell. Perhaps a person would be able to hear and see but unable to move or speak, locked like a prisoner inside their own body.
As the sun's last daylight rays filtered through the canopy, he searched for a small clearing to set up camp for the night. An unfortunate hare was caught for an evening meal, roasted over a small fire. The cloak served as a cover for sleeping, his body cradled by the protruding roots of an ancient oak tree. . The fire he let burn to a pile of smoldering embers to start a new fire the following morning. He was far from the comforts of a rented room but not a stranger to sleeping in the wood. Settling down for sleep, he would assess his situation come the morning. [/color]
"What indeed, Lyall..." The voice that etched so strong a memory in the brain that it was unforgettable. It was a flaw of the Black, that his presence and conduct of business often left those that lived to tell of the tale a rather distinct and recollectable impression. They were truly few and far in between, though, those that had felt the full weight of his cunning, and it thus far the current company had experienced nowhere near his full capabilities. Perhaps whatever god or gods they believed in, or lack thereof, favored the Collector and his errand boy.
Bain made no slow work of the man now seated due to his grip. He knew, based on experience, that he had time enough, its limits far reaching. Bain did not turn the man on end to rid his person of items. Instead, he bid the ties that bind relinquish their sure grip for a moment, just long enough to shed the man of his outer garment. It was to the side the cloth was placed in short order before his belt was utlized once more to hold firm and sure the hands of the slumped man. Bainbridge Martin did not injure the man, but he knew all too well that shoulders and arms would take the toll of such sure bindings.
The garment was turned on end, so to speak, and items were dumped to the floor where they might find sorting. Bain was of a careful mind not to touch anything directly that he did not understand the intent and abilities of, and while he looked on whatever fell free he listened to whatever sounds were proferred forth by Lyall;s lips, whatever they may be, adding to the line of questioning. "And be sure to explain anything here familiar to you."
His brogue died away as he turned the seat in which the unconscious man sat, forcing body to move along with it. Bain the Black kept an eye on the man as he moved to collect his recent purchases. The paper was unfolded, and a few items felt light once more. Charcoal and salt, along with chalk. "Keep a wary eye." This was said unto the gypsy, though he was sure it truly need not be spoken, but there was work to be done.
First, bain drew about a circle which encompassed the Collector, leaving room for all present to fit within. It was marked with ancient runes, several which suggestively regarded a timeless commitment and understanding of certain natural arts, some long forgotten by the minds of men. The floorboards beneath them boasted his exactness before the charcoal was tossed to the room's fireplace. Next came a production of pen from his trim vest, and he made quick work of scrawling a note to the paper that once contained his purchases. This was unfolded and plain, though held in a manner which could not be read by his compatriots. Soon it found itself hovering over candle's flame, short match produced from the same vest to ignite a plain and common candle. The paper burned, and in no time it was a mere scent to remind those present of its former existence. The note was gone, and its contents lost.
Soon the subdued fellow would come to attention, and Bain prepared himself behind the man to deliver a darkening blow, should the occassion call for it. His eyes remained on the the back of the Collector, though his ears perked to any exchange between the Shebali and the bookworm.
Knife produced, its point rested in wait to strike the Collector at the base of his skull.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Jan 2, 2011 10:13:51 GMT -5
"Lyall?" He was shoving a book into a shelf at the library, but stopped when he heard his name. After all, for the past three years he'd been going by his middle name. It was a small relief to hear his name again after so long. When he turned to look at the person addressing him, he was slightly startled. The man had striking height and fierce features which bore a clear refinement. Lyall thought he had seen those eyes before in a hungry animal, except of course that the hungry animal never buries that look beneath another. The man was too old to be a learning scholar who needed direction in the library and his manner did not suggest he was lost. They stared at one another for a moment until Lyall finally spoke up, "Yes?" "So you are Lyall? Lyall British, is it?" He didn't like to be touched, but the man moved fast and Lyall wouldn't have predicted he'd appear beside him, his arm wrapped over the top of his shoulders in a manner both friendly and controlling. He couldn't speak, he just nodded to answer the man. "You see, I'm very interested in the work you do. Not here, at this place, of course," His long fingers splayed out to the shelves and books around them. His hand closed up with just his index finger pointing out, stabbing at his chest, "but the work you're really good at. You're a scribe, aren't you?" "Uh, yes." Lyall shoved his glasses up his nose and tried to ignore the scent of the man hitting his nostrils. "I require a scribe for the work I do, Lyall. I want you to be that scribe." Lyall sighed and shrugged out from under the man's arm, "I'm sorry, I can't." He reached over to nudge a book that was protruding too much from the others, "There are hundreds of scribes though, looking for work." "No-no-no-no, I want you." "I'm sort of done being a scribe, sir." Lyall looked the man in the eye when he said this in the hopes that it would finally discourage him. "What if I told you you wouldn't just be a scribe? That it's actually just a side note to some important work? What if I told you that you would handle the most exotic items and tour a variety of places and be paid to do it?" That was the point at which Lyall's interest swelled and he could hardly keep his eyes from giving away the cheer he felt at such an offer. He coughed onto one of his hands to help shallow it and then looked at the man, "What sort of job is that?" "You see, I handle extraordinary items by the hundreds. Some are more remarkable than others, but that is beside the point. I need a messenger, I need a man who isn't me to relocate these items and sell the less significant ones to the highest bidder. See, I can do many interesting things, Lyall, but I am only one man. But...you'll need to keep everything in order. I... need a man who has experience with writing down what is and isn't important. I don't want to think that you're handling something worth more than your life and you forget the name of the person you're delievering it to." "That... makes sense I suppose." "So, Lyall," He crossed his arms over his chest and slouched forward. It wasn't a flattering posture, it took away the snobbish arisocracy from the man and replaced it with a hungry vulture, "You'll keep your records safe, won't you?" "Of course." Lyall blinked and looked down at the ground as he thought, "I guess I could do some writing, if it's just for me. I just have two things I want to know though. I want to know who you are and I want to know why you want me to do this." "My name is A," he produced a card with some general information on it and handed it to Lyall, "does it matter why I picked you? It's a golden opportunity Lyall." The room in the small town felt small with the four of them in it. Lyall's arms were crossed over his chest like they would protect him from Bain's cold front. He thought it was odd to see such a hawkish man subdued. He'd never seen the man unconscious so it was strange to see him slack in a chair with another man he hardly knew going through his belongings. It felt as thought they were asking him a hundred questions and that he ought to be careful with how he answered them. "Well, I know what he wanted," Lyall reached into his jacket to withdraw the imposter, "I just don't know why he went about it so indirectly." Why hadn't his employer just asked him for his journal instead of betraying him? He supposed that Bain had asked him and he had refused and that his general reaction, refusal, had been expected. Lyall supposed that he had impersonated Cricket because he thought a man who had been on the road like he had would would soften at a woman's presence. He couldn't had said the logic was flawed, only that it hurt that it was done. With all the gadgets and sly slights of hand he had seen Mr. A perform, why not just steal the book from him? Lyall didn't have time to propose the many questions in his head before a number of items were falling to the ground in the circle which encompassed all of them. He dropped to his knees to lean down and in. The first two recognizable objects were two golden travelers, rolling like aimless, oversized marbels on the floor. Lyall looked at Bain and Cricket and then cleared his throat, "I just... don't see why I should say everything I know and still get killed? If I tell you what I know, it's got to get me something. Like... the promise of getting to live." Lyall had not, yet, decided to unveil that the journal in had was false. He thought keeping his mouth shut, like Cricket had been telling him to do these past few days, might actually save his life.
As Bain went about relieving the unconscious Mr. A of his belongings and garb, Cricket studied Lyall and the corner of her mouth creased her cheek with a slight smile at his response. Her look to him was something akin to pride. His response was the first really smart one that she had seen from him.
Her eyes ticked briefly to the journal..a thing she had only just recently coveted for herself..and now truly wanted nothing to do with at all. She had the idea though, that the journal had all the answers and really no inkling that the journal Lyall held out was a false one though if there had been the slightest difference, it would not have escaped her attention.
She didn't blame Lyall in the least for his response. He was wise to guard his life. This did not equate to her being happy about it. The slight smile was gone as her lips pursed..and though her focus was on Lyall, Bain's activities were paid attention to from the corner of her vision.
His use of chalk and salt and charcoal did not surprise her in the least. If there were ever any doubt Bain were of that ancient order, his resourcefulness took it away.
As he began drawing the runes upon the floor, she was recalling the moment she had seen the cloaked figure with Lyall from this bedroom window..how the arm had gone around Lyalls shoulder in a strangely seductive way. Indeed Mr. A had been seducing Lyall..but why? Why not just ask him for the journal..or demand it? ...and why use her? She was also recalling the look on Lyalls face as she had exited the inne, ready to beat the imposter into submission. Lyalls face had showed consideration. This led her to believe that if Mr. A believed Cricket could get what she wanted out of Lyall... then perhaps she really could.
Bain was dumping out the contents of Mr. A's clothing onto the floor, and when Cricket spied the Golden Travelers, she acted quickly. Her cane was laid to the floor and her cloak was used, to scoop up both of those orbs in a hammock of dark cloth, and ease them onto the one narrow bed in the room. It was outside of the circle, but that was alright..in fact, she felt it was better. She would answer Bain's earlier request of Lyall... at least with these.
"These are Golden Travelers. They are how we got to him... and how he got us here." She saw no reason to share the rest of the information she had about them, or reveal the little necklace, her "collateral" in her pocket.
She left the orbs on the relative safety of the mattress, and restepped into the pagan circle as Bain turned Mr. A around. She studied the apparently still unconscious man as he must have done countless objects in his collection..with a rapt curiosity and interest. From her cloak she removed her soft leather gloves, and these were pulled with a perfect fit onto her hands.
Her attention wavered from Mr. A for a moment as Bain began to write..and this made her frown. Something told her this was not good..and she knew enough to believe that note was a missive sent. She just hoped it was to anyone but the one that knew her. Little could she do about it if it was. It set her jaw to a tense flex though, and black eyes to return to Mr. A and then to the few items still on the floor.
She spotted what he had stuffed his "false face" into, and pointed to it as she took back her cane, a curious look at Lyall and a surprisingly off the wall question.
"Did he really look that much like me?"
As if the entire thing were just an affront to her vanity. It was almost comical, and regardless of the answer from Lyall, she turn her attention back to the stirring Mr. A, and Bain who had taken up the inquisitors position behind him. She gave Bain a single, unreadable look, and then her eyes ticked down to Mr. A. Using the silver tip of her cane, it pushed up under the mans chin, forcing his face up and in a voice that was as rich and smoothe as maple syrup, she spoke, rousing him further.
"Wake up my darling..."
The night had been spent in fitful sleep, his thoughts churning even in his dreams. He groggily awoke at first light disoriented but his mind cleared as he coerced the meager flickers from the embers into a respectable fire. Then Rummaging the satchel, he found what he had left was one sandwich , a goodly amount of water in the water skin, and surprisingly a few strips of dried meat. It was enough to sustain him but too little for a decent meal meat. Eating was the least of his concerns, he had a decision to make and needed to act on it.
The situation with Cricket, he felt was becoming critical and he felt she might be coming closer to quite possibly having her life endangered. This was literally a grave matter for the ones she would leave behind should the worst happen. And that was the deciding factor. As he sat at the fire, he considered that he could remain in the woods, but to rent a room in town, like at the Goat's Leg would be more beneficial. It was a focal point as a popular meeting place for the locals in town and therefore the likeliest place to gather information...
Everything seemed to keep bringing him back to the Goatsleg. In fact it was where he concluded Cricket intended for him to return at the end of the five days which were soon to be exhausted by his reckoning. Having made the decision to return to town at least for a decent meal, he snuffed the fire by burying it under a modest pile of dirt and gathered up his satchel and sword preparing to leave . He would go back to the Goat's Leg and try to learn of the events after he had departed the day before. No names would be mentioned, not even his own hopefully lessening the chance of raising any suspicion in his direction. It was risky, to be certain but his best choice at the moment. When people gathered in taverns, they were apt to gossip but what was unique about gossip could serve as an oral dispatch of the latest news of the happenings in and around the town. And the more people drank, the more they gossiped .
"Lyall..." The name rolled off of his tongue without pause. "...stop touching things and keep your hands to yourself." It was an order, though it was not issued in the customary manner of which soldiers were expressly accustomed to. In a somewhat reassuring voice, as kind as it might sound, Bain called forth more commands wrapped in a civilian's tone. "Describe their function, and answer the questions asked of you."
Bain's hand moved slightly to the side, knife angled such that the upper reaches of the Collector's skull would not prevent a swift death. There was truly no reason for Bain to drag out a slow and painful death, thus he adjusted for a clean strike were it to be so employed.
"And Lyall..." The Black regarded the top and back of Mr A's head, noting the care given to his hair and skin. The curve of his ears, the shape of his nose, the crown of his head and the nape of his neck. These things were considered and duely noted. "...if your life were of no value you would most assuredly be dead by now. This is no mistake."
Bain was not a particularly comforting fellow to share space with, unless of course you happened to align with his perception of a given situation, and even then, with one's own perspective, one might wish to be at a distance from the harms associated with Bain's business. He did not lie, however suspicious his motives and actions might be.
"Lyall, good chap, my name is Bainbridge Martin, and I have been sent to collect either the Ouroboros, and my employer, most likely not too unlike yours, would be dissappointed in my retrieval of less." Bain left his statements open to Lyall's interpretation. "In fact, we might have met under different circumstances, for I was to transport that very item."
The words, though not particularly comforting, might have reached the messenger. Indeed, they were at times employed to perform the very same function. Go there. Collect that. Return it safely. Give payment. Take in kind. Return safely.
"Now, Lyall, if I am to properly perform my duties, as I am sure you take pride in the same, then I shall have to understand why my employer experiences further delay in recieving that particular item. Be that as it may, that the item was occupied momentarily in an unforseen circumstance, well, this is understandable. Children are children." Bain cut his eyes from the Collector's head to the man bent in study and explanation of the items below. "But we are men, and we have put away those childish ways. More than that, we are intellectual and respected men, respected for our various virtues." Bain paused, waiting for the sleeping beauty to rise to the the gypsy's calling.
"Lyall, I will promise you nothing that is not mine to give. Your life I do not wish to take, however, I cannot speak for this man, whose mind may not agree with forthright and honest answers, should you continue to provide them."
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Jan 2, 2011 10:20:30 GMT -5
"Like you?" Shame is deep when it can be seen behind thick glasses. Lyall wanted to give Cricket a grand explanation for how it was that Mr. A could impersonate her. It was unfortunate that he lacked the gift of verbal eloquence, his words were spotted and weakened with "huh," "I guess" and "maybe." The sentence structure upon which he was built had weak knees but not for lack of concept or inspiration. Lyall lowered his eyebrows and said, looking at the case, "It wasn't a mask, you know. It was like flesh, it was like you and me." It was an item he had never seen the Collector wear.
Bain's approach was working. Lyall was use to two responses towards him. Someone either showed him kindness, which was usually out of a want for something, or they showed him disdain. The bookish man had come to the conclusion that disdain was far more honest, something he could depend on. If someone grew to like him from that disdain, the emotion must have been real.If there was fondness initially, it was bind, fumbling and prone to fall apart. Lyall had not considered that perhaps his approach to people accounted for both his solitude and scarce amount of friends.
"The Silver Ouroboros?" He bent over the items, adjusted his glasses and looked back at Bain, "I think my employer put it back in his home..." He was straining to remember. Had Mr. A put the Ouroboros in some pocket of his jacket, or had he replaced it on the pedestal? He couldn't recall, with all the waves and changes of time, he wasn't even sure if he should be as tired as he felt. Hadn't he just cleaned up and slept? Lyal tilted his head to the side and when Bain continued on about the item, his face looked pale, "It's a treacherous item. What I understand is that it's something like a soul eater. Somehow Mr. A put half a soul in it, which made the item hungry for a complete soul... but when it takes the entire soul from someone it still has that half. So it just keeps taking and taking and...." Lyall looked briefly at Cricket, but not enough to give away his sense of guilt, "it seems the only way to stop it is by giving the thing the rest of the soul it's looking for. I guess it's a soul, I don't... know. It's whatever is in us, our spirit."
A heard a voice calling him to wake up and felt something cold under his chin. It was odd to see his black hair with the widow's pick not slicked back with it's usual, meticulous arrangement. It was a mess, as he looked like a mess. Even more birdish leaned forward with his hands bound behind his back. His first concern was Lyall, who he heard spilling his guts. His lips tightened in a thin line. He noticed cricket and the feeling at the back of his head.
"So there's a worker's union, now," his voice was raspy and uneven. He had to clear his throat before he spoke again, "Lyall... when will you learn that the more people know, the more they won't like you?"
The Collector was bold enough to slowly right himself and leaned back in the chair, though it eased the blade more comfortably near the skin. His eyes were off to the corner, as though he were able to see Bain, "So what's the news of your employer? Need a minute to get word from him, that's fine, we'll wait." Suddenly his attention was on Cricket, who he hadn't seen taken the golden travelers but whose cane had his undivided attention, "What's it that you want, then?"
Cricket merely grunted at the explanation from Lyall, as if she refused to believe anyone could look Exactly like her. It was much more than a hit to her vanity however. She had suffered under another impostor, and it angered her for reasons that had nothing to do with Mr. A or Lyall. She was intimately familiar with what harm it could do. It seemed to her, Mr. A was a bucket full of all sorts of harm, just looking for a place to spill out on. Lyall went on about the Ouroborous for Bain's benefit, but said nothing that she did not know already.
The canes tip remained beneath A's chin, seeing the hectic spots of color on his cheeks that competed with the blood from his nose and the bruises from her cane that tomorrow might be very colorful, and was not surprised in the least by his actions or his pompous words. They sparked a bit of irritation in her, as of course the first thing he remarked on was Bain's sending of a missive. It was no more of a surprise though that he had been playing possum for sometime. A snake in the grass was this one. She said nothing until he addressed her directly and then she just smiled, slow and dark.
"Lyall's favor with us is obvious in comparison to thine own, my two faced friend ...As for what I want... answers will do for a start, though I dare say, thee should be more worried about him."
Nodding once in regards to Bain, she removed her canes silver tip and set it solidly to the floor. Cricket recalled quite clearly that Mr. A had taken the golden travelers And two different objects from two different pedestals before they had come here. She knew now what one of them was..but still not why he had used it as he had. This was the answer she wanted...why he had used her to get to Lyall's journal..and why he had needed to do so at all.
She had seen his collection and had now the means to get to it. She could easily kill him where he sat right now, take his entire collection into her own, and disappear without anyone able to track her. Interesting concept, and she felt no need to speak of it. For the moment, the ball was in her court. She intended to keep it there as long as possible.
Like any other day, the Goat's Leg had its fill of regulars. The atmosphere was for the most part jovial, the exception being the usual and entertaining little squabbles between Thumper and Carla. Locals were gathered in clusters, drinking and conversing amongst themselves, the topics wide and varied.
"I tell ya, Roland, she were cheating on him." One man said loudly to his table companions
"And how do you know? Eh? Were you with them? Maybe rolling' in the hay with them?"
There was a burst of laughter from the group around the two men and another teased, " You admitting something, are you,Jack?"
There was another burst of laughter from the group, with Jack grumbling something about sheep and a man named Angus, whom they all knew.
Stepping inside the tavern, he was immediately on his guard, resting his sword hand, on the pummel of his sword strapped to his right hip. He moved through the crowd searching for a vacant seat to claim. The only availability was the table in the corner where he had sat with Cricket. It was a good position to watch the tavern and most of the conversations could be heard clearly enough from the same vantage point. Taking a seat at the table, he settled himself comfortably,watching and listening.
Soon after, Carla trundled over to his table. "You've come back eh? Miss this place did you?" He wasn't quite certain if her tart quip was in humor or not. It was difficult to discern given her demeanor mere moments before when she had been bickering with Thumper.
"Hunger brings me here today, my good woman." Carla snorted a laugh in response to the subtle compliment. "I would offer you a bowl of stew, but Thumper burnt the lot of it. "
From the bar, the Innekeeper bellowed, "I did not burn the stew! You tasted it and told me it wasn't done, that it needed more time!"
In a lower tone she murmured, "He burned it."
Again the innekeeper bellowed, "I know what you're saying Carla and it was your fault!"
He lowered his voice while tapping a tankard of mead. "I Should never listen to you woman."
Carla dramatically sighed rolling her eyes. "I can get you some bread and cheese."
He smiled nodding his head."That will be fine. And a pint as well?"
Carla nodded and murmured. "Good Lord. yes, he can't bake to save his miserable life either."
She gave him a wink before turning and trundling away. Looking past her, he could see Thumper giving her a scowl. As he ate his meager meal, he listened intently to the crowd. As expected, most of what he could hear was gossip on various familiar locals and the scandals they were creating but here and there were bits of stories concerning the recent event involving the children. Another bit of information he gleaned was the outcome of the altercation just outside the tavern the beginning of which he had witnessed the day before. He was hopeful in learning the group had come inside, and that one or more of them had a room rented, but it also made him wary on how to proceed.
He knew a confrontation could present itself, either by choice or by circumstance, but he also knew that if or when it did, it would require fast thinking. He wanted to avoid violence if at all possible but not at an unacceptable cost. So for the moment, he would enjoy his food and drink then see about a room later.
"Lyall...for your edification, I present to you a man that has all of us figured out. He knows all. He has a lengthy and experience-established plan. Lyall, this man, whom I presume is your employer and the very man that owes my employer that particular item we've spoken of...is an asshole." The weapon point at the rear of the man's head rounded the base of skull, pressing along soft tissue, until it coldly caressed more solid anatomy. A series of tiny little knicks were made, nothing remotely life-threatening, but still there, and no matter what the people in that room would know they were there, and moer than likely, forever more. "Unless there is some manner of charity work the good fellow is involved in that might outweigh his transgressions against you...the gypsy...myself. Well, not me, directly, of course."
Bain's dark eyes cut about the room, eventually settling on Lyall. "In fact, I should not retain the least bit of disdain for him, but alas, my job is left unfinished. There is work to be done, that item to be delivered, and then I may go home, where most men should delight to dwell." He spoke as though he knew the comfort of a wife, the laughter of children, and a hearth's fire within a secure home.
"Lyall, do you remember what home feels like?" The blade's point touched shoulder's top, wiping away any flesh and blood before the most sharp instrument was returned to waistline. "I just want to go home, Lyall. Seems nothing but that troublesome item hinders my voyage, and I should think, with this man's help or not, you can assist us all in traveling one step closer to home." It was almost a question, the way his voice held an inflection, utilizing that curious brogue possessed by those of the Emerald Isle, that ancient way in which they might calm the mind to further their intentions, be it to shed a woman of her clothing or complete a business transaction to one's favor.
"As for you..." Bainbridge Martin paused for a moment, considering once more the man's head and features. "...seems you have business with the gypsy to complete."
Opportunities came and went. Somtimes a man knew not how close he was to gaining favor in the eyes of his peers for obtaining much more than the assignment called for. Sometimes men merely wished to be at peace with their loved ones. And sometimes men shrouded dark hearts behind layers of immaculately developed facades.
Chess pieces moved, it was another players turn.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 22, 2011 8:40:04 GMT -5
Bain had perhaps described Mr. A in a way more clearly than anyone ever did. Lyall hadn't wanted to believe that the man was an asshole, especially since he was employed by him and did his bidding. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, the mode of a doting idealist, to believe that beneath it he was "good." It was an ugly truth, he didn't want to acknowledge it. He had thought such realizations came with painful thrashing instead of the sudden, calm occurance of this one. From the moment he met Mr. A their interaction had always been based upon what the man wanted. Mr. A didn't recall the day Lyall started working for him and celebrate it as men do at a bar, buying the man of honor a drink or at the very least, dinner. When Lyall thought about whether or not his employer had any redeeming, charitable traits, he could think of none. There were days which passed that Lyall thought Mr. A had hardly noticed or remembered him. The problem with Lyall's thoughts were that they were wrong. Mr. A recalled clearly the day he hired Lyall. "Hey," His older brother looked down at him. He was sitting at a table, eating the dinner that his brother had cooked. Looking up from his seat, he smiled tightly at him and blinked. His older brother grinned and his eyebrows arched up, "Aren't you going to say anything?" "Not much to say." He smiled more pleasantly and leaned back in his seat, "Thanks for dinner?" "Not about dinner," his older brother chuckled and moved to sit opposite of him at the table. The cheery atmosphere died back when his voice returned, "About what we talked about earlier." "I think it's a bad idea." "Alex, don't be so hesitant," his brother smiled and then folded his hands, resting them atop the table. They both had similiar bone structure, only his brother's was more handsome. The jaw was broader and his hairline wasn't a widow's peak like his. His brother was eighteen and he was trailing two years behind. If he had gotten to be as old as Mr. A was now, he would have looked more like a man than a bird. Not like how he came to look. "I just don't think it's a good idea." "You're telling me that we might have a way to get mom and dad back and you're just going to let it pass you by?" His clothes started feeling uncomfortable and he shifted in his seat. Alex found he wasn't looking at his brother anymore but at the patterns in the woodgrain of the table. His index finger followed its wooden bloodlines. There was guilt in his heart, his brother appeared confident that if anything could be done to save someone that it should be done. Even if they were already dead. "What do we have to do?" "I heard about this item," His brother side, wiping his hands off on the legs of his pants. He drew an imaginary map on the table as though he knew that the item was there for certain. His brother had a way of speaking which was authoritative and convincing. Some part of him doubted all the promises his brother was offering but the larger part of him wanted desperately to believe it was true. He tilted his head to the side like someone listening intently to a whispered secret though his brother spoke loudly and made animated gestures. When his brother had finished telling his tale Alex's reaction was not what he expected. "That's it? You want us to run around the world, spend the family fortune and get killed over some ink?" "It's not just any ink, brother," he wet his lips and his hands began motion in the air. It brought to his mind the image of a conductor with a stiff back, "It's ink that will change the world and our lives. It's ink that will bring mom and dad back." "Then why doesn't everyone have it and just change things how they want?" "Because," his brother said, his motions calming the way someone's does when they are satisfied with the climax of their statement, "you need a brillant scribe, the best in the world, for it to work." Alex could not predict the future but if he had, it would have been different from what would later unfold. His brother would not die on their first adventure out together because of a snake bite. The map they had been given to find this ink would have been clear and correct instead of the labyrinth of travel and fruitless hunts. The path to the ink always involved the location of other items. One was leading him to another and another, but none of them were ever directing him to the thing his brother died for and he still sought. Years passed him and the thought of reviving his family did as well. At this point, he was no longer the same man and thought that even if they did come back they would not love him. If they were not here to love him, they would not be brought back. All he wanted was the elusive unicorn, the ink that could change the world, especially now since he had the scribe. Lyall had been the best, reknown for his abilities with the scholars that had raised him. Lyall's writing had been with pen and hopeful ink that Mr. A was giving him. Could Lyall rewrite time with the stroke of his pen and not know it? If Lyall copied his journal it would not be with the original strength, the forgery could not be what his original writting was. To Mr. A, the day he met Lyall would be with him forever. Like any item he collected, he knew it when he'd found the right one. He knew it when he looked upon the pages Lyall spent time and love on. If Lyall had already succeeded with his journal, all one had to do was read it to know. In the room of the inn, Lyall watched Mr. A, tight-lipped and hard faced. He thought the man's expression would never break and so he stared at him, blankly. Bain's voice brought his mind to reason and when he asked about home Lyall nodded, but he did not understand. He was more of a mangy dog dressed well behind his glasses than a homebody. The scholars were kind to him, but not like family. Perhaps Bain was only planting the illusion of a home he missed and if he was, it was a well fabricated one. Lyall believed it. His sigh was like one who wanted to be in that home. He nodded to Bain's request, searched the floor with his eyes and looked back to the man. "I will take you to it. But I don't know the way by foot. We always took one of those Golden Travelers," his hands made a ball shape to illustrate the apple-sized item he was meaning. Lyall had been too distracted to notice that Cricket had collected them, just that they were amoung the items he had. Mr. A grunted and looked away, saying nothing. If they took the Ouroboros, he was sore to lose it, but he gave no indication that his main irritation was at losing Lyall's location. He had attempted to dissuade Lyall of any feelings of importance or worth, not just between them but for others. The more he appeared to value anything the more readily it was taken. "He has a lot of things, Bain," Lyall was concerned about going to Mr. A home without him, "and I do not know what all of them do. We must be careful to take only what you're looking for." The Silver Ouroboros, the soul eater, was waiting.
At the Goat's Leg Tavern, Aloysius would be finding out that he wasn't going to get a room there unless he bought a whore too. He would have to go to one of the three or four other innes about town if he wanted comfort and sleep. The tender, knowing which side his bread was buttered, directed him across town to the nicest, the same one that Lyall had come to..the same one that Cricket stood in now... Crickets old teacher had beat into her with regular severity, the fact that many lessons had to be learned the hard way. She had not often understood it back then, but she did now. Lessons such as one never touched a lock bare handed. Oh that had been a brutal occassion, her mistake had plagued her for a long time. Another was, that for whatever gift a thing could give, it did not come without a price or a string or a consequence. This too, she had learned the hard way, and perhaps that was the reason her collection was much smaller than it had once been and only a fraction the size of Mr. A's.
She would have been a liar to say she did not covet all those things on the pedestals at Mr. A's home. She would have been lieing to say she was not envious of his possession..but her greed was tempered by the knowledge that nothing came without a price. She wondered what price this scrawny man in front of her had paid for all of his. As Lyall spoke, she did not look back at him, but she noted the nuance of his voice and the sound of longing within it. He might never know it, but she shared the same sentiment with he and Bain. She just wanted to go home.
Her attention remained focused on Mr. A. She studied his reactions, his miniscule facial expressions, the shift and change of his very eyes. She wondered if he even realized that he was in danger of losing not only the ouroboros, but everything else, including his life and Lyall. She wondered if he cared. Her attention shifted briefly to Bain, assessing whether or not he might attempt the trip to get the item he sought and catching his eye, her look bid a bit of patience.
An exhaustion was stealing slowly into her, the adrenaline of her beating of Mr. A gone now and leaving an ache in her muscles. She needed sleep. How long had it been since she had had any? Bain could very well take Lyall, use the golden traveler, and let Mr. A be the one left behind as they traveled.
Likely she would not see Bain or Lyall again and right then that seemed just fine with her. Mandlebrot forgotten, and Mr. A's life would then be forefeit.
Her mind touched briefly on the fact that there was no guaruntee as to who was left behind..and how important it was she not be one of those taken along for the ride. She also felt a certain need to get out of the circle they all stood in, for if something or someone was coming to Bain's message, she'd just as soon fade into the shadows beforehand. She bent down, and with a gloved hand, picked up the key that was on the floor, and along with it, all the other little trinkets, worthless or otherwise. These were tucked into her cloak pocket, and from another, she withdrew a small, rectangular black box. She said nothing of Lyalls offer to accompany Bain to A's home, but she spoke before Bain could answer, her words directed to Mr. A. "I wonder...Sirrah..if thee have ever heard of the poisons of the Drow? ..there are many, and some are very rare. I have always been fascinated by their properties."As she spoke, her long fingers ran over the box, its shape smoothe and without marking... it seemed even without seam, yet as she appeared to lovingly stroke it with her fingers, it clicked and its top slid smoothly to the side. It revealed a velvet lined interior, its four depressions pillowing four long darts. Their weighted ends were a deep green, the needles themselves gleaming silver. The sharp tips were all painted with a dark ichor. She carefully removed one, and held it in her gloved fingertips, her opposite hand closing the box, and slipping it back into her pocket in a smoothe magicians gesture. "My favored is deadly of course... but this one..." she gazed at the needle of the dart, turning it slightly. "This one is called Rathrae` Dos. Most prized by Drow matrons." Here she stopped and smiled at Mr. A in a kindly way, lowering the needle and shifting it into her hand. "It means behind you...and for good reason. It attacks the stem of nerves that run in the body, rendering its victim completely incapable of movement, though fully capable of feeling pain. There is no magic behind it I am afraid..it is a neurotoxin, and lasts only about 24 hours, but because it leaves its victim quite awake and aware, it is highly prized. I've nae seen a living soul yet that had immunity to it." She seemed to consider this a moment, and then with a flash of her patented grin.. " ..Perhaps thee will prove to be the first?... I live to be surprised.." and before the last word was even completely spoken, her fist rose with the dart gleaming from it, and thrust it downward toward Mr. A's bare thigh with enough force to drive it into his flesh deep.
Though it was disappointing, not to be able to acquire a room he still felt certain the Goatsleg was where Cricket intended to meet up with him. He found the Bull & Boar across town to be not too dissimilar from the GoatsLeg, with its gossip mongers, buxom wenches, drunken regulars, and gruff innkeeper. Bruiser, as he was known, wasn't interested in the length of his stay, only that he pay for the first night in advance. Coins were laid out on the counter and in return, he was given a tagged room key with the number 9 on it.
Bruiser said simply, " Halfway down on the right upstairs. Kitchen closes at midnight."
He nodded, thanking the man then headed for the stair. The sounds of the tavern room were left behind as he gained the second floor. His boot steps echoed as he walked the empty hallway searching for his room.The painted numbers on the doors were faded but still legible enough to read and it wasn't long before he came across his room. Slipping the key into the lock, he pushed the door open stepping inside and closed the door behind him. The room itself was spartan and furnished only with a bed and sheets, a chair, and small table. A single window looked out onto a short portion of the street seen through the opening of the alley below. The cloak was draped over the chair while sword, shield, and satchel were laid on the bed. He then walked to the window to stand with arms folded idly watching the slip of street below, while thinking. The figurative box had grown considerably heavy figuratively speaking with its accumulated questions and with all that he knew, he was no closer to finding Cricket. Every event since his arrival was replayed in his mind in attempt to see if he had overlooked anything but he couldn't see how he had.
Turning away from the window, he began to pace while pondering. Each boot step was a soft thunk on the floor boards, measured and even, like a metronome. He thought about Cricket, the note she left him, the children, Cricket's double, about the various company with which she had been seen keeping, the woman 'Maggie," and the snatches of overheard gossip about everyone and everything involved. Pondering gave way to a weary sigh as he rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "Will she thank me or curse me when I find her? How do I even fit in her scheme?" The questions had not been considered before this moment and the latter had him seriously wondering because of the note. His mind was growing weary and the needed answers were as illusive as finding Cricket.
Bain's dark eyes observed as the gypsy spoke, as he gave pause for thought in both the manner in which she weilded the Drow poison and the line of questioning that ultimately ended in the sinking of dart to flesh. He was certainly not remiss to consider both action and word.
A smooth fingertip ran touched to another, the remainder of hands below folded together with digits entwined. A silent touch: one, two, three. The farthest reaches of what once were spirals and whorls met and parted again and again as the owner of the pads observed most carefully what could be seen and heard as it played out before him.
There were stories told, both true and not, one might judge. There could be heard four distinct voices, two of which were absolutely familiar. Eyes witnessed one familiar figure, another strange, and yet at one time a second stranger darted in to the scene for but a moment. Just before that wiry, male figure, came the sweep of another's garment accompanied by a lift and draw. The periphery was hazy despite the clarity of voices beyond its reach.
The scent of ash was present, of recently burned paper, and by its character a well-trained nose might delineate that the substance was not normally used to craft post designed for those of high breeding nor royal decree, but might have served as an element to secure packages or take in order items to be bundled and delivered to an irregular customer, not the sort a shopkeep would know by their routine requests. Charcoal tinted the smell, along with an aftertaste that settled on not only the nasal cavity but the palate. Sulfer.
Legs moved from a stretch out before the seated figure, boot heels drawn closer and beneath the edge of the simple chair of support. With them came subtle silver coated in layers of black material derived from ash and carbon, dull lacquer and tradition. Brows rose a bit, nearly arched, as head turned while lids lulled, and the right ear of the owner was offered a prime position to listen more acutely at the words spoken on the other end of an incredibly simple looking desk. The lights were low, and dearly robbed the eyes of their precious abilities, but ever so much more they encouraged the ears to seek out the truth of a matter.
Elbows rested on chair arms, and they were not heavily placed but gently touching, their angles well-knowing of the cloth that seperated them from wood's touch. Fingertips paused, the rear of thumbs pressed in to a herringbone pattern of darkest night. A long, slow breath passed through sunkissed lips, down and in to strong lungs that measured speech patterns as if he might match them aloud at any moment. A blue hue cast eery shadows about the sparsely decorated room, stone catching the majority of the light due to its large presence while what few wood bits of furniture glowed more warmly, in a much more secure and safe manner as candle light danced in curious fashion.
Eyes returned to their former brilliance, distant and cold, lupine and without visible remorse. They soaked in more of the scene that unfolded before the man, the play of questions and answers, of suggestions both gentle and harsh, as the players that were visible moved within a large circle. Stone below could be described as on fire, more accurately, the various rings carved within them along with ancient symbols that comforted very few outside of a particular gathering.
As much unfolded hands parted, one seeking out a silver nib below black feather while its opposite drwe near a single sheet of parchment from many brethren. Open glass container, cork aside, found itself relieved of some dark, thick liquid, and soon letters and symbols began to join together in a curious mix of alphabet and secret designs. It would take no more time than a few moments before once more the scents of burnt missive and the written word were converted in to no more than ash. The willing candle used to complete the act wavered not in the least, growing in luminescence, seemingly fed in a way unnatural to mere cotton and wax.
The scents mingled. Loam. Charcoal. Earth. Ink. Equine sweat. Burnt fibers. Leather. A brow heavy with wisdom beyond its years smoothed in anticipation, quite the opposite progression most men displayed when interested in the outcome they would soon witness while watching human and human-kind interact. Hands fell to the ends of chair arms, and upper back to the supportive slats reaching toward shoulders. Feet slid forward, taking with them the metal devices at heels, and the owner's body slanted slightly to denote its keen understanding of time and place.
Bain spoke, his voice transcending time and space. More than those present in an Inn's small room heard the words. "If I might gain passage in to this man's sanctuary I shall have little further use of him, however, I possess nor see the device described by our friend Lyall."
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 22, 2011 9:22:22 GMT -5
"Lyall?"
He looked up from a page he was inking and smiled briefly to his employer, Mr. A. The name he thought was unusual, but the man assured him that in his travels he would come across so many unusual names that titles would begin to scarcely lift his brow. About that, at least, the man had been correct. He noticed that his employer was tall, wry and slightly tan. Sometimes his skin looked like it was pulled too tight on him about the face, emphasizing his nose and thin lips.
"Lyall, there's something I want to give you."
"Can it wait? I'm right in the middle of this."
"No, Lyall." But his tone wasn't harsh or cruel. Sometimes his employer seemed too indifferent or too busy to be bothered by him. Tonight was different, tonight he was focused and Lyall felt like the most important person on the planet. Noticing the way he spoke, Lyall rose from what he was doing, setting his quill aside and stepping forward to join him. The Man's arm went around him like a coil and he felt it fasten at his shoulder. He smiled, but it was nervous and not genuine.
"As I have told you, you will be going to many exciting places, gathering and moving my various items for me," Lyall nodded, looking at him earnestly as he continued, "Naturally, I can't have you die and the man after you and be put in a position of constantly rehiring scribes. It makes sense to protect your investments, doesn't it?"
"Don't you mean protect your employees?'
"Yes, yes," Mr. A was leading him down a hall and when they walked through the main doors there were numerous pillars with different items places atop of them. Lyall tried to keep a mental record of them but as they passed them the memory of one began to melt into another. He looked at the Collector, waiting to hear more instruction. It came, "Lyall, do you believe in God, or Magic, or biology?"
"I guess so."
"Well, which is it, then?"
Lyall tilted his head to the side, "I suppose I believe in God and biology."
"Good," Mr. A squeezed his shoulder and stopped at a pillar. On it was a harmless riverbed stone. The only marked difference between it and its brethren was that it appeared to perfect, that its shaped lacked the bends and grooves mother nature would have scarred it with. It was an oval which came to a slight point at either end of it. Mr. A's had dropped off from around Lyall's shoulder and he said with a slight smile, "Do you know what that is?"
"A rock?"
"A stone, a very... interesting stone." His employer smiled at it and then looked to Lyall, "I want you to pick it up."
"All right," he reached out and took it up in his hand. The feeling was instantaneous and strange. For a moment a rock had been in his hand and then it was as though he blinked and the thing was gone. It was not at all reassuring. He checked the floor and his sleeve to see if it slipped off, but it was no where to be found. Alarms rang in his ears, worried jumped his heart but his employer did not seem deeply concerned. In fact, it was when he noticed his employer smiling that he realized all was well.
"What just happened?"
"Something very important," His arm when back around Lyall and then he spoke to him, softly, " There are twelve protective stones on the planet, I believe. I possess four, one of which is now in you. You see with it you have the luck of the world. If there is a small probably that harm will miss you it will."
"It's in me?"
"Yes, yes." Mr. A was walking him out of the room and back down the hall, "It's some ancient relic, nothing to be worried about. Though you should know something about the world now, Lyall."
"What is it?"
Mr. A stopped walking, "Only God deals in miracles. Everything else... well, it comes with a price. If I were you, I wouldn't do any swimming so long as the stone is with you."
"But how do I get rid of it?"
Mr. A chuckled and started walking. Lyall stood where he was and watched as his employer went ahead of him, thinking that the moment between them was odd and surreal and above all, difficult to trust. When he showed he wanted and answer Mr. A called to him over his shoulder, "When you ask for it not to be with you anymore, I imagine. You're not immortal Lyall, or supremely protected, so take care when you travel. Just know that chances are on your side and will remain there so long as you don't do anything stupid."
In the room, the Collector opened his mouth to say something to Cricket but when she stabbed him in the leg he shut his mouth and made a forceful expression. It was as though a grimace and melancholy smile were at war on his face. Then there was nothing. The man's shoulders slumped and he was out, cold, tired, to the winds of a dream keeper if he could even dream in such a place as the one he was in.
Lyall stood silent, his jaw slack. He had never been in a position of authority before. Usually he was working for someone, doing their bidding. Now the way Bain spoke seemed to make him feel that he had the answers and thus, the ability to lead the trio. He blinked several times when Bain said his employer was useless and folded his arms across his chest, "There are still things which I don't know about him or me... or why things are. There are a few more answers I am still looking for." He squeezed his hand that had once held the stone but put the thoughts out of his mind. To Bains' latter comment he blinked and looked about himself.
"Mr. A would never go anywhere without the Golden travelers and he would need atleast one to get back home. So at the very least... there has to be one around here?" Lyall started uprooting the room, looking under the bed and see if it had rolled anywhere. Wasn't it Cricket who had gone through his pockets, though?
Cricket left the dart in A's thigh for a moment, a cruel twist of it as it was removed, though it was to insure the maximum amount was left in him and not on the needle. She watched his shoulders slump, as she returned the dart to its nesting place in the small box, and caressing it as softly as a lovers face, the two halves slid back together and became one. This disappeared into her cloak as so many things did. Her ears were tuned to Bain and to Lyall as she did this, but her eyes remained on Mr. A, closely observing him. He was a snake in the grass, and she would do well to remember the lesson that things were not always as they appeared. It really wouldn't have surprised her a bit if he had some immunity and was faking it right now. Her attention was drawn when Lyall's tone changed and black eyes settled upon him as Lyall took a stance. She could not put her finger on it..and she she frowned..deeply. She was so tired she could not think and she had to get sleep soon. She was missing something, she knew it..and something had the fine hairs on her arms standing. A shoulder rolled this feeling away and when Lyall suddenly went into search mode, Cricket took another raking look over the incapacitated (so she hoped) Mr. A, snapped briefly that black gaze to Bain and then whipped around to where Lyall was stepping out of the circle and toward the bed to look under it. "Lyall..." She spoke calmly, and when it had no effect on the search, her voice grew sharp and impatient. "Lyall! Get up" A short, exasparated sigh and she too stepped toward the bed and over the legs of Lyall. She reached down and flipping back the corner of the coverlet, she revealed the two Golden Travelers she had placed there when both of them had been distracted. At least it was out of the circle.. a concern then..and now. Whatever the circles purpose, it was raising her hackles. As Lyall got back to his feet, Cricket slipped one of the Golden Travelers quickly into her cloak, and from the opposite side, withdrew a dark pouch. Without touching the remaining Golden Traveler, she scooped it up into the bag and then turned toward Bain. She extended it to him, black eyes on his. "This..is a Golden Traveler. It's use is not without great risk. As Lyall has all the answers as to its use..I would consider him an ally and listen to him carefully before thee attempt such travel." She did not seem reluctant at all about handing Bain one of the Golden Travelers. One would serve him as well as it did her..but it did appear she wanted something in return, and she would retain her grip on the bag until she had his agreement. "Mr. A is still very valuable. If not to thee, than to me..and if not to me, then to Lyall. He needs to remain alive, and he needs to remain right where he is for the next 24 hours. If the toxin did it's job..he wont move at all in that time." Black eyes locked in his briefly and without deception. ".. Lyall himself, is very valuable..and I expect he will be here in the morning." He damned well better be and only when she had gotten some sign of agreement from Bain, would she hand over the pouch with the Golden Traveler inside. When Bain had either taken it, or the pouch was left on the bed, Cricket would again step into the circle to Mr. A. A's reflexes would be tested at the knee and at the bottom of his foot, two involuntary reactions that were difficult if not impossible to hide. When she got no reaction from either, she checked his pulse, and lifted his chin up, a chin that had no ability to hold itself. Even his eyelids had no ability to open and close and drooped very low over his eyes. His breath was shallow, but even and she smiled to see clarity behind the heavy lids. Again, she was struck with the feeling that she was missing something..that something was just not right..or there were eyes on her back. Gods she was tired. "I will be back in the morning..but if I am not..thee are well rid of at least one of thy problems. " A tired smirk, and she was ready to turn and leave..quite glad to get out of that close room..relieved to be out of that circle and away from Mr. A and whatever..whoever, had been contacted. Someone had..she had sent missives the same way herself once or twice on occassion, and she regretted the lack of time there had been to decipher some of the runes. Perhaps she would then know for certain if Liam had been called, but it really didnt matter right then. She intended to leave, get a room of her own, perhaps next door, and get some bloody sleep.
He let go all thoughts of the scenario he found himself a part to relax his mind in hopes he could think more clearly. The mental tactic was that and the same of when trying too hard to remember something, the method being to stop trying and allow the memory to return of its own accord from the moment trying ceased. The attempt failed and then taking stock, the next step decided was to go down and fill his empty stomach with food and drink. As he didn't see the need for any but the minimal of weaponry, down in the tavern room, he took only the dagger from the satchel and secured it to the right hip in the sword's stead. Fatigue caused the painfully dull aches felt throughout his body. A long night spent in the wood had turned into a long fruitless day and his weary mind embraced the thought of a night spent in an actual bed.
Approaching the door and slipping the tagged room key into a pocket, he heard the soft sounds of a door opening and closing in the hallway outside. No doubt there were other lodgers and in all likelihood it was one either arriving or leaving. Stepping into the hall, he glanced in the direction of the stair as he locked his door. A wench was exiting a room with the indistinguishable voice of a man following in her wake. The woman flashed him a wicked inviting smile rubbing her thumb to fingertips. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head as their gazes met and solidly locked. It was as if they were physically joined by their gazes alone.
It was abruptly broken with the arrival of anther wench. "Bruiser's hollering for you. And he's not happy."
The first wench laughed. "He damned well knows a girl's got to work! No one can live on the pittance he pays! Besides, if we didn't bring them in, he'd never make any money selling ale!"
Both laughed passing a room key between them "Sorry about the mess, the last one got rather...imaginative." Places were exchanged and with one entering the room, the other headed for the stair. There was an exclamation from the room causing an eyebrow to arch. Good Lord, Mandy! Just what in the hells did you two do! And how?!" laughter came echoing from the stair. He stared down the hall to the top of the stair barely aware of the shadowy third and cloaked figure. "Lyall, friend, it is my hearty suggestion that you remain here that you might find some protection from the outside world." They were hasty, those beyond these walls, and highly suspicious of the circumstances that had caused near death to children and eventually the sure death of the woman that took their place. Though the public knew not that the woman allowed the silver device to be retrieved they should probably have felt cross about that fact despite the transaction alleviating the children of sacrificing their lives. They should think doubly so if they knew the woman's personal sacrifice, what with children. However, Bain knew not the full details of that situation, merely that the device he was sent to collect was no longer amidst the gathered party and that his employer surely expected retrieval of the device yet.
Bain took from the rogue's hand one of the Golden Travelers, weighing it shortly before depositing the item in to the confines of his vest. It bulged slightly, and was known to those before him without the covering of the man's riding jacket. Bainbridge Martin paused for a moment before speaking again.
Dark eyes cut to Lyall. "If I were you I would make a bed behind this impostor and within the ring on the floor. It shall offer you much more protection than it can I, and the gypsy is remiss to retire elsewhere." Spoken matter of factly, his voice even keeled and knowing. Bain the Black took up a post at the bed's edge, where he sat and continued to observe Mr A. The small tin with its curious depiction was produced once more, and the tobacco product within drawn out to find inhalation sweeping it upward and in to the man's blood stream. It awakened him in a way unnatural to those that share the same vice.
Bain must have supposed that the words spoken by the gypsy were true, at least to some degree, or else he might not have taken up his post, visible weapons seemingly ever at the ready although he had shown that his cunning and wisdom might employ no more than his bare hands to control a situation to the end result of his liking.
The Black waited some time after the gypsy retreated, and with Lyall present or not he would begin to speak, more to the room than anyone else. "What curious items one might possess, or wish to wield, and even more so, for what purpose. Some individuals, or organizations, have amassed such interesting collections over the passage of time." Well aware that Mr A might be listening despite his lack of ability to communicate, the seeming soldier continued, "And what may be learned of or collected yet. I imagine the possibilities are quite limitless." Bain spoke as if he were connected with such organizations and individuals, leaving the imagination to ponder exactly what his meaning was in revealing such thoughts.
"Within the next moon's passing I imagine you will know more on the subject than as of now..." The words slid away from Bain's mouth in not a tease, but a promise.
Elsewhere, a team of dapple draught horses thundered on shod hooves from one location to the next. They rested not to drink water, nor take food, and in midnight hued eyes could be witnessed ever so faintly a desire to carry out what orders were levied on them for penalty of a death that was considerable. Behind their hooves trailed steel-clad wheels which crushed earth and rock below, and what did not give way in faltering to dust was put aside or simply run over. No lanterns burned along the sides, front, or rear, of the carriage followed. Its leaf springs dampened travel and whoever existed within must not have minded, for the grounded vessel moved with utmost purpose, nearly putting under its weight a number of others that wandered too close or did not move with expedited speed from its path. The driver, hooded and cloaked, was assisted by a navigator, dressed in the same manner, plain clothes and appearance readily apparent despite their lack of verbal warning or advanced calling on their chosen path of travel.
Within the confines of the carriage a man looked on as another sat without motion. Blue blazed and danced before cold grey eyes, though in a circle much smaller than witnessed on prior occasion. At the rate of progress it would be no time in which towns and outposts along the way spoke of and then forgot the curious spectacle, so quickly they moved and under the cover of night so as not to disturb more than was necessary the daily comings and goings of villagers.
In a voice seemingly ancient and without emotion, words were levied unto the sanctum of the carriage, "Cad é a bheith inspéise nochtadh tú, Bainridge?"
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 22, 2011 9:27:12 GMT -5
"In the circle, behind him?" Lyall blinked at the suggestion, but it lacked any questioning. From his initial exposure to Bain he had noticed that questioning the man had not been received well. He found he was always asking questions, especially the rhetorical kind. There were days that Lyall felt everyone had an itinerary for the day and he was the only one unaware of what was happening next. If others were surprised he didn't think that they showed it well. So it was that he followed Bain's instruction to set himself up on the floor behind his ex employer. This was somewhat strange to him to be that close to a man all of them were now regarding as dangerous.
He hadn't a sleeping bag or any other preparation so he carefully gathered the blankets off of the bed and then laid them on the ground along with one of two pillows from the bed. He took off his jacket and hung it at the small bedpost at the end of the bed and then removed his glasses, setting them inside one of the pockets of his coat. When he removed his hat it revealed dirty blond locks of somewhat curly hair, pressed with the indention of his hand to his head. He finger combed his hair, not that it did much good to amend the impression it in. Without his glasses, Lyall apparently lacked the ability to see much of anything without his glasses. He half groped the items in the room on his way to lay down. When he reached out he unintentionally grabbed and squeezed something soft and alive and was startled to find he had grasped the shoulder of Mr. A unknowingly. It caused his hands to withdraw back, close to his chest and when nothing happened, he exhaled and then dropped down to his half-made bed on the floor. Shoes on and all.
Lyall looked up at the ceiling as he spoke, "Mr. A never told me why he collected any of the things he has." He wondered if perhaps that should have been a question to ask. He rolled over on his side, looking at the blur that was the wall, "I just know he was very avid not just about collecting, but also giving certain items to certain people. Sometimes they were trading and sometimes they seemed like gifts. He's even given me something but, you know, he always keeps the ones he really likes for himself."
Lyall yawned, tucking one arm under his pillow, "The Golden Travelers were one of his favorites... he's really going to be steamed about that, you know...." Lyall's voice began to trail as he fell asleep. Sometimes he hated that feeling of falling asleep. Sometimes he hated the reoccurring dream of a field of grass made from long blade of literature, written about people he seemed to know.
As all of them suspected, Mr. A was, in fact, listening. The change with him was a subtle one since he could scarce move much else about himself. His eyes had opened and he could only see the ground between his feet and bits around him. He could see Lyall's foot pass his as he went to make his bed and felt his hand squeeze his shoulder though he could not react to it. This... thing that Cricket had done to him felt similar to being in a glass coffin. It was best to prolong the impairment and go beneath its guise. If Cricket were honest with her illustration of it, then someone tomorrow he'd be moving. Best not to unveil such a moment.
Cricket let out a single long breath after the door was shut between she and the other three and allowed herself the brief moment to let her eyes close. Gods she was tired. That all too brief reprieve over, she made her way downstairs, flipping the cowl over her head as she descended.
There was a little more business to take care of, and one she did not trust Bain to take care of. She took the last stair, and did not have to search for the innkeeper, as he was behind the bar, head to head with two of his employees, and all three turned their heads to cast a less than friendly look in Crickets direction. She returned it with a calm, but direct look of her own. Crossing the room to them, from her cloak she produced a pouch and tossed it onto the bar toward the innkeeper. It clunked heavily and the gold coins within clinked with a distinguishable sound. "Twenty gold, Sirrah. For thine trouble."
She gave a seemingly respectful bow of her head to him, and ignoring the other two, she turned and left the inne, content it soothed any ruffled feathers and minimized any thought of interference by the innekeeper. One task accomplished, she considered things as they were as she cut through the village streets.
Baine and Mr. A would do well not to doubt her words about the Drow toxin she had used. It did indeed last 24 hours..give or take. Much depended on the amount used and the overall health and age of the victim. ..and of course 24 hours was only when it began to wear off...allowing some movement of fingers and toes and tongue, where as full motor functions would not return for about 32 hours. It didn't hurt to leave out that little bit of information, for it was human nature to retreat into oneself in such a situation, and to remain there, stealthy and ready. It was an expected form of behavior and Mr. A was not as sneaky as he might have thought. Bain was likely to be wise enough to that little trick himself.
She was quite sure that Mr. A was alert after her dart, and she was fairly certain he would not be resting. If she were him..she would be quite angry. This caused a slight smirk on her features. She had not forgotten the trinket in her pocket, her so called "collateral" and what she suspected, was a marker. She had not forgotten about Aloysius, and she wondered if he were still around. He never had listened very well. If she knew him at all, the old dog was around here someplace. She hoped he kept a low head.
The Goat's Leg had no rooms that she would sleep in, nor did she wish to show her face there right now. She did not find it wise, to spend the time sleeping in any inne in town.
Her path, led her to the residential area of town..and the hovel where Lucy lived. If a bed and meal were owed her, she was sure that she would find it there.
Unlike Cricket, he wasn't so much physically tired as his mind was cluttered with tiring thoughts, some relevant, some not but all of which had some bearing on his mental faculties. The shadowy cloaked figure he thought he had seen suddenly wasn't there making him question the reliability of his eyesight. But the stair was the only means of exit from the second floor.
Thoughts again stirred, circling like vultures in the sky his mind as he made his way downstairs and to the innkeeper behind the bar going toe to toe with two of his lackeys. Without a word, he handed over the tagged key as a sign he would no longer need the room. The innkeeper nodded but mentioned he would keep the room open should he change his mind, not often did Bruiser have a patron that paid in advance and without bickering the price.
Weaving through the clusters of tables, chairs and the odd patron, he slipped through the door and out into the street. The first and perhaps only bit of business was to return to the Goatsleg. He thought about asking Thumper, whether or not Cricket had been seen as of late but ultimately decided the point was probably moot. She would be there or not. If he knew Cricket well enough, he knew she would be found there when appropriate. The best he could do would be to stop at the inne from time to time on the offchance he would catch her. He tried to second guess Cricket's actions in an attempt to think like the old Roguess and anticipate her moves but the exercise was a futile endeavor and further exhausted his already fragmented mind.
She was in control of the situation and she alone would call the what, when, and where. However, he knew one thing must remain a constant - his remaining in town. As he walked the street, he could sense and even feel the subtleties heralding the changing of the seasons. This made him feel as if he'd spent the entire passing year in town. A reprieve was in order but he couldn't, in good conscience, even think about going back to Meg until the mystery was satisfactorily solved.. He had thought a great deal about her since receiving Cricket's note and wondering if she thought of him as he did of her. Bainbridge Martin was a cautious sort of man. His duties, at times, require a bit of cavalier action, but only from time to time did sucha necessity arise. The Black prefer his plans account for a number of variations and paths accessed only after options were excersized, and this was evident in the way he exposed evidence or influenced opinions. Knowing full well that Mr A might be scribing conversation to his mind's catalogs. "I understand obedience and loyalty, Lyall. These concepts define my life and have led me to this very moment. I suspect we have points in our histories that are quite similar."
Bain's lips drew thin as a gutteral noise formed in his throat, a sort of consideration brought to life through something akin to a grunt. It punctuated well the logical conclusion that the sheer number of possibilities existing would either keep a man up all night or drive him to find sweet solace in a deep slumber. More than likely the entire party was drifting ever nearer the latter of the two options.
Bain's mind was racing, however, given the recent addition in to his bloodstream. He went quiet, speaking no more before the drugged Mr A or the skinny scribe now positioned behind his former employer. Bain had not missed the interaction between Lyall and Mr A, as much as Mr A could participate, as the wiry fellow began to settle in to bed. Soon but a tiny lamp would light very little about the room. Bain settled atop the singular bed, his legs stretched out before him after his sidearm was detached from carrying points. The somewhat ornate bell of the weapon glistened dully in the available light.
Surely it would catch up to a man, to artificially excite his mind and body to maintain waking hours, that perhaps eventually he would no longer know reality from that which was fabricated by none other than his own mind. Bain blinked, watching with intent the man still seated before him. A chill found the Irishman, but his skin barely betrayed him. More than one man in the room might have felt as though he were encased in glass.
A storm was nearing, a metallic thunder announcing its continuous progress, and a wake of silence following in direct order.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 22, 2011 9:33:42 GMT -5
In a large residence made of stone walls which had little decoration but a crisp, smooth, simple design, a group of people were tending to their chores. Bookcases, desks and pedestals were being dusted as rugs were being beaten clean outside. Besides the imposing room that caught the eyes of most there was another significant room in the house. It wasn't much larger than a mere broom closet.
Upon opening the small room there were two clocks nailed solidly to the wall. They both told the time, one was just significantly ahead of the other. Their job was more like a stop watch than a clock that governed the house of the day. The men in brown layered clothes that smelled of tobacco would go to the closet and examine the two clocks from time to time. Their employer said they were of the utmost importance for someone who had Golden Travelers. After all, he had said, there is the linear time from when you were born and then there is the time you've spent existing. He could go into the past and live seven years only to have appeared to be gone ten minutes. Here, he said, is the room that tells me what my age would have been without the Golden Travelers and the age that I have allowed myself to become.
Underneath those two clocks with the years, hours and minutes being counted underneath them was a curious sort of device. It had no impressive function except to tell basic biological functions of their employers. It did not tell them where he was, if he had been poisoned or how hungry and tired he might be. No, the men were only aware that for the past nine hours their employer hadn't moved at all.
For a man that didn't sleep much and moved with a jerking hunger, this was an alarm.
It had been discovered on a rather casual, half uninterested look into the closet. Most of the time they were only concerned with how old he was becoming. Sometimes the clock jumped weeks. There was one time when an entire year was suddenly added to the man's age. However, only a few days had been added and now, when he looked at the clock, he noticed that the other dial reported an activity so low the man had never seen it before. He called over his shoulder for the others.
"We'll give him two more hours," said one of the men, "have we any idea where he is?"
One of the men let out a breath and the others looked at him. He cleared his throat and pushed his hat back, "I know where he's been going." It wasn't a certainty, but the quiet which fell over the men said that they all intended to go there.
How long their venture would take with no Golden Travelers was unclear, but their advance was certain. On the outskirts of town the atmosphere was one where fireflies gently lit against the bushes in front of some of the homes. The sun had set but there was a residual glow of light on the horizon that kept the air light and welcoming. Lucy was alone, walking the edge of the fence in front of her home, her white night shift looking new and clean and hanging off her shoulders. It was odd for the leader of the pack to be alone, the other kids having scattered to the creek and reluctant to come home though the hour was late.
Her blond hair was like a whisper that hung at the top of her shoulders and waved with the slightest breeze. She stopped, barefoot along her path at the edge of the fence and squinted at the sight of a woman with a cane coming along the way. Her heart became quick in her chest and she smiled with a relief that shouldn't have belonged to a child. It just had to be her. She was the only woman she knew with a cane like that. With the complete lack of hesitation Cricket would know her for, she ran up to the woman and hugged her. This hug was unlike the others, it was more tender and careful. It was not an act that desperately cried for help or out of raw joy to see her. It was as no hug from a child should be. Subdued.
"He's gone," she said, looking into the woods that were dark. He looked up at Cricket, her eyebrows arched up, "Jamie left with his mommy. He said that she was scared after what happened and that he didn't know if he was ever coming back."
To a child, the concept of traveling to see this other young, dear friend, was beyond her. As children often do, there was little in their minds to understand where each other were going on how to reach them. Cricket had become the woman with all the answers to her. Would she know that as an adult Lucy would think back to the shadowy woman and wonder what she would do and say as a template for what she needed to do next? Lucy did not consider that like Jamie, Cricket could also be a passing moment in her life. "Lyall."
He was standing in a field at night. The dream was familiar, he had this one fairly often. The long blades of grass which were as high as his waist were made of what seemed to be shreds of paper from the pages of books, each carefully written on with a thin stream of ink. He was trying to pick at some of the blades but the writing was hard to read. It was in English, he could catch the blade and hold it but it was as though his eyes were dilated and could not wrap around the words.
"Lyall, look ahead."
He let the line of illegible words fall out of his hands and he squinted to look ahead. The field was in the middle of a wooded area and at the edge of the wooded area was a man. It was the man that was calling to him and he worked his was through the words of grass toward him. The closer he got the more he recognized his former employer.
"What....what are you doing here?" He blinked at him, certain he wouldn't have dreamt this. "Lyall, there are a few things I must tell you." "But we hate each other now." "Do we?"
They paused and stared at one another. Why was he debating with a dream? Lyall sighed and turned his back to the man to look back across the field, "I'm done helping you. I... I just can't do it anymore. I liked the fun and adventure, it was all like you promised it's just... it's that I'm tired of seeing people get hurt and they always get hurt. Everytime I do something for you somewhere, someone has something bad happen to them and I just can't carry on like that."
The collector had to hold back a snarl. It was good Lyall couldn't see the way his face had to fight it. He balled his hands up into fists and tried to steady his voice before he spoke, "It's not about helping me, Lyall."
"I find that hard to believe." He sighed and looked away, into the woods and then back to Lyall, "Where are we?" "I don't know. I just always come here. You're... not just part of my dream, are you?"
"No, Lyall, this is me." He picked at one of the blades of grass but when he tried to bring it in close to read it, the blade of words wilted fiercely as though it had never touched water. The moment confused him and he tried another, with much the same result. After the experiment he realized he had become distracted in the dream world and he looked back at Lyall, "There are some things which are going to happen."
"How do you know?" "Because I set them into place. I've considered that I will soon die Lyall and when... if that happens, some events are also going to occur." "...okay..." It was clear by now that Lyall was lending the man an open ear. "First, my men are going to come looking for me. This is not the important part. Secondly, they will come looking for you and when they find you they are going to take you back to my residence where you will live in a state not unlike house arrest."
Lyall's mouth was open in wordless shock, but his former employer continued as though nothing unusual had been spoken, "Also Lyall, this is not my body, and that poses a very real problem for you."
"For me? What are you talking about?"
"I don't have time to explain everything, but if I die you need to get as far away from me as you can. There's more, Lyall, and I'm running out of time." The collector could feel his entire frame starting to tingle. It accelerated quickly and he cursed, "Damn it, I thought I had mo--" Lyall awoke with a start on the floor. He had to flail around, poorly, for his glasses and when he put them on he expected a great disturbance. The room was in the order that it was left in when he fell asleep. After what had happened he expected something to be disturbed. With no physical mark of what had occurred, he began to doubt that the dream had any credibility at all.
"Bain?" Lyall was seeming to become the man's lost puppy now that his master had become something else, "What are we going to do now?" Lyall was unaware that they were waiting for anything and he found their continued stay in the room at the inn to be odd.
In another large residence made of stone walls, any resemblance to the home of brown clothed servants and the smell of sweet tobacco, evaporated. These walls, held many a rune and sigil, and who knew what else the ancient stones held. Certainly the current residents did not. A Mage's tower was a puzzle unlocked by only the creator, and he was no longer in residence.
Of course the current tenants were in possession of certain keys, but these only unlocked the things that were intended. Dangers were present even by those living there..and their safety depended upon their ability to accept their restrictions. Within the mages tower, a spiral network of passages led one through. At times they led one in an incline..sometimes a descent was gentle..or steep. Sometimes, the very same passage would often be quite level. Doors were many and varied..but only a few could be opened. Within these, and often in the maze of halls, was the laughter of children and young women. Toys were often left strewn about, and one was as likely to come upon cobwebs as they were a forgotten doll or ball. Rather eerie in these dark passages, lit only by smokey torches that seemed to have a mind of their own.
How different were the rooms lived in..for they were rich, luxurious, cluttered and happy places, full of the noise and excitement of three children and three young women as they went about daily life.
The twins were seven, and perfect negatives of one another. Elemmiire, the lightest, of cornsilk hair nearly white and eyes as bright as stars. Her name in fact, meant Star in Drow. Alantha, the darkest, of pitch black hair and black eyes like her mother. Both twins were exotically pale, though Alantha's skin held more of the Drowish gray than her sisters. Both had the slightly elvish ears of the Drow, both had the narrow features and smaller figures. They appeared five or so, even though they were two years older. They were often engaged in their own language, that even their mother could not always interpret. They were strange children..but with brilliant minds given all they needed to expand, they were intelligent and inquisitive little creatures as well. They doted on their little brother, Luke, who was as fair and blonde and pink as any human child. He resembled his father, obviously, and was a happy child, often toddling after his sisters and they seemed to indulge his every whim.
Their caregivers were three now... young women all in their twenties. Meg, was the favored... or had been of the Masters when he was alive..now looked forward only to the return of Aloysius, whom she pined for day in and day out as she had her own beloved Master Lucas. Laura, was the fair one, of blonde hair and blue eyes and innocence shattered the wrong way. She loved the little Misses, and Luke the baby she fawned over. Bette was the shy one, with large eyes and clear skin. She pined as well..for the Mage Kyslith... her comfort in being in his tower..and the children.
All the girls loved the children..and would have given their lives to protect them. Dangers were few here though..certainly none could come from the outside and they never feared such. Their concerns, and what they discussed every evening once the children were in bed..was Cricket..Aloysius, and what they should do if they never came back. Getting back home, was Crickets main focus as she walked to Lucy's. She would eat, she would sleep, and on the morrow, she would decide what was to be done about the golden traveler and the necklace, and then she would return home. Bugger Lyall, bugger Mr. A, and bugger the bloody Silvery Ouroboros, the Mandlebrot and that strange journal of Lyall's. She needed to get home.
Her eye caught the flutter of white linen in the dark.and a few steps more showed it to be a child. Crickets steps slowed, and she knew it was the little Lucy before the child even ran toward her. It pulled at her maternal heartstrings and the cane layed in the dust beside her as she knelt down and gently wrapped her arms around the small frame of Lucy, calmly holding her gentle hug and a cradling hand at the back of her head as she heard the childs haunted whisper. Cricket released her embrace, and drew Lucy back the smallest bit, to let her dark eyes find those of this child. She smiled to her, gently, and her voice to, was a subtle whisper. A single long finger touched the sternum of Lucy.
"Thee have an invisible thread..tied just here, beneath thine breastbone." She searched the childs sad eyes for understanding, and smiled gently to her again. "The other end of this thread..is tied in the same way, in the same place..on Jamie." A gentle touch swept cornsilk strands from Lucy's forehead and tucked them neatly behind her ear.
"Thee will always feel him...and he will feel thee..and that will lead each of thee back to the other some day. ..I fear it will not be soon, lass...but such is thine burden to bear. Thee must not waste the time between now and then..but make it a time of learning.."
Cricket leaned in and placed a warm kiss on the smoothe brow of Lucy and then stood to her full height, her hand extended to take that of Lucys smaller one. "Come..I humbly ask for a meal and a bed for a few hours sleep...and thee and I will talk more."
She was not sure that Lucy understood fully what she had said..but she could see the child thinking about it. Cricket knew not what purgatory the children had been held in... but she herself had seen the River Styx, and had never been the same afterward.
Lucy did not smile, but took Crickets hand and led her inside. There, Cricket sat her in front of the fire and wrapped a blanket around her. The two enjoyed a bowl of leftover stew, and kept their voices to whispers not to wake Lucys parents and siblings, but Cricket did not bring up Lucy's experience. She told her stories, as she would her own children, and listened to whatever Lucy wanted to tell her.
When they were both warmed and fed, a straw pallette near the fire was all Cricket needed, her cloak her blanket, and while she was exhausted and apt to truly sleep..she was forever a light sleeper, and had that mothers instinct that woke her up the instant anyone moved. She did not seem to mind, when Lucy curled up beside her, and for the next few hours..she would hopefully get the sleep she needed... unaware that the one called by Bain had already arrived, or that Mr. A's brown clothed companions had set a two hour clock.
Her last thought before she drifted off, was deciding what she was going to do with the golden traveler and the necklace from Mr. A. She had a little job for Aloysius. He was becoming frustrated. At times he wanted to raise his hands and say. "To the Nine Hells with all of this rot!" And yet he refrained. He had made promises to keep and keep them he was duty bound. Besides a nagging feeling that Cricket needed his help only served to reinforce the other suspicion she was in trouble, perhaps even deeper then she first surmised. He accepted the fact it was imperative he remain in town and he would without qualms.Daily, he would visit the Goatsleg but would find nothing but the usual quaffing rabble. To conquer boredom, he took to wandering the streets of the town. In his wanderings, he came across a tobacconist's shoppe. He steppef inside and moments later exited with three fine hand rolled cigars purchased as a gift, intended for Nicodemis upon his return home. From a jewelers shoppe, a ruby necklace was purchased as a gift intended for Meg. He only wondered how soon it would be before he could deliver the gifts to their recipients. \or for that matter, how soon he would meet up with Cricket...
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket and Aloysius StClaire))
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 22, 2011 9:41:51 GMT -5
Lucy didn't speak much about what happened after she touched the silver ouroboros, but when she grew up she would not be a woman inclined to wear much, if any, jewelry. She would know how silly she was being and how unlikely it was that that should ever happen to her again and yet... it always made her more comfortable to wear no jewelry at all. It kept her from thinking about it.
One time, before she left home, he younger sister would insist she tell her what happened. This was for several reasons. First reason, and perhaps the darkest and most shameful of all, was that she was jealous of Lucy. However much she loved Lucy, she had come to feel that her sister caste a shadow that would always cover her. Forever in the town and those that had passed by they would talk about Lucy and Jamie but she would only be a side note. Sometimes when people told the story, it wasn't even that Lily had been the one to ask the stranger named Cricket but that "one of the children" had. Just one of the children? Had she no credit for her bravery, no recognition for what she had done that ended up, in fact, saving her sister's life? Lily would never admit that her sister's journey of pain was something she had felt jealous of, but the reality of it was nestled deep in her chest. The second reason she wanted to know was because Lucy had not told anyone what the experience was like. In some way Lily felt her connection to Lucy would be more real, more recognized by society and storytellers if she was included in the secret that Lucy and Jamie shared. The final reason, and perhaps the one most deserving to know, was that she had felt a divide grow between her and her sister. Before the ouroboros came into their lives she thought the two of them, being born of the same woman, were somehow partly the same person. It was a child's sort of thought, even though they hadn't been twins and didn't particularly look it. Lily thought that if she could know what happened to Lucy that it could be like it was before. Lucy, a young woman at the time, would stop and look at Lily for a long, quiet moment. She would stare at her with a vacant expression, her eyes would grow cold and far away and she would say nothing. When her mind returned to the present she would smile sadly and tell Lily, "It felt like a bad dream I never got to wake up from." And for a long time, that would be all that she would say about what happened. When she felt sad, she'd think about falling asleep next to the mysterious savior and feeling, perhaps foolishly, that she was safe and all the world's terrible horrors were on pause. As a young girl the small secret of Cricket being at her house, cleeping next to her, was something she would hold onto as though it had been some enoromous event that only she was privy to. In the morning when Cricket was gone, she would ask herself if she had dreamed the whole moment. The only indication that there had been someone else was the indention left in the blanket by a larger body and the additional wood that had been put on the fire. Lucy sighed and sat back in the arm chair that was too large for her and thought that she would never be old enough to really follow that woman. (( and this is me just...guessing about what to say next in response to Bain. Not sure what to say for Lyall.)) The men in brown layers stopped outside the town. There were eight of them now, one of them seeming to stay in the front and give direction to the others. They didn't talk much. The first place they went to was the Goat's Leg, mostly because it was a populated area and gossip and the like was sure to run rampant there. One of the men pushed back his hat when he stepped inside, revealing a face with scars and scarse, peppered hair. It was a man who had seen battle and got quite a chewing out of it. The right side of his upper lip had a small piece taken out of it that looked almost triangular and showed his teeth behind. It gave him a permanently unwelcoming expression. Now was not the time to be polite or tactful. He went to the bartender, who was having his usual row with the barmaid and flattened two gold atop the bar, "I don't want a drink, I just want information." Five of the others waited outside, two of them smoking while the others branched away, surveying the area for other inns and bars and places for lodging. The man with the permanent grimance cleared his throat, "There is a man named Mr. A, a man named Lyall and a woman who wears a cloak and walks with a cane. I desire very much to know their immediate whereabouts." Was Aloy's patience finally paying off?
Sleep. It was a thing she needed little of, but still needed. Perhaps having four children in the space of three years robbed every mother of the need for sleep..or perhaps in Crickets case, it had to do with gifts and curses and a life such as she had led. She did not pursue the answer. A few hours of sleep had been had, with the comfort of a lost child in her arms. She dreamed of her own children, and woke with the ache to see them.
It was her habit to wake before she stirred..and in the gloaming light of a fingernail moon and the coals of the fire, she lay there for a time, listening.
There were many sounds, even in the dead of night. Crickets of course, sang their chirruping so softly againt the velvet of night..there was the occassional lick of flame or hiss in the fireplace, and of course the gentle breathing of the child she had saved. There were the fainter sounds of breathing from her mother and siblings in the loft above, and she could even detect the scuttle of a grain rat somewhere behind the walls.
In this time of listening..there was often clarity of thought, when it seemed very easy to review the previous days events and glean from them the ideas that escaped in the light of day. The journal that Lyall carried, she felt was important, very important. The simple fact that it was a challenge, a puzzle was a temptation to her. Its rewards could be great at the end, and it called to the old thief inside of her. It called to the Cricket that had had nothing to lose and who would take on many risks. Now... she had much to lose, and she had no intentions of pursueing such a risky venture. There was a moments concern for Lyall, but only a moment. She had become rather fond of him in an odd way. There was much more to Lyall than was apparent though, of this she was sure, and she had that intuition that told her that one day..Mr. A might find that his pet had teeth. So it was..Lyall and Mr. A would be left behind.
Concern over Bain was non-existant. There was a small mote of it over where his information would go, and what future problems that might hold for her, but such things were not dwelled upon. She would face them when and if they arose. It was time to get out of here.
As she drew herself away from the small form curled under her cloak, she drew a blanket up to replace that warmth, and with the silence and stealth of a Master Thief, she let her dark eyes travel over the small hovel. There was ample food and while small, the hovel seemed built tight against the elements. There were clothes, well mended hung neatly upon their posts, and a row of small shoes, showing wear but not worn out. The family was poor, but not destitute.
She spied a small cedar chest tucked under the small stairwell, and as she continued to sort through her options in leaving town and what to do with the two little objects she had..she moved quietly to it.
She observed the lock and hinges and the construction of the box itself, and deemed it to be no more than an ordinary cedar chest..the kind that families kept their heirlooms in.
From her cloak, she removed a small pouch, and unwrapped it to extracate a slender lock pick, and a few seconds later, the lid was quietly lifted. She breathed deep the sweet smell of cedar..and smiled softly as her fingers traveled over the contents. It seemed there was a bundle of things for Lucy and one for Lily beneath several folded quilts. their names neatly stitched upon the edges of matching blankets. She supposed their mother had made these..to give them when they married or if she died. The chest had been locked after all.
She reached within, and drew out the wrapped bundle that beheld Lucy's name. It was a folded blanket, stitched lovingly by hand, and tied with a single white ribbon that had already faded and become limp. Crickets fingers pulled free the stay, and unfolded the soft blanket. Inside were several things..a lock of hair, a pressed rose..and a small etching of a feminine face. Cricket drew this up to study it more closely..and yes..it was Lucys mother.
Her assumptions that this bundle was to be given to Lucy when she wed or when her mother died were accurate..as were her hopes that noone would venture into this chest and Lucys bundle until Lucy herself took it as a grown woman.
It was a risk..and a danger should anyone else find it..and for a moment, Cricket was uncertain if it was acceptable. Then she remembered something, and it brought a faint smile to her lips. Her hand searched within her cloak..fearful for a moment that it wasnt there..it was still lying on the table next to her chair in the tower... and then her fingers found it and drew it out of her pocket.
It seemed no more than a single piece of string, bent in a few places where it had been previously knotted. It was a childs toy..her own Alanthas in fact, and made by her for her Maman. Cricket let herself be lost for a moment in remembering the sweet face of her daughter, grey as pale milk, handing it up to her with a little hand. "...for you Maman. I made it" and oh she had lavished the praise on her little one for that effort.
It was called a puzzle string, though there really was no puzzle to it. Whoever tied the final knot, was the only one that could untie it, and her daughters had laughed and laughed when she let them tie her fingers together and even she could not get out of it.
There was not much time. Cricket hurriedly set down the blanket, and from her cloak removed the Golden Traveler, taking care to keep her cloak wrapped round it, as she left the open chest and moved silently to where Lucy still slept.
She had no other pouches with her..and so her own head scarf was used, wrapped around the Golden Traveler and gathered at the top like some magical present. The puzzle string was wrapped around and around the covered Golden Traveler, weaving around it like a net..and when there was no string left but which to tie with, she made a single knot. Then with great care, and the skill that only a mother could have, she placed this on the floor beside Lucy, and with the lightest of touches, used her own fingers to tighten Lucy's upon the ends of the string, and draw the final knot tight. This was done with a held breath and the anticipation that Lucy might stir at any moment. Her breath was released only when the act was accomplished and she returned to the open cedar chest.
The wrapped Golden Traveler was put into the blanket, seeming large next to the other small items there. Once the blanket was folded and tied with its faded white ribbon however, only a small bulge was visible. Cricket layed this bundle carefully back where it had been, and neatly relayed the quilts over the top.
The cedar chest was closed and locked, a small plea of help whispered up to Gaia to watch over it and let noone but Lucy find it in the future. It would not keep someone like Mr. A out of it..such as he would no doubt find a way to break the puzzle string, but it would prevent anyone else from simply untieing it. Only Lucy would be able to do that. Cricket slipped out of the hovel, hours before the sun would rise, and as quickly as she could, made her way back to town. She would have preferred to simply leave..but she had one other object to be rid of before she could. Of course she could not be sure if Aloysius remained in town..she had not seen him for awhile..but she was counting on his stubborness and knew that it was likely he was close.
What she did not expect..was to catch the sight of men in brown cloaks, lingering near the Goats Leg. She cursed herself as she drew back into the shadows near the gate wall. She should have expected that Mr. A's dogs would come sniffing..but damn it all, they picked a fine time. She was even more convinced that her decision to get out of here was a valid one..and it was probably the only one she was going to get. Cricket sank back into what remained of the night and would find another way into town not under the eye of the Goats Leg. It was now imperative that she found Aloysius and that they both got out of here as soon as was possible.
He had wandered the town in what he was beginning to believe was a fruitless effort and he was going round in endless circles. Or so it had seemed. As part of the 'ritual' he had developed, he made his way to the Goatsleg for the usual scouting out of the patrons. He politely nodded to the men obviously awaiting outside with a murmured "pardon me, m'lords ' before stepping inside the busy tavern. In return, they said nothing, just simply nodded in acknowledgement with stern glares.
Inside, it was the usual sort of day for the tavern. He was greeted by the rabble of flying gossip and caught by the end of the row between Carla and Thumper. It caused a small outburst of laughter from a nearby table and tankards were raised in salute to the bar wench. Carla acknowledge the rowdy bunch of men with a flagging wave of her towel while muttering obscenities under her breath before serving another table their mead. He was there on business and would not waste his time on food or drink for the simple reason he was neither hungry nor thirsty. He threaded his way through the myriad of tables, chairs, and the occasional loitering patron back to the bar.
Thumper was already engaged in conversation with two men, swarthy looking fellows and one with a permanent menacing grimace. Pulling up to wait behind the men, He could hear parts of the conversation in progress. It wasn't in his nature to actively eavesdrop but when Cricket was mentioned by the description of cloak and cane, he turned his attention to subtly listening. More pieces to the puzzle were added by this happenstance in the form of two additional names... 'Mr A." and "Ly'all." The puzzle picture was no clearer, but it was more information that could prove useful later. Perhaps Thumper's response would add another piece? As he listened in, the thought of Cricket soon finding herself in grave danger presented itself.
Cautious, he bit back the question of asking why they wanted to find her, reasoning that by doing so might attract attention to him and thus extend the danger to his own person. No, it was better to remain quiet. but as if his thoughts were heard, he caught a grim look from the silent of the two men. Had he known what he was thinking? For a quick moment, he felt like a flushed quail, dead in the hunter's site.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket and Aloysius StClaire))
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 22, 2011 10:03:51 GMT -5
Thumper was ruffled by the tone of the stranger. His days normally passed with humor and swearing, which was what he was use to. Ever since the Silver Ouroboros came to the town, however, a lot of people with a stern edge had arrived. All of them this stranger asked about. Thumper thought that it all might be a sign that the town was reaching its end and if he wanted to stop while he was ahead, perhaps he should leave like a few other's had. No. He shook his head and banished the thoughts of departing his bar. Town's had their ups and downs and he wasn't about to give up what he had and worked for. Not for the men that had come and not for these new arrivals. Thumper wrapped his hands around the edge of the counter as he spoke to the man, "I serve a lot of things here, you know, not just drinks. But you know the bottom line is that I just don't give away the things that are valuable." The man with the permanent grimace looked to his other two companions. When he saw them, however, one of them in particular appeared distracted. He was going to scold him until the source of their distraction became his own. Now he had the attention of three men. He reached over, grabbing his fellow man by the shoulder and pulling him in close. They were like soldiers in that there was a language they knew that didn't take words. Just the movement of eyes and the slight changes in body language said as much. There was only a small motion to indicate that he nodded, his hand dropping off his fellow man's shoulder before he looked back to Thumper. "Then I'll trade you," the man with the permanent grimace appeared annoyed at the exchange, but it was infinitely less trouble to do it. He reached inside his bag and pitches two pieces of gold on the table. Chin up and he waited, expecting, "Well?" "From whut I hear," Thumper said, spreading out his large hands in the air as he spoke, "There was this man that came and something of his bewitched one of the children. There was a stranger in town, a woman with a cane n' cloak like you said, and she seemed maybe to save the kids. Some people reckon she was the reason trouble came to town in the first place so it was her fault all along. Some folks said she really did save those kids. But it whutn't really her that saved them. It was really this woman, pale as could be they said and she touched those children and when she did the life went right out of her and the kids woke up like they was dreaming something bad for a long time." This was all a story that didn't interest the man much, they were details he knew already. One of companions had lead them all to the abode of Mr. A. He wanted to know what happened next. "And then..." he pressed in a tone as even as he could manage. "Theeennn..." Thumper wanted his money so he searched his mind for it, "We did a right good funeral service for the woman, almost everyone showed up to see it. I hadn't seen the man with the glasses and the tall fellow with the sharp nose in a while. Nor the woman with the cane." "Define what you mean when you say 'awhile.'" "Well," he shifted his weight to one leg and nodded to the door like those they discussed were on the other side of it, "Atleast three days I'm pretty sure. Maybe that's just me, I know a person or two here still things they've seen the woman with the can just yesterday so if they left here... they musta just left. But I don't know that any of them said anything about leaving." The man with the permanent grimace didn't feel he had gotten his money's worth. He picked up one of the gold, leaving only one other behind to Thumper's generally loud complaint. His steps could be heard well because of the hard heel of his shoes had a pointed, metal spur on the back that didn't so much click or jangle, but sound heavy on the floor. The leader, self appointed or otherwise, stopped beside Aloy at the bar and leaned down, putting his elbow to it and standing close to the man. The other gold was still in his hand, between two fingers. He regarded Aloy with a small smile, one that looked difficult for his lips. "And you... what is it that you know..." the gold coin placed atop the bar. Lyall found that Bain hadn't woken up yet. Or, if the man was awake, he certainly wasn't going to appear that he was. The room felt still and quiet and he looked up to see Mr. A and the sudden shock of his employer looking back at him caused him to jerk back. The Collector was still tied up, bound, and appeared to be actively sweating. His lips were pressed in a line so terribly thin. Lyall recognized that look, it was the way the man looked when he was extraordinarily angry. But the dream. Was it a dream? Lyall got to his feet as nimble as a cat and began packing his things. What mattered to him now were all the items at his employer's house and how he would get there. It came to him, suddenly, that Cricket had taken the Golden Travelers. Why, surely that must be where she was going. If so, it would be nothing for him to just take along a bit longer to get there. What did Bain want with him? Nothing but his journal. Lyall took the copy of his journal out from inside his jacket and set it on the bed. Why wasn't the Collector saying anything. He shouldered his bag and turned around slowly, facing his tied up, previous employer with a nervous smile. The man appeared invisibly, tightly bound. Was what Cricket given him still in his system? Or was he not wanting to wake Bain, either. Lyall moved close to the man and leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Goodbye," though he doubted it would be the last time he'd see him. Lyall had no doubt that if he was leaving Bain's room it was because the man allowed him to. People like Bain and Cricket slept with one eye open. Lyall instantly was demoted to the status of a pawn in the big game again. Outside the inn, alone, he felt both a sense of freedom and loneliness he never had before.
Cricket did not like this latest development in the least. This was Not a good time for the troops in brown, and though she could not define it, there was something about Mr. A's "people" that set her hackles up. She traveled back along the town wall, and of course there were several ways in and out, if not directly over said wall, and within the hour, she would be within the town limits, coursing her way toward the Goats Leg through the alleys and shadows.
Here though, she was in a bit of a fix, for where she needed to go, she could not go and that was the Goats Leg. She might be a fine hand at disguise, but something told her such a move would be foolish. There was then, only one option, and that was to wait, somewhere out of sight, and hope to the Gods that she spotted Aloysius either entering or leaving the Goats Leg. She would take up this post, in the narrow crevice between two buildings across the street from the Goats Leg. The gaslight was out on the corner, and it threw that half of the block into thick shadow.
From there, she would watch..and wait..and hope to bloody hell Aloysius came out of the tavern alone.
If she had been privvy to what went on inside, she might have very well kissed Thumper right on the mouth, because for all his faults, he had not let out yet that some rumors said the lady with the cane had beat to death the thin man who had tried to impersonate her. Though Thumper had not let out this bit of gossip...others would, especially if the men in brown kept flashing gold and asking questions.
That public scene was just another reason Cricket thought it best to get out of here and now. People had seen it..and would talk about it..and her rather uncertain reputation in this town was already leaning toward the bad. This was secondary only to the fact that if she were Mr. A..she would be one pissed son of a bitch. She had to get out of here while she still had time.
He neither flinched nor shrank away from his new adversary but rather returned the other man's hardened stare with one of his own. He could see that the man would not stand to be trifled with and respecting that relevant observation, slowly answered the question put to him after giving the shiny coin on the counter a quick sideways glance.
"Aside from knowing the woman personally, I know little more than you." he paused briefly still looking directly into the other man's eyes. "But it appears we have a mutual interest, we both would like to find her." He let the words register with the stranger, allowing the man to digest them and ponder what to do or say next. He had tipped his hand like a poker player baiting his opponents and was hoping it that in doing so, he might egg him to reveal something more about his intentions. "You see, my'Lord, the lady owes me money and I mean to collect on her debt." It was a bald faced lie and he did his best to not let onto the fact. His gaze was kept level and unflinching unlike Thumper's whose gaze ping-ponged between the two of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tender shift his weight from one foot to the other and back again, a sign he took to mean the hefty man was anticipating something of perhaps a fight.
The tension broke when Carla bustled up to the bar, seemingly oblivious to what was transpiring, and spoke to Thumper directly, placing her tray on the bar. "Right then, I need two mead and three ale, and the quicker the better." The man with the permanent snarl glared at the woman menacingly for her interruption as Thumper put the requested drinks on the tray.
Carla couldn't resist a parting shot in return for the glare she had received and boldly pinched the man's cheek saying, "Only a face a mother could love or for five quid, Me."
She laughed as she took the tray away with her, feeling the man's eyes boring holes in her back, which only made her grin broaden all the more. As the stranger returned his attention on him, he wondered if he was to become an unwitting pawn in the same game Cricket and this Ly'all were a part of. But hadn't he been all along, since Thumper had given him Cricket's note?
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket and Aloysius StClaire))
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Post by Lyall British on Mar 25, 2011 9:23:38 GMT -5
If Cricket thought the men in brown had something unnerving to them, her instincts had been correct on all accounts since meeting up with the bookish Mr. Lyall. The problem with men like them was that they were working, which meant they were serious. In working for a man like Mr. A, it required an array of attributes depending on what you were hired for. These men weren't hired for being verbally tactful, seductive or diplomatic. They were hired to get the job done and half of getting the job done was establishing to all involved how straight-laced they were about it. In a pack there is only one alpha and defeating that alpha automatically crowns you victor of the spoils. Defeat, in this case, could start with something as small as being degraded by a snickering barmaid. The man with the permanent sneer took one look at his companions, Thumper, and then grasped one of the thick glass mugs and hurled it at the back of Carla's head. It hit solidly, the noise was arresting.The motion was so fast, so surreal, that most of the patrons just stared. They were use to Carla and Thumper exchanged harsh banter and out of routine had almost expected the stranger to reply in kind to her. The man in brown expected an uproar for what he had done, one which he answered quickly with a flat hand toward the crowd, "The gravity of my mission might well be understood, now. I'm not here to banter, to flirt, or dally away the time." There were two clocks on the back wall of a closet who were ticking and the weight of it was heavy on his shoulders. He didn't check to see if Carla's skull was crushed or if she had only fallen limp to the floor. His hand went from a motion that commanded the room not to approach him to one which signalled his men, and Aloy, to join them outside the Goats Leg. The man knew the place had been familiar with brawls before, it wasn't as though this was the first violence to occur. Perhaps it was the oddest, being the quick burst of violence that it was. Once outside the man turned on Aloy and his gaze was long on Aloy's face, as though trying to understand him without asking a question. When he spoke it was with the same direct nature as before, "My name is Jyger. You may join us, though I make no promises for you. I know little of the woman you speak, my concern is with the man who accompanied her. Mr. A, the collector and his companion, Lyall." Perhaps Jyger was the first to ever describe Lyall and Mr. A as companions, but the meaning behind what he said was clear. The more he spoke the more it was clear that he was not born or raised near this town. He hit some of his words, especially the "r" hard. He said concerhn. "Hey, mister, I know something." When Jyger turned he saw a teenage boy who had just walked out of the Goat's Leg. He looked scrappy with many freckles and his eyes were squinted so much so that the color of them could not be certain. Jyger frowned when the boy approached and waved that the other two men should put him away. The kid scrambled when one of the men caught him by the waist, "No, Sir! I'm serious! If you've got money I know something for you. His name was Lyall." It was the name that caused Jyger to turn slightly and consider the boy again. His eyes, if Aloy could see them, Jyger has sharp blue eyes. They couldn't be noticed well from behind the brown that he wore. One of them looked slightly bloodshot and irritated. His attention addressed Aloy briefly and he nodded that they both approach the boy. By now two or three others, grown men, were coming outside the bar, perhaps angry on Carla's behalf, curious or wary. Maybe even they took thought they had something worth the money the man was offering. The man holding the boy by the waist released him and the kid went up to Jyger with all the arrogance a teenager normally had, but slightly muted after witnessing the scene with Carla. The man's lips distracted and disgusted him and he found it difficult not to stare at them when he spoke. "When they first come to town that man signed the book Lyall British. They were staying at the inn just a couple blocks away you know, over there," he pointed in the direction of the inn, "and that's where Tommy said he last saw them. It was the guy called Lyall, that woman with the cane and then the tall man with them who was kinda older and looked real preoccupied. He had a nose like this," the teenager made the hooking motion which was an exaggeration of Mr. A's profile and then stuck out and upward palm to Jyger, "Don't believe me you can check the books there yourself." Jyger stared down at the child's palm, paused, but decided it was best to pay the kid. It would encourage lips around town to get looser, even if they did detest him. He looked at Aloy and then in the direction of the inn and he began to head that way. The others that had splintered ahead remained somewhat distant from him. The long brimmed hats three of them were wearing swayed noticeably when they turned their heads, examining the town as though it were a puzzle they needed to solve. Lyall wasn't sure where Cricket would be going, just that he wanted to be where she was. After he stepped outside of the inn he decided that the most important thing to do was to eat. Not but a block or two away were some stands and tables where people sold food and lounged as they ate it. The day was still early but already some had gone to eat or purchase their lunch and convene there. As Lyall approached he saw someone run into the crowd, target a person in general and speak to them in an excited way. The news spread like wildfire and two or three people headed back in the direction the youth had come. When Lyall got there he order a local sandwich and what they terms as "chips," which looked like slices of potato cut up and sauteed with onions until they were soft and limp. With the bowl in hand he sat at one of the community tables. There was someone just three feet down from the bench, staring in the direction of the others as he was. "What's going on?" Lyall looked at the man. Was something happening that had to do with Cricket? "Carla got attacked just a little while ago by some visitors who look downright fierce." "Attacked?" "Yea..." the man wiped his lips and refocused his gaze on Lyall, "Apparently she was going off at the mouth like she always does and she did it to the wrong man this time. Folks don't know whether or not to do something about it." "She going to be all right?" Lyall had no idea who Carla was, he just knew that in his world when someone was attacked it could be by something unconventional. "Yea, seems like it." The man put down the bone he was picking meat off of, "She feels like shit, though. Things aren't right, you know? It's starting to feel like anyone with a big stick can come into this town and just do whatever they like." "Well, that's sort of how it happens." Lyall sighed, feeling like most everyone could be doing that to him. How had the Collector and Cricket gotten so strong that they weren't the ones getting bullied? "Not anymore it isn't," the man stood up, collecting his wooden plate and mug, "the city council might me making us a territory." "Huh?" Lyall twisted in his seat to look up at the man, "What do you mean, territory?" "I mean that we will belong to a bigger nation, you know, but still be ourselves. That way when things like this happen it isn't just some guys picking on a little guy. You'll be messing with Point Thornridge, you'll be messing with Point Thornridge of Satori. Well, I gotta go, have a good one." The man tipped his head to Lyall and dodged back into the other direction. He could hear bits and pieces of conversation, most in disbelief of what they saw. None of it was alarming until a small bit of words slipped into his ear. It was when he heard... men in brown clothes, almost like uniforms... that he stopped and felt his feet anchor to the dusty floor. Past some of their hands, shoulders and faces, as though on cue, Lyall could see two of them walking with great purpose in the direction he had just come. The inn. They're going to collect Mr. A. Suddenly his heart was squeezing him so tightly that he felt his face grow even hotter in the coming day. They didn't see him. They were two focused on what was ahead. No, one of them looked his direction, he could tell by the turning brim of the man's hat. The man in brown looked back ahead. Wait... who was that person who was with them? Lyall decided it was time to go back to the library and reclaim his journal.
Carla, would go down like a sack of rocks, the freshly set tray she was carrying crashing to the floor in a spray of mead and ale and a clang of pewter and glass. The entire tavern went silent..and though Thumper had grabbed his piece of hickory, he made no move with it, and stared wide eyed at Carlas blood running on the floor. Every eye was either upon poor Carla, or they were on the Alpha Brown, as he left no doubt as to his business. Only when he had led his men back out of the Goats Leg, did anyone move to Carlas aide. Likely she would survive it..but there wasnt anyone there that was ever going to forget it. The men in brown had left their mark. It was those very men that Cricket was considering as she stood watch. Two of them had lingered outside, but the rest had gone into the Goats Leg, and she was damned sure they were asking questions. She had no way of knowing just how down to business they were, but her own instincts were sufficient to let her know they were not to be underestimated. She kept quiet and still in her shadowed niche, for the men were not without eyes that continued to survey the street. A few moments later, her attention perked up, as the familiar figure of Aloysius was seen, and she bit down on her impatience. There was no option to call out, or to get his attention, and so she would have to wait further. There would be nothing to tell her what had gone on inside, but it was not that long of a wait before she would see Aloysius again..this time stepping out of the tavern with the men in brown. Eight, she counted..and what the hell was Aloysius doing talking to them? This, she did not think was good..no not at all and her hand closed around the hilt of her cane tightly. She cursed silently to herself again, when who was to approach the troop of men in brown, but one of the town bairns. The little culley was a greedy one too..he would do anything for a coin, and she grimaced as she could only imagine what bit of gossip he was spilling. Out of earshot, she could only make out voices, and not what they were saying. The little rat took his coin and ran, and she noticed that during that little ordeal, several had gone dashing out of the Goats Leg and past the men in brown, hurrying past them in fact. Only as the men split off into town, did she know for sure where they were headed.
She spared but a moments sneer for the fact that Bain was about to face his own challenge. She let her eye follow Aloysius..and then her gaze cut back to the Goats Leg. No..it wasnt safe. She had not counted numbers before..one of his men could still be inside. It was safer to follow Aloysius until she could be secure in getting him alone..but she had so little time now, before Mr. A's men found him. She felt that urgency to get out of here before they did.
She pulled back into that narrow alley, and traveled back the ways he had come..slicing through the mazework between buildings with stealth, and cursing the fact that she was having to chase Aloysius down when she did not have time for it. Never in a million years would she admit that he had been right to linger here against her wishes..but damned if she didnt need his help right now. Rumors that ran about the town were rampant as of late, the events of the last week only adding fuel to the fire that had gone on in the small council meetings of the town. Too many merchants were being robbed on their way out of or into town. Too many petty thefts, too many fights, and rumors of a thieves guild that had set up roots not long ago. These were all reasons that changes were coming to this small village. As it was, there was but a half dozen guards to see to the gates and protect life and limb, and perhaps half of those were easily bribed.
The realm that would make them a united territory however..was one where Cricket had a price on her head. The changes that would make her a wanted criminal in this town would not happen for some time yet..but when they did, she needed to be far away from here.
Mr. A and his friends, along with Bain and his friends, were her reasoning for getting out of here quickly and now.
The King of Satori would be a reason to stay out of town for good.
When the hefty glas savagely smacked The back of Carla's head, he visibly stiffened in his relaxed stance. Blue eyed gaze immediately snapped back to to the man with a reproachfull glare. He well understood the action was to be expected but still he thought it un called for by any means. Yet he kept his tongue saying nothing. As if being called like a common dog or simple lackey, he followed the others out of the Goatsleg.
In a way, he was grateful in forging this flimsy allience, The grimacing man could have alternte means of gathering information as was evident when the young boy approached them And if he hadn't, he knew of a universal language to get what he needed...Money. He listened carefully as the boy told what he knew. And he gleamed L'yall's full name. L'yall Brighton. Still it left a great deal to speculation but it was additional information. He could imagine Carla would carry a scar to remind her what price flippancy carried the rest of her days. It also reinforced the need not to either cross or question the brutal man's means unless he wanted the same.
The news of making the town into a territory interested him. It would mean taxes if not higher taxes and localized enforcement of peace keeping. It would also mean being put under the rule of the King, by proxy through a governor. These were all potentially good things if done in fairness, But he had seen that happen before. All good intentions had crumbled into corruption. If the town would be made into a territory, it would only be a matter of time before the corrupt had control of the town, a fate he secretly wished not to see happen.
As he followed along with the grimacing man like a lackey, he tried to take note of their surroundings without being obvious about the matter. It was difficult and he couldn't be certain of the quick flicker of movement caught in the corner of his eye. What his mind had thought to be a cloaked figure slipping into an alley way could very well have been something else or nothing at all, but being unable to turn his head to be certain without drawing attention to himself, it was impossible to say. And come to that, if it had been Cricket, what could he have done? Any movement on his part, however slight would most certainly garner attention from the grimacing man. If she has seen you in his company, she will most certainly think you have aligned yourself with him, and if he is out to capture her...you have added yourself to his number. For which she will curse you for it. Perhaps redemption would present itself when he would least expect it and would be proof for Cricket of his honesty.... He could only hope and pray, but for now he was to play a part. Territory was no less put asunder by metal-bound wheels than during previous travel. The vehicle thundered forth yet, leaving man, woman, and child to wonder what oddity required such speed and seeming import of station that it disregarded the unwritten laws of the highway. Ever nearer it drew, although no longer did any within its dark confines look on to the blue-imbued haze of a mystic circle. It did fly, though, toward the very rune-scribed floors that allowed a peek in to another’s life, which yielded both answers and further questions, one might suspect, if pricy to the information gleaned.
Fingertips gloved in exotic black leather touched to silver-lined wood. A slide and fresh air rushed inward to force stagnant kin outward. A long and slow, deliberate breath filled lungs that had felt icy death, searing and intolerable winds, the choking desolation found at sea when no compatriots surrounded to offer helping hand, and the iron-supported crucible that forged all flesh and bone in to no more than bleached, white, stone. The owner sighed heavily to none other than himself, no answer returned, for though support was around him none bore the weight of the mission that hurled him through town and over countryside until arriving near necessary destination.
Wood and steel slowed, eventually rolling to a quiet and reverent pace, as if respect were due ground about to become hallowed. Uncanny leg muscles stretched in the slow walk equines experience when much drive has been withdrawn by carriage master. They high-stepped, the whole lot of them, in the fashion of their relatives whom circled private royal arenas at show. Their dappled and smoky bodies glistened with a sheen of sweat, salt of the earth nearly palpable in the vicinity immediately surrounding the proud and massive beasts. As they made way from outskirts inward the road was given, not taken, uncontested by their curious presence.
The turns were made and the roads followed until ultimately the animals came to rest before a particular edifice, having wound to it in a manner that circumscribed by pure coincidence a number of armed and determined wayfarers. In fact, they might have been quite square to one another now, the many before the fewer, accompanying riders numbering six at this time. Garbed in black, with low-fitting wide-brimmed hats, they marshaled lances with thin black pennants, their shafts more akin to javelins in length, the weapon bodies fit for both throwing and running down opposition forces.
What may have been the sole occupant of the dark interior of the carriage lifted from a lean a black scabbard, and with it the only visible make of the white arm within. A claymore, it would seem, gauged by the basket-like hilt and solid crossbar, was touched by right hand’s thumb, the remainder of gloved hand wrapped about the leather below. The carriage master held steady a set of long, dark reigns, but his counterpart moved to first leave a lightweight crossbow atop the forward bench. Down he climbed, quietly and with purpose, until he reached by way of a sure walk the carriage side. Latch from within moved on greased carrier. A knock from without was answered by one from within, keen eyes cutting about the scene by all traveling in the group.
“Táimid tar éis a tháinig, mo Tiarna.” It was spoken with authority and in a level tone. A nod answered in reply.
In to the light was admitted a tall and fairly lithe figure, shoulders broad but chest not so deep. Brown hair bobbed above his nape, tailored and bound by thin, black ribbon. His cold, blue, lupine eyes immediately surveyed the scene before him with sweep left to right and back before a redirection to more centrally the street before the carriage. The weapon he carried in hand remained so, at his right, most uncommon for those that might find themselves oft on horse’s back. The articulation of his jacket suggested military status, its silver buttons and thread that of an officer. Boots crushed earth below them, silver spurs terminating in solid, round balls, turned with the demand of ankles. Boots, dark and worn, traced upward over calves where they met the tuck of fairly simply designed riding jodhpurs.
His voice parted lips, caressed by a silver tongue, and he commanded forth an ancient language. “Féach géar, captaen.” The action that followed seemed to issue orders down the line, although no visible differences existed in half of the cohort. Those three riders remained facing outward, their backs to the vessel and the inn. Three others, however, dismounted and left their mounts to stand easy between the carriage and what appeared to be one of the town’s inns.
From a higher vantage Bainbridge Martin looked sidelong out of a window. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his position offering no glance from the still bound Collector. He said nothing of Lyall’s departure, and had been nearly silent for some time now. A whisper slid forth, falling ever so softly from his lips, given in reverence. “Tiarna O Maoil Eoin.” A near about face followed, after which Bain directed his voice in a much more informative manner to the Collector. “Rouse yourself, pretender. Absolution is upon you.”
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Apr 1, 2011 11:49:42 GMT -5
"Sir!" It was the head of the local militia who turned at the call, his eyes narrowing to make out the face of the fellow soldier who called for him. He smiled in a way that looked incidental and salty, "Yes, officer?" "More men have come into town. I'd say less than twelve but more than four, maybe." He side and pushed the red brim of his hat up, taking a seat at a chair in one of their small, outdoor posts. It could only hold about three men in it at most. He sat alone, the door open, speaking with the other soldier, "Another group... what did they look like." "Unfriendly sir. Like the first. Jeremy reported no conflicts as of yet, but that was over half an hour ago." The leader corrected his hat so that it fit him properly and looked out the rough-cut window that had no glass or much, if any, presentation to it. It was as though he could see both parties of men and he was determining what should be done about it. His company could not hear him sigh, just see his chest significantly rise and fall. He looked back to him, "What is their intention?" "Sir, there's no proof, just speculation." "Well, out with it then." "It appears that the two parties have business with one another." "How did this happen..." he spoke to himself, looking back out the window. His voice was low, resigned, "How did this town become the playground for everyone else. It's no wonder we're running into the arms of Satori." "Sir?" He blinked from his thoughts and regarded the man with a bitter smile. "Sir, what do you want us to do about it?" "I would suggest," he stood up from his post and stepped out of the small structure. He looked towards the town and then back to the man, "that you and anyone who cares to live stay out of their way. These men are real soldiers, you know. We've both seen them and they aren't... working part time to keep the peace in their town. I've no doubt that if we interfere that we'll be cut down instantly." "So that's it, Sir?" It was clear the subordinate officer disagreed, his tone smacked of disappointment, "We do nothing?" "Nothing...yes. They haven't waged war on the civilians, they aren't stealing, setting fire to anything or trying to rule the town... yet." He shrugged and began walking, "Until their battle begins to involve the people of this town I suggest we step back and keep our noses out of this business. We don't have enough men, or men trained well enough, to do much more than be a nuissance as we die," he laughed in a pessimistic way, now having to shout at him because the distance he walked had gotten so great, "It will be interesting to see who is still standing when the smoke clears. Just advise people to stay out of the way." Jyger was... interesting. It was difficult to discern if he was so singleminded or if he kept multifaceted thoughts and feelings to himself. His position as senoir in the group was easily determined, it had been clear since the beginning. If the others had rank, it was too subtle or too slight to be distinguished. Upon being closer to the men, there were small traits which defined Jyger from the others. First, his age. The sign of wear around his eyes and the way his skin fit his face was like a man who was either thirty or had experienced a great deal early on. Though layered in brown, he and the others wore fingerless gloves. His right hand bore the mark of an old tattoo, something like a snake or ribbon that peeked out from the glove at the top of his thumb. The ink of it was green and blurred with the years of it having been there. Most noticeable was the rip on his lip, which did not seem like a clean mark that it could be made by a blade but by something messier. A mace, an animal, perhaps. From what Aloy could see his hair wasn't long, small bits of it were dark brown that came out from under the hat. "Jyger." He stopped walking to allow one of the men who had branched off to double back to him. The man spoke low, but it was not beyond the hearing of Aloy or the others, "There is a group arrived. I think it is the intended." His face didn't move but somehow harden. He lifted his head up slightly by the chin and then his eye turned onto Aloy, "You have a rare opportunity, now." Jyger turned to face him more directly, "You can have us protect whoever you want, whoever it is that you want to see safe, despite any adversary. Despite sickness, despite political alliances or promised execution, they will be saved, safe and given wealth to sustain them. I need only that you will pledge yourself to this mission, and only this mission, we are about to endeavor and swear it upon this," Jyger reached into a pocket and withdrew a simple silver bracelet which had a snake-head clasp, "Our mission is to retreive our employer, the collector, and fulfill a delivery which was never made. If you cannot give me this pledge, you will no longer be part of this party." The other men in brown had also stopped walking. If they were staring, it was hard to discern past the brim of their hat and layers of clothes. One, for certain, was looking ahead towards the inn which now had company. It appeared that they were briefly wanting to hire Aloy in their ranks, perhaps because of who they saw at the inn. Lyall was lucky for something. It was that the library was not int he cross hairs of the Goat's Leg or the Inn. It was east of the oncoming fray and Lyall was quick to go. He was unaware that Bain's men had come, the sight of the Collector's men was enough to scatter him to his purpose. The library. The dusty shelves, the bored clerk and the smell of paper and age thick in the building. At first he thought it had been taken, or that he forgot where it was. But, finally, it appeared. He recognized one of the cracks in the spine that happened one night he had balanced the open book on a rock to write an entry. When he drew the book out of the shelf and held it... he felt a sense of completion. A sense of safety. No one was looming over him trying to take anything or demand anything. The smell of the library reminded him of where he had learned to be a scribe and in that sense, Lyall was briefly home. The pocket in his jacket yearned for the right book and now that it was there, Lyall rose to his feet with a reguvenated sense of possibility. Perhaps Cricket and Mr. A weren't pushed around because they decided that they wouldn't be. Perhaps it was all just a matter of deciding that you were something else and then it coming into fruition. Lyall lifted his chin and stepped out of the library. It was time to find Cricket. If Lyall had learned anything about her at this point, she wouldn't be far from Mr. A. He took a different path back towards the inn. At this point some people recognized him and to others still he was a stranger. He knew the Collector's men would know him instantly so he could only hope to see them first and be careful. However... the closer he got the more he felt that Mr. A's men hadn't arrived at all but... something else had. The Collector was an angry, silent statue, staring with all the hate in his heart at Bain. What had been a small inconvience and grown into this... an event which halted everything. All his work, all his planning and searching. It was time to recognize that the chess game had changed and if he were to win he had to see the outcome five steps ahead. And if he was wrong?
Cricket's feeling of urgency was a valid one..though she may have very well decided her own fate when she returned to town to find Aloysius and did not just disappear then and there, but there was unfinished business that made that impossible. No sooner would she have used the portal to her tower with Mr. A's necklace upon her person than she would have cut her own throat. And though she had disposed of the golden traveler on her person... and distributed the rest, she was not done with that piece of business yet. It would not do for Lucy to inherit that bauble without knowing exactly what it did. It had been a risk to leave it as she had, but life was full of risk. It had been a small one, in comparison to what she risked now. Ducking back into the deeper shadows of that narrow, dank space between the buildings, infested with garbage and sewage and rats, she nearly froze there in the act of turning her back on the Goats Leg. The heavy roll of carriage wheels and the feet of horses drew her attention back. It was the first time in this village, that her stomach was in her throat. No..no no no...no this couldn't be..she had to have more time!
She had to force herself to breathe as she watched..feeling the true depth of the mess she was in now. She doubted very much what she had done was going to be looked upon kindly..by anyone but the children and their mother. Black eyes were riveted upon the carriage..and she felt a morbid compulsion to stand there..and wait..to see if it were the Lord she feared stepped out of the carriage..but some red screaming flag in her brain told her yes..yes it was..and to get the hell out of there.
"Bloody hell..." she cursed under her breath, and with that urgency pumping adrenaline through her veins, she pulled herself away from the sight of that carriage and all the soldiers with it, a new concern bearing fiercely upon her that pushed her a little less cautiously through the narrow alleyways.
Never once since she had seen Aloysius with the men in brown, did she think him a conspirator with them. She knew enough about him, and about the men in brown, to know that Aloysius was probably just playing along with them to track her down. Not the wisest choice in her opinion..for he knew so little about what was really going on..but she did not blame him for trying. She would however, blame him if he caused more trouble. It was becoming an act of frustration now, as she peered from one corner in time to catch a man doubling back to the one who appeared to be the alpha dog in this brown pack. She could not discern what they said to each other..but she had a feeling that they had noticed the towns new arrivals too.
Much could be gleaned from their body language..and she had no doubt in her mind, that they were trying to win Aloysius to their side. ..and what was that..the glint of silver as something was offered Aloysius. Blast his eyes!
Crickets jaw tightened and loosened, tightened and loosened. She didnt know if Aloysius had heard anything about what had gone on in town, though she would have been surprised if he learned nothing in his time here. ..but how much did he know..and did he know he was right in the thick of it? Cricket drew back from the sight of the men in brown, and pressed her back against the molding brick wall for a few moments even breaths.
She had little time and no good choices.
If she had known that Lyall had slipped away from Mr. A and Bain..her decisions might have been different ones, but she had no reason to believe Lyall was not where she'd left him. She could hide..and hope she got an opportunity to grab Aloysius attention, but she doubted that would happen quickly enough. She had two concerns against her..Mr. A..and the Stags..the latter of which was ever more threatening. Yet she had more of an inclination to be aligned with the Stags than she did Mr. A..who was likely to be murderously angry. All she wanted, was to get to Aloysius, get him out of town with the necklace and then disappear herself.
This was not going to be an easy task now, and her options were narrowed again.
On which side was her luck to be the best? Mr. A was not one she could reason with..nor wanted to. He was unpredictable and she was sure, quite mad, not to mention, filled with rage for her. As much as she liked Lyall..and wanted the journal..she didnt consider it worth the risk. The Stags..and or Liam and Bain..were a different matter. They were not likely to care what her motives had been and only unhappy she had dragged them into this..but..she might have bargaining power with them. Not that anyone ever bargained with the Stags and came out on the good end. Consideration was given all her options..and in the end, she decided that there was no time to wait and hope that Aloysius could be caught alone. She had to act now and just hope, as she always did, that she didnt lose her head in the process. She left her view of the men in brown and Aloysius and darted back through the maze of alleys the way she had come. This time, her trek was swift and purposeful and she wasted little time. Her jaw set, she exited those narrow building walls closer to the Goats Leg, and from where she had been watching earlier..she stepped out onto the street, and with a glance to her right, and the men in brown, she cut her eyes back to the Goats Leg, the carriage in front, and swifty cut across the street in that direction without another second guess..whisper under her breath and only to herself. "..come little brown ones..pursue the chase.." and it would take her much less time to cross the street and arrive at the door of the Goats Leg.,.and the arms of the Stags.. than it would for the men in Brown to catch her.
The sound of a carriage momentarily distracted him, scattering his thoughts until he collected them again to ponder the proposal put forth to him. It had become obvious in the passing time he had become involved in something eitherdramatic or dangerous, but quite likely both. The grimacing man's demeanor and that of his obedientt lackeys were proof enough to support that assumption, there was no telling exactly what the grimacing man would do or how far he would go to do it.
The man had made it clear he had two choices: Join up or part company. Of course it wasn't clear what joining would entail, but he had clarified it some by stating it was a rescue mission. These were questions that would find answers after the ordeal if not during, should the answers be pertinent. Not to join would mean he was on his own again to find Cricket and his effort up to this moment had been practically futile. The rewards for his service posed a problem in itself in respect to who would best benefit from being kept safe and given wealth? And for that matter, was it to be only a single person, a single family, or could it be an entire town?
He glanced at the silver bracelet being offered. By the man's tone, it was also clear this was a serious matter and would not allow for failure or even possibly disloyalty. That meant a certain risk of death, something of which he was not unaccustomed. It was also a means of getting closer to Cricket as well as the root of the mystery he had inadequately unraveled. If anything, more twists had been thrown into the mix.
Blue eyes effectively bounced his gaze from the bracelet to each man's face in turn before settling on the grimacing man. But the reward of naming someone to keep safe and wealthy was a crux to his decision. Had he meant only one person or could that extend to several people? Perhaps a whole town? He could have very well name himself but in accepting that negated the choice of himself. No. it was more likely, he meant a single individual. He felt it was an agonising decision to name someone, yet he could make a sort of counter offer in accepting. Pursing his lips, he slowly nodded his head with his reply.
"I offer my services in whatever capacity you need and pledge my loyalty to this mission without question, but I would ask that no one be harmed if it can be avoided." His gaze looked onto that of the other man as he awaited a response.
While beady eyes bore through flesh and bone Bain the Black was parting his focus, allowing himself a stance that first occupied space atop wooden boards nearest the proffered room’s entryway, and then within the frame of the portal was he standing. The frame split his figure, leaving a portion of himself exposed in the hallway, allowing him to keep both eyes on the captive Collector and ears listening for the familiar sounds of countrymen or companions as they neared. No spurs spoke or whispered, no metal buckles clinked or accoutrements rattled. They were nearly silent, but he was aware keenly aware of their movements through an uncanny ability to identify compatriots from the remainder. And then there was a certain scent.
The smell did not pervade from the first man of the traveling company to enter the inn, nor the second, and it was but the faintest of hints that followed behind them, only teasing his nostrils before quitting the feat altogether. Eyes sharpened on the Collector, consideration imminent upon his features. It must not have been of great concern to Bain, for he budged not a muscle from his stance, although he drew in a long and deliberate breath, perhaps in a manner taught him long ago.
Voice found Bain’s throat, conjured forth to speak over the room, most assuredly directed unto the Collector. “Introductions shall be in order. By what name shall you be known?” The question was simple, however, it carried with it an ancient tradition, one marked by the eventualities that surrounded time and place, both past and present, and those shrouded by the future. With but a few words Bainbridge had implied the import of identification, his own seemingly a mere speck of dust in accordance with his tone.
Two men entered the inn, both bearing with them their short lances, each conferred with the station of their thin, black pennants. They queried not the keeper or any to be found, and suffered no distraction or halt that would impede their progress, dealing with what they must in a sharp and militant manner where lack of respect due to non-identification arose. Their purpose was simple: secure the way. They were too well fed to be gaunt, but nearly inhuman given their measured and swift execution of movement. Their eyes were light, and their brows bore more years than their earthly vessels may have observed.
One called out in a gruff voice of foreign origin. “Is mac tíre i measc na tréada.” A response was given from up the stairs and down the hallway. “Cuirfidh an aoire ar fáil.” The exchange, albeit short, provided the guard with the desired information. A nod to his compatriot before the man looked through the inn’s door to observe the carriage’s recent occupant. Surprise nearly glazed his face but he suppressed the reaction after but a blinking flare.
The once occupant now stood quite still, having drawn himself tall and thin. The onlooker could not hear the man’s voice, but the closer of the two guards did. “Shebali.” Unmistakable. On platform’s bench the driver let loose leather reigns, taking up in their stead the crossbow garnished by the carriage door’s keeper. The weapon was shouldered at a low ready, aligned with the gypsy’s avenue of approach. The Captain, the doorman, put himself between seeming officer of rank and the woman. The horsemen adjusted appropriately, two of the three offering their line of sight more attention in that particular direction than the third at the vanguard.
The commander spoke quietly, evenly, and in a curious dialect secreted away for generations. “Choinneáil uirthi.” With the delivery of his last order the figure withdrew to the shade of the inn.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Apr 1, 2011 12:12:00 GMT -5
It was three hundred years ago. Two empires had been fighting for over fifty years, the battle passed from the parents down to their children. The beginning of the battle had started over matters some would describe as being trivial, but as people began to fall in the fray each side called for revenge, revenge which grew and claimed that unless the other side had suffered more, retribution for the past had not been made. Each side was branded the liar, each side made the enemy the scapegoat for all their woes. Both sides thought the war would go on forever, permanently defining both empires as being enemies. Then, one of the emperors fell ill. Some would say he was poisoned but a witness would have said they heard him cough for weeks, grow thin and one day fade away, leaving his wife and mistresses behind. When his wife took power, her child alone became the credible heir to the throne. This was mostly ensured by her banishing the other wives and mistresses with children. Consumed with matters of battle and diplomacy when she was married, she had given birth to only one child, a son. He was to inherit the battle of his mother and father and go on to face the son of their adversary. Though the war was a terrible monster in the lives of all the people, the feeling of fulfilling a destiny was had by all. That both sides of the battle should have one legitimate son to face one another sounded like a monumental way to end the epic war. "Empress." She was seated at the balcony of her palace, papers in hand. From here she could see the rolling hills of her land and if the day was clear, make out the fine indication of mountains. She looked towards the voice and smiled gently when she recognized the face of her head commander, Jared. He was a man she had grown to trust and depend on. Had she a choice in who she married, she imagined she would have very much loved him. It was a mutual feeling. Most knew they were close and it was because they were close that he had been sent to see her, "I need you to put those papers down." Her eyebrows knit in confusion but she did as he instructed, setting them atop a small table and using her letter opener to keep the wind from blowing them away, "Very well. Why do you look so concerned, commander? Have our men not been doing well?" "The men have done very well, my empress. Please, do not rise." She was reclined in a chaise, her knees bent so that there was room for Jared to sit on the end of it. His stillness bothered her, "I would think that of all people you would be happy. If we keep this up, my son will go into battle within a year to take the head of Anon, son of the Sakurine Empire." "I am... very happy for what we've done in battle." When he reached out and set his hand atop of her's, she felt more unnerved instead of relieved by his touch, "My empress, your son is dead." "What the Hell are you talking about?" She instantly slapped him. Her offending hand stayed suspended in the air and her eyes burned on him, "How dare you... how dare you come here and tell me this." "Empress, I'm so...sorry." "No," She spat the word at him and rose from her seat, walking to the edge of the balcony.The thought of leaping over the edge passed her mind, but it was a grief stricken thought. Her hands tightened on the stone and though she had not meant to, she was crying, "Everything... all of what we fought for, it can't end like this. Not like this." "Empress... I will dismiss myself. I understand that you need time alone for what I've told you." Jared rose, his cheek still bright from the flash of her hand. He had almost reached the doors when she turned and looked at him. "Don't. Don't go." He stopped and turned to look at her. She didn't want his pity, but he could not help but feel it for her. She crossed the room to him and put her hands on his chest, "I wish to see Agnis immediately. Will you take me to him?" "Agnis?" Jared blinked at her odd request. Agnis was a nobody. He was neither family nor friend, not soldier or enemy. He was known by all who listened as being the finest jeweler at the time. The empress nodded that that was the man she wished to see and Jared, unable to refuse her even if he had the authority, made arrangements that they should leave at once. It took her two days to reach Agnis, who by now was already was expecting her arrival. He was not an impressive man. He had grown old, his eyes were getting weak and his hair white and disappearing off the top of his head. In the war he had created the design of the symbol imprinted, coin-sized, at the front of every soldier's helmet. There was also the matter of him refurbishing the crown for her when she had become empress when she asserted her new, dominant authority. Though his work had marked the lives of her entire Tori empire, she had not met the man in person. When he saw her, he thought he saw a ghastly face set into the frame of a beautiful one. "Agnis, forgive me for showing up so suddenly." "It is a pleasure to have the empress visit me. I had hoped to see you once myself before I died. I was always curious about you." The corner of her lips twitched in a smile, but it was short lived, "I require you to create your finest work for me and have it sent to the palace." "What is it that my empress wishes?" "I wish to have a bracelet, one which will remind me of the son I loved and lost." "Lost?" "Agnis," she stepped to him, placing one hand on his shoulder, "My son was training for battle and a snake bit him. He did not live long, but I am told he suffered immensely. I wish for you to make a snake bracelet for me. I wish to wear it at his funeral." "Oh...my," this was not the circumstance he wished he had met her, "I cannot refuse you, my Empress." So it was on the funeral of Kages the III, last of the legitimate blood of the Tori empire, that his mother attended, wearing a beautifully crafted silver bracelet of a snake eating its own tail. She had thought that the token was ironic at first, that a symbol for eternity was now for her son's death, which would mark the end of her empire. "Empress?" She loved the balcony, the chaise that faced the sunset. As the sun died behind the horizon she stroked the interlaced links of silver. Her eyes lifted up to see Jared standing in the threshold. Her heart fell, it reminded her of the day she knew her son was dead. "Yes, commander?" "Word is spreading of...Kage's death. Soldiers are falling back and your empire fears the worst." "So they should." She felt detached and cold. When she looked away from the bracelet she saw that the sun had already set and that there were no more beautiful colors in the world. "Could you not appoint someone as an heir? Could you not recover a son from one of the other wives of your husband to step up?" "Jared," She rarely called him by his name. It made him stop pleading to look at her more closely, "If I appoint someone, or if another son takes the thrown... or if the Saturine empire defeats us... this empire is defeated. It will not be our empire anymore but someone else's. I am too old to have another child and even if I could... it would not be my dead husband's. This empire is finsihed." "...If I may be so bold... why have you sent for me?" "Because... I must ask you to do something dangerous. Something that a soldier should not be asked to do. Also, because I love you." "Empress, I--" "Don't say it. Whether you love me or don't, I don't want to hear it. I've made up my mind and I need you, as my commander... my friend, and as the man I love, to do this for me." "Anything." She rose to her feet and took small steps to him. She had not been eating or sleeping well, the strain of it was beginning to mark her body. When she neared him, he instinctively reached out to brace her, "What is it?" He had not noticed that her hand was wrapped around the bracelet Agnis had made for her. It looked brighter now, especially against the pale grey skin of her hand, "Did you notice?" "Empress?" Her faint, sad smile, "I'm not crying. I...I've done something." "Empress!" He shook her, imagining that it would return her from the place her mind had drifted, "What have you done?" "I have poured all my grief, all my loss and all my wrath into Agnis' gift. The symbol of my son," she looked down at it in her hand and then back to him, "and also, half of my soul. Jared, do not cry, I need you to do just one more thing before I relieve you of your duty to me and this empire." "What is it?" He begun to fear that grief had driven her mad. "Give this to the son of the king of the Sakurine empire. The two of them were meant to fight in battle but now, there is only this between our empires. I wish for the man that comes to lead our empires to know the grief ours felt when it fell to its knees." "I do not think the emperor will see me." "Oh, he'll see you." She sat back down in the black chaise, staring at where the sunset use to be, "When he realizes you have come to deliver our terms of surrender and give the future emperor a gift... he will see you." The Tori Empress, looking tired and worn, was correct. The head commander of thousands of forces went by himself to the emperor, who thought him either a fool or surrendering. News of her son's death had not yet traveled. Some had thought he was ill from the snake bite, kept inside the palace and tended it. It was only when Jared arrived with parcel and gift, announcing that Tori was brought to one knee, that the Emperor smiled smugly to himself, empowered by the prospect that it was his reign which was successful and ended the war. It had seemed the Tori empire had grown strong and was pushing his forces back but now, with their defeat announced, satisfaction filled his blood. "Emperor, there is one more thing." "What is that, good general?" Jared withdrew a long box as the empress had instructed him. She told him never to touch the bracelet, that she had it endlessly polished for the event. He slid the top of the dark, hardwood box back to reveal the bracelet, "The past empress wishes to give this as a gift to your son, that he might remember the Tori empire that was defeated as he unites the empires." The son of the emperor, Anon, was seated at his right. Jared was surprised at how youthful the boy looked, it was not unlike the son of his empress. What was he... sixteen? The boy rose, encouraged by the nod of his father and went to Jared. The commander was still kneeling and from his vantage point he had to look up at the boy emperor. He saw the hand of the youth hesitate and then touch the glistening slip of silver in the box. Suddenly a bright flash of light illuminated the entire room, blinding everyone temporarily. When their eyes recovered they saw the Emperor's son fall to the ground in a ghostly pale heap. He looked as though he were dead. "Commander, what is the meaning of this?" "I don't know!" Jared rose to his feet and stepped back in surprise. One of the members of the Emperor's court reached his son before he dead. As her hand touched his shoulder she fell ill in a likewise manner, crumpling to the floor. The Emperor, believing his son to be dead, drew his sword and struck Jared dead in the courtroom. "Empress?" When she looked up and saw that it was not the face of Jared, her smile was dim. The messenger thought that it looked as though she had not slept in days, "A strange ailment is falling on Sakurine empire." "I know. The ailment which plagues them is my grief." The messenger appeared confused but she waved at him to be dismissed. Alone, she stared at the horizon, backlit by the sunrise blocked from view by the palace itself. Her hands held one another and she spoke to the wind, "Jared... I hope you can forgive me." "Empress?" Three weeks had passed and her appearance had not improved, nor gotten worse. She lifted her gaze up slowly from her desk. Since the Sakurine empire had all but fallen under the affliction, there was much to be done. "Yes, what is it, boy?" "The ailment has spread to the border of the Tori empire." "Didn't I tell you to inform everyone that they weren't to come in contact with those people?" "Yes, my Empress, but...." "Nevermind. Return later, I have a mission for you that requires your absolute attention." It had been several hours and when the messenger returned to her she smiled in her weary way. He smiled in return, though it frightened him to exchange the expression with her. She held only a letter out to him, which he took and upon reading who it was addressed to, he blinked, "Is this a joke?" "No, it's not a joke." She rose from her desk where hundreds of papers cluttered it. She took up her cloak and fasted it to the latches at her shoulder and nodded that it was time the go, "I must see those who are stricken at the borderlands." It looked like corpses after an imaginary battle. No one was injured, bleeding, or rotting. No one was bloated with rigor mortis and colored oddly with blood bruising. There was no smell of death in the air, but all appeared to be under its influence. To her, she felt as though her heart had been illustrated. Her and the messenger continued past the borderlands, though it was dangerous, and traveled further into the heart of the Sakurine empire. They went as far as the palace, walking past the slumped figures. There was only one person that was not suspended in animation. Only one that rotted and looked like a displaced monster. "My poor... lovely Jared." She kneeled by him and though his skin was peeling off his skull, she kissed him on the forehead. Her steps continued. Past the court, the others strewn about in shapeless masses of unaging, horrified flesh. To the foot of the emperor, who looked like a statue made of skin and hair. She passed him to move to his son whose hand still held the bracelet. It looked so much brighter, almost like it moved as a real snake would but that had to be a trick of the light. "Boy, listen very carefully," Her messenger was wordless, unaware his mouth was open and his eyes wide. What he saw was unreal. Why were the dead remaining so perfectly preserved? She called him to listen and as she spoke, more of his attention and focus returned to him. "Grief is a terrible monster. It hasn't any notion of time or manners. It will take your soul if you let it." It was the last statement the empress would ever give. She reached down to touch the boy and instantly her life left her. The silver snake bracelet, the Silver Ouroboros, released all its captives from her grief and when they woke none could speak of the experience though it would always haunt them. The empress was dead and the emperor and his son, Anon, wept at her funeral. The messenger delivered her letter to the emperor after the ceremony. There was much debate about what she told him in the letter, if she felt remorse for what she had done or if she had only released him because her own people had become endangered. What was not debated in the letter, however, was that two requests be honored. First, to keep anyone from pledging themselves to the Silver Ouroboros, that it must be destroyed or placed where no one could ever find it. Secondly, that the blood and grief of two empires did not result in anyone winning. The Sakurine and Tori empires, connected forever by blood and loss, should instead join to form the Satori Empire. When the Silver Ouroboros was meant to be destroyed it had been so feared, so mystical, that it needed only to be escorted by two men. After many attempts, it could not be destroyed. Some said that the grief in it had still not be appeased. What happened next was also heavily debated. Some said that the guards pawned the item for a great deal of money. Others say that the bracelet was still possessed with life and it had destroyed the guards and any who touched it. The guards, who had not perished, told the story of a strange encounter that they could not explain. A man had appeared before them on their journey to see Agnis, the jeweler they felt could destroy it. The man demanded the bracelet and when they refused he attacked them so swiftly and with such items of the like they had never seen. When he had taken the bracelet the men had swore to all that would listen that the man could disappear in a blink with the sound of hundres of small insect wings brushing the air and never be seen again. The Silver Ouroboros became such a controversial item in small circles. Those who were interested in fabeled items knew the legend of the Silver Ouroboros well and were perhaps the only ones that believed the story of its origin. Though the story of the Satori empire had many fluctuations, the snake was still a symbol they wore on their helmets, shields and carried with them on their flags. After three hundred years so many details were no longer believed or simply left out. It became common to feel that it had been an epidemic disease which caused both empires to put aside their blades, collect those who were still living, and forge an empire with unity. Three hundred years had passed and the empire was reduced in size due to drought and famine. The Empire became a kingdom and now... the kingdom was paying tribute to its old roots of conquest. The King of Satori was a hardened man. So it was, from kings and princes, little girls and boys that Jyger held out the silver bracelet for Aloy to swear himself upon as the empress had and then, Maggie. Now it was Aloy, pledging himself as he held the item and the bracelet, offered up half his soul to the item. The soul eater.
The Collector's men respected few people but all recognized the sacrifice made when swearing upon such a thing. All of the men in brown had immense respect for what the experience meant. To honor his wish was a small sacrifice compared to what occurred. For those that knew Aloy well, he might have appeared to look more tired, perhaps a little more gray and worn and generally one would describe him as being less.
Jyger reached into one of his brown layers, withdrawing a wooden box. Was what just happened to Aloy so unbelievable that he did not know? Jyger put the bracelet into the dark, wooden box which opened like a mouth. The other men let out their breath and it was only then apparent to everyone they had been holding them.
"You wish for no one to be hurt if they don't have to be? Is that really all you'd like?"
Jyger signaled that two of them men go ahead as they walked, continuing to the fact of the inn where he stood, seeing the carriage and the men that were there. He was not too close, there was a man armed and aiming, but he did not fear he was the target. Jyger tipped his head back, the brim of his hat going back to let the sunlight flood his face. He called ahead, speaking in direct terms which he felt these men likewise appreciated.
"I have come for Him." And did he really need to say who? Mr.A felt like his arms would drop from their sockets. He was worn from his hands being bound and his feet as well. The tension of the moment put aside the need for bodily functions, but he knew it was soon time for him to eat and sleep and rest. The damage was beginning to add up on him. When Bain asked him what he would go by, he blinked and his eyebrows arched up. Sometimes he wanted to say Alex, because he had enjoyed his name when he was younger. But that wasn't who he was right now. It wasn't who he was ready to go back to being. With a lift of his chin and a long, pessimistic smile he retorted, "My name is A, the Collector, Mr. A and the Hawk." No one had ever called him the Hawk before, but instantly the name suited him. It wasn't just the nose, it was his eyes and hard grip. Lyall was not close to the inn, but he could see it. He could see that the men in brown were near and that they still had the company of that other person. He didn't dare get closer. He just crouched by a storefront, leaning against it and eating an apple to look more casual. He was told when he was trying to look casual that he always goofed it up somehow and looked even more suspicious but, that when he gave himself something simple, like eating an apple, he did reasonably well for him. Was a battle about to explode? No one had attacked anyone yet. Lyall wasn't sure if he would rather they battle or get along.
The Kingdom of Satori had many territories, and many towns and villages flew their pennants and paid taxes to their King. One of these, was River Cut. It was a small village, and had been governed by only the local magistrate, the priest and men loyal to the magistrate himself. So it had been run in all the years that it had taken for tales of the silver ouroboros to become fable and night time stories, and until five years ago. On that date, a visiting entourage of distant royalty had visited River Cut and asked for their hospitality for a short time. The visiting Lord had arrived with his sister and a small handful of servants, asking for lodging until their ship could be repaired at the coast. Of course the local magistrate was eager to befriend some distant island, knowing it would put him in favor with Satori's king and welcomed in this small troope with open arms. He introduced them to his daughter and even the city council. Who could have predicted that in a years time, the visiting Lord would still be in River Cut and wed to the Magistrates daughter. Who could have predicted that in two years time, the daughter and the Magistrate would be dead, and the visiting Lord would be in power. Who could have known, that the visiting Lords sister, was Cricket herself..and the visiting Lord had not been husband to the magisgtrates daughter..but to Cricket. It had been a master plan..one that would secure a safe place for her children..one that had worked so perfectly for so long, that perhaps she and Lucas had grown complacent. They had thought as long as they paid the Kings taxes, he would never visit so far on the edge of his realm..that the King would never even look twice at the tiny town of Riiver Cut. They had been wrong. The King had come, and the King was no fool. He ordered an investigation into the towns finances, into the death of the Magistrate, and in the end, all that Cricket and her husband Lucas had built, would be destroyed. Lucas would be dead, and Cricket, her children and what remained of their servants, would be hidden away in the Mage Kyslith Darkstone's tower..the only safe place there was. There would be a price on her head...the posters depicting her with her dark hair piled regally atop her crown..and boasting her name as Lady Criquet DeViper. Her charges of treason, theft, murder and grand larceny were enough to write her death warrant. Needless to say...Cricket stayed far away from River Cut these days. She had spent the last two years locked up in Kysliths tower, venturing out only occassionally, when the walls felt like they were closing in. Normally she would leave for a day or two, but rarely was she apart from her children for longer than that. How long had she been gone this time? ...Long enough that Aloysius had had to come looking for her. It was to be sure, that Cricket would have never come to Point Thornbridge, had she known that the Kingdom of Satori had this town in their sights. She had felt safe here only because it was under no royal thumb...but of course she had never expected to get mixed up with the likes of the silver ouroboros. Tales of it had been passed parent to child for many years, and though Cricket had heard of it..at least read of it...might even remember it was related to Satori..(for their own emblem had been the viper)..there had been no time for this all to mesh together. She simply had other things to worry about than the price on her head..which was had in more places than Satori. She had Always, had a price on her head somewhere. As soon as she had seen the glitter of silver in the hand of the lead Brown Wolf, she had made her decision and acted for ill or good. She knew where the best chance for getting out of this layed. Hiding, was no longer an option. Unfortunately, it would not save Aloysius. He would make his own decision and fate would have its way. Meg would never forgive her. Her cloak billowed behind her as an even stride brought her out into the street. She did not look directly at the men in brown, and what she observed was only out of the corner of her eye. It made her heart fall, but there was no outward sign of it. Her direct gaze was on the carriage and the men that took up their positions around it. She was not privvy to the sight of anyone entering the inne..the carriage blocked the view..but she was fully observant of the driver of the carriage laying down his reins and picking up his crossbow to aim in her direction. Her steps halted abruptly, leaving her in the middle of the street. A cock of her cowl draped head as if she were observing this with curiousity, and then her arms spread outward in a smoothe sweep, one hand still holding her cane, and with a graceful ease, she bowed acquiscance to that deadly aim. She rose smoothly from her bow, and slowly set her canes silver tip to the cobbles between her feet. She stood there silently, unmoving and no apparent threat to the carriage and their men. She could assume who it was..(some part of her refusing this knowledge and screaming that it wasnt possible..Liam could NOT be here) and what they were here for..and strangely enough, there was some concern in her for Lyall..and a lot lof it for Aloysius. Gods...it might already be too late for all of them. All of these internal thoughts and struggles and fears did nto show upon her person. They were privately held in the back of her mind, and on the outside, she seemed calm and even somewhat amused at this stand off. If not for the shadow that fell across her face, the tick of a smile might have been seen as one of the Men in Brown called out that they were here for "Him". She wondered what would be the response or if any would come at all. She was sure..that the moment the men in brown came forward to collect their Mr. A...the soldiers were going to have their attention turned. She had but to appease the holder of that crossbow by remaining where she was and making no offense for the moment. Until what, Cricket..until what? The men in brown were no threat to her right then...though as her head slowly turned her gaze toward them, she felt a clutch at her stomach for Aloysius and at her ear was the sigh of the dead. What help was there now? Just as slowly as her gaze had turned to the men in brown, did it return to the carriage and the positioned men near it. The wind caught at the hem of her cloak, that the only movement of her person. Let it come then..let it come any way it would. Her chin lifted. She had done nothing wrong (well, very little wrong) against the Stags or Liam or even Bain. She would not carry herself as if she had.
He shifted his weight as he watched the box disappeared from sight. He had given his oath verbally but had the man intended him to place a hand on the silver object within the box like a hand on the Bible? Perhaps if he had, he would have said as much. But something about the lackeys' uneasiness around the object made him thankful he hadn't, there was just something about it that didn't feel right. Looking into the face of the man with the permanent grimace directly, he nodded as he answered the question. "Aye that is all I ask."It wouldn't absolve him if any were harmed but it was something that would lessen the guilt just by his asking should anything happen. Violence was always a means to an end but not always called for. He was at heart a peaceful man and shunned violence when it wasn't necessary. In this case he hoped it wasn't necessary.
It was then, he was barely aware of something happening in front of the Inn. The carriage he had heard clattering stood parked blocking the view of the front door. The driver he saw was aiming a crossbow at a cloaked and cowled figure. The face was hidden by cowl and shadow so it impossible to see , but the stance of the individual was familiar. That and the cane. Only his lips moved to form her name.Cricket. Now that he had found her, what was he to do? He knew that to alert the other men of her close proximity if they hadn't already seen her, could mean putting her in deeper danger then she already found herself but not to do something wouldn't save her either. No, he would have to see what would happen next and watch for an opportunity, should one present itself.
He hoped and prayed he could act quick enough and that the crossbow bolt would not find its mark in Cricket. The very last person he wanted to see cut down was her. For a very brief moment, Meg, Laura, and the children came to mind and hardened his resolve. Should he simply run, grab Cricket by the hand and run with her out of town? That was one possibility but that would make for two targets for the bowman and as he had to be the lesser, perhaps even more expendable, it would likely be him who received the bolt. And for all he knew, his new ally had a concealed weapon like a knife, that he would sooner plant in his retreating back himself for breach of oath. No, there had to be a better alternative.That and only a distraction would make for success. There had to be an alternative. But what?
Anxiously he watched for the scene to play out before him. It was hard for him to remain still, his muscles tensed, ready for action. His left hand, his sword hand twitched slightly in nervous anticipation. If need be, he could draw his sword rather in a hurry to defend himself or even those close at hand. But he rather doubted the men in brown hardly needed his protection and that was just as well, he could use his sword skills for Cricket.
After treading worn stairs and hard floor one of the carriage companions turned sharply at the doorframe occupied by Bainbridge Martin. The Black gave the companion the road, moving back in to the room before aligning himself perpendicular to the Collector, a few feet in front of the seated man. Bain drew himself up, tall, and assumed a stance not unlike that of a man at attention. Quiet feet forwarded another man to the room, following in the wake of the sentinel, who now occupied a position near the window where he appeared to take watch over the street below. He spoke evenly and calmly. “Padraig déanta suas an crossbow.” Bain did not flinch.
The door frame of the inn room seemed to fill with shade as the carriage’s contents rounded a much less militant turn to halt. Lean and lithe, his officer’s coat leant more meat to his bones than truly existed. His hands were put before him, left holding the right. Sharp, lupine-like blue eyes, distant and cold, dissected the scene before him in a most attentive manner. Details, one might assume, were not lost on the man. Bain’s voice broke the short silence. “Mr A, an Bhailitheora, an Seabhac.” Bainbridge repeated himself. “Mr. A., The Collector, The Hawk.”
A pause seemed to freeze the very dust in the air prior to a voice rising. The traveler spoke, chords in his throat creating the sounds of tones laced with whiskey and smoke, of direction and a particular sense of foundation. “Lord William O’Maoil Eoin. I would say well met…” The man let the introduction hang as he parted his hands and moved further in to the room, shadow falling to the window's light, revealing what would appear to be a cavalry officer. “You will suffer yourself to feel my hands.” Those words were not leveled without intent, and soon the Hawk would find himself under the close scrutiny of the Lord’s senses.
Liam was not too swift, indeed, he was like a physician as he removed his gloves and tucked them to one of two belts. Bare hands were strong. Left ring finger bore a silver signet ring imbued with none other than an “M”. The right counterpart displayed a curious, tiny scene of flora and fauna. He was methodical in his assessment of the captive fellow, leaving nothing so small as a pin to elude him, careful at the junctions of arm and wrist, of leg and ankle. Hands met not the face, and a little nick at the nape was not overlooked. In fact, a small kerchief was produced from within his coat, a bit of water added by way of wash basin near the window, and a dab to clean away a bit of dried blood. The kerchief disappeared back in to the safety of the officer’s coat.
The Lord had drawn steady breaths, inhaling the Hawk’s scent. Eyes drank in the make of the Collector’s clothing and the level of cleanliness portrayed at that moment. Fingertips had felt out bone structure beneath flesh and muscle. For a moment the two men had become quite intimate. Words were formed once more.
“I represent the interest of he that has not received an item overdue, a relic of sorts, a soul-stealer. I implore you join me and discuss how we might correct this shortcoming. To do so you shall swear it that no offensive measures shall be taken against myself or my contingent. In turn I shall swear the same of mine to you. What say you, Mister A?”
In more than one manner Liam put terms before a man that was unable to naturally see the outcome of the future before them. The Lord had spoken from behind the seated gentleman, and remained there for now.
Outside the winds of change may be blowing, however, the Lord’s associates remained like statues in a storm.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Apr 1, 2011 12:16:56 GMT -5
That so many pieces of a chess game should come together at one junction was unprecedented. The men in brown lead by Jyger, conscience of their promise to Aloy, only took a short study of Cricket. Besides matching the description of the woman last seen with their employer, it was clear she was not in his company and, also being at this location, could likewise hope to find him here. Jyger was a fighter, he was bold but most importantly, he'd made peace with the act of dying. With the man not reacting to his words, he glanced at his men, at Aloy, and lifted his hand to signal that they not come with him. He alone stepped up to the door of the inn. He looked over his shoulder as though to discern whether or not the man with the crossbow would mean to give him entrance and, deciding to step in he opened the door. Once he was inside, it was clear that there was quite a congregation. He did not leap up the stairs or demand of any person answers. Instead, he waited at the bottom of the steps. It could have been that all the tension was on an unrelated affair, however... in the time that he had worked for Mr. A there had been few moments that upheaval could not be credited to him. Jyger was not invited to wherever it was his employer was. He could only say that he knew the man was alive and that he was somewhere nearby. The multifaceted, highly talented Mr. A. When he's examined closely there are little details that can be recognized. For one, his age is easier to access. Perhaps thirty, or so. His hair was black without a hint of grey but the hairline was receding in a sharp V caused by his already present Widow's Peak. It was difficult to tell if his nationality made his skin tan or if it was from travel. Certainly not work. The skin sometimes appeared stretched tight over his face, his high cheekbones that were like a shelf to his face. These details were all minute and perhaps mildly interesting. Another detail, perhaps something a surgeon's hands would know, was that the body was not his own. Somehow the man had taken it and over time, slowly, the flesh was reconstructing itself to look like his former face and body. What Liam saw now was not unlike how he would have looked. The face that this hand not been his original form would have surprised no one that knew how little he held sacred and what he would no sacrifice for the next oddity in this world. It was to be pitied, then, that such a man should have so many unique experiences and not enjoy them. Mr. A expected a colder reception. Perhaps it was misleading that Liam's inspection partially insinuated caring. Honestly, though, he'd been tied to the chair so long he was welcoming anything which promised him a reprieve from it. It wasn't dignified to be introduced to someone while partially clothes and tied to a chair but it was far from optional. Then there it was, mention of that cursed thing which had never given him the payment which he wanted. Liam's desire to still have the item, however, was a source of interest for him. It had been meant to be delivered as a gift and not a soul eater. Naturally, his lord was meant to fall victim to a glittering charm. He had promised only to locate such an item and deliver it. Such a contract never stipulated that the receiver be unaware of its nature. Mr. A might just succeed after all. "It was returned to my home a few days ago. It isn't with me." A man like him didn't readily share information he didn't want known. It was the truth as far as Mr. A was concerned. He suspected that Jyger and the others might come if they could find him. He would not have guessed, however, that Jyger would take the wretched Ouroboros with him when he left. "I have no desire to offend you or your contingent, though I would like to rise and dress myself," which was also true, this entire episode had been a distraction from his true intent, "But if I must swear, I swear." Liam wasn't a fool and Mr. A was not a man that placed his honor on his word. After all, he represented none other than himself so the consequence for good or bad behavior could only be an inflicting outside force and even then that was to say that an outside force cared enough to slap his hand.
Indeed the chess game that was here played out was a complicated one, and one in which no player could know the outcome. If anyone had the upper hand at the moment, it was the soldiers that now held their position in front of the inne. Cricket slowly dragged her sight from the carriage driver that held such a steady aim upon her, and lifted black eyes to the window of Bains room.
Perhaps the light reflected off the murky panes lent no solid identification of who stood there, looking down, but Cricket was sure there was someone doing just that.
Her eyes fell to Jyger as his motion drew her attention, and though she moved not from her stance, a single brow lifted as her gaze tracked Jyger in his walk toward the inne. The man was either very brave, or very stupid, and though sight of him was cut off by the carriage itself, she would have been surprised if he made as far as the Inne door, much less inside. This of course was simply assumption on her part, for she knew not the business between Mr. A and the Stags in the first place, nor who the true receiver of the silver ouroboros was supposed to be. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, but she did know, that an entourage such as this..would not have shown up simply because of her. No..there was much more afoot here than her speaking someones name. It made her a bit nervous, for if her part in this were truly a small one, then she could conceivably be irradicated to prevent her from becoming a larger one. As for Aloysius..her eyes cut to him but once to insure he was staying right where he was. She was not in need of his sword, despite his assessment of her situation. She would have no sooner challenged these soldiers, than she would have pitched herself off of a high cliff. It was suicide. Her only chance at living longer, and well, was now in the hands of whomever commanded this troope and his willingness to either dismiss her, or hear her out.
She was not sure that if it were Liam, that this would help or hinder her.
She would soon find out either way, but for now, she could do no more than wait patiently in the street, with her gaze shifting between the men in brown and the soldier that so steadily kept the crossbow trained up on her. She never once expected it to swing away, even when the lead brown wolf approached. No..there were other soldiers to handle him. She was kept under a steady line of sight. She had no concern that a slip of the finger or a tired holding arm would release that bolt prematurely. No..that soldier was well trained with his weapon, and she had no doubt, he had full control of the trigger and would retain it even if he had to hold the crossbow aloft for a long while. Her eyes felt at ease, shifting from that soldier, to the second story window above..and the question of, who was inside.
To say he was anxious would have been an understatement. In his day, he had seen war but anticipating an attack was no comparison to what he felt now. He watched the standoff between Cricket and the bowman remaining where he stood as the upraised hand had commanded pondering the various outcomes and his options for actions.
One thing he reasoned was that someone was likely to fall despite the promise made. In situations such as this it was inevitable, or so had been his experience. There was the off chance he could be wrong but years in the King's guard had ingrained into him to make the worst possible assumptions of any given situation.
He glanced at the lackeys thinking he had to chance something, anything. "I will return shortly, I wish to speak with that woman over there." He indicated Cricket with a point of hi finger.
He could only pray the lackeys wouldn't try and stop him. Taking a bold step, he began to walk over to where Cricket stood noticing her attention on the second story window of the Inne. He could make out a figure on the other side of the dirty pane but not the face of the observe judging it to be male of respectable build. Apparently The faceless observer held as much interest in Cricket as she had in him. Or rather the carriage, he corrected himself.
It was becoming clear, the magnitude of whatever business Cricket had involved herself and for a brief second he wondered if she knew herself. Whatever was happening, it was culminating here at the Inne. A quick glance was given the bowman, noting the rigidity of his pose but he knew if need be or provoked the man's finger wouldn't' hesitate to let fly the bolt.
As he halved the distance he suddenly held a thought that made him stop suddenly. Would Cricket even speak with him or even acknowledge him? She had not shown any sign she recognised him nor had she attempt to garner his attention either. Again he was in motion and as he drew close syill he took the chance of her shunning him. Raising a hand in friendly gesture, he spoke loudly to be heard. "Begging your indulgence madam...Might I have a word with you?" No sooner had the words left his mouth he briefly questioned the wisdom of his actions. A browncoat breached the protective perimeter established by the carriage contingent. He was afforded safe passage, it would seem, beyond the hovering aim of the carriage driver and his deadly crossbow. It was not until the browncoat neared the inn’s door that the carriage doorman raised his voice to alert the sentinel placed at the stairs’ lowest reach. “An mac tíre luaidhe.” The tone of those words indicated a sense of immediacy. The response by the posted guard was not immediate, for the browncoat had not broached the door frame just yet, but once he did a series of swift motions was intended to address the situation.
The once rider’s wide brimmed hat moved not as he turned, but his cloak, having been cast over his shoulders, was altered in its drape as leather-clad arms sent his short lance in to action. The tip, a needlepoint before leaf-like spade, was lowered. The shaft came to near horizontal perfection with the floor so as to avoid a typical low guard taken to drive away such long arms. Left foot lead a heave of weight, and behind it torso furthered the energy that coursed in to shoulders as it was forwarded all the way to fingertips. The steel head was thrust outward, followed by its strong, wooden, black-painted staff.
The gap between the browncoat and the guard was closed, the weapon sent forth to meet clothing first, flesh next, where it buried deep between uppermost rip and collarbone, disabling the left arm. As the guard drove through the thrust he drove the browncoat to the ground, right hand keeping the lance engaged while the left separated to deflect against any defense before his knees could smash down on the man’s chest, driving from his lungs his breath. Now atop the browncoat in a mere blink he was able to pin the right arms with his left knee, the opposite remaining at the chest. The brachial nerve was crushed, rendered incapable of providing the blood necessary to fuel a reply. The assailant drew hard eyes over the browncoat while he produced from his waist a long, thin knife, not unlike a stiletto.
Men were afforded choices, and in this instance, the darkly garbed protector did not outright take the life of the browncoat. The lance’s blade did not separate the vital heart, nor strike an artery. The stiletto did not puncture throat or temple. Instead, the grip of the weapon was used in conjunction with fist to strike until the browncoat lost consciousness. Finally, with adrenaline-fueled speech, he called toward open inn doorway, requesting further information from the driver. With the reply given he relayed the information toward the stairway in a louder voice.
Inside Bain’s rented room Liam took note of the reply given by the Collector. A small knife was produced, which cut the ties that bind, first at feet and then at hands. He was assisted by the Black who insured no harm would come of his master. Bainbridge had witnessed the Collector’s actions and was not remiss. Wrists were once more corded, those of the Collector, and the Hawk was helped to stand before being first allowed to walk of his own accord, second, forced if need be. Bain led the man from slightly behind and to the right, sure grip on the cord’s bite. Liam followed, and then the guard that had been watching the street from the window.
They wasted no time in making down the hallway, surely with intentions to re-enter the carriage, where outside the driver had adjusted his sights ever so slightly, weighing the crossbow’s bolt between the woman and the odd-man-out that approached their direction.
Downstairs the sentinel was already moving the browncoat’s body to the side, his thin knife tucked away before doing so. He was incredibly efficient and though the browncoat’s fellow were not witness to the would-be deadly use of force, they would have known by way of scent that blood was spilled had they been near enough to exercise their sense of smell. He spoke once more as he exited the inn, the lance’s blade wiped clean upon the fallen.
“Ullmhaigh an mbealach.”
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Jun 12, 2011 21:59:10 GMT -5
Allegiance was a complicated concept. Some groups of men had a very clear sense of who they were to be aligned with and what their direction was. Other times, it became complicated. Questions arose as to whether loyalty was to a country, ideal, person or code of ethics. For the men in brown, it was to an idea. The man named Mr. A was not so much concerned with his well being as he was the survival of his ultimate goal. The ink that could create should be the best scribe in the world and to that, nothing else mattered. The men in brown were not even strictly loyal to one another. Aloy seemed to think he needed their permission still, even after such a vow. When he spoke to them only one of them turned his head to look at him, blinked as though he didn't understand the problem, nod and then look back to the carriage. The men had known that Aloy claimed to have known her and needed to settle some debt and to this... they were not so concerned. Jyger had not expected that he would make it to the door without a word of protest, but the sound of it came later. He didn't understand the language, so he wasn't sure if the man was warning him that he was unwise, or warning him that he was endangering himself by going in. When he met the guard there he withdrew slightly. He did not expect the immediate brutality of the attack and so it was he landed on a knee, holding his arm. When he was struck unconscious it did not occur to him immediately that it had happened. He found himself sitting in a dark place and when he recognized it, the realization that he was far away from his body dawned. He wondered how his employer was fairing. He wondered if the others kept the promise to Aloy. His mind tried to collect and understand the situation as he felt himself wake back up in his fingertips first. Jyger could have stirred an hour later after the incident or five minutes. For him, it was instantaneous. All the men in brown were aware that Jyger carried the Silver Ouroboros and that, between all of them, no one had worked as long as he for the collector. When he went inside the inn they adjusted only so that they could view the door. This repositioned them behind Aloy and Cricket, who they seemed to regard in a neutral way. It was not so hard to keep Aloy's promise, half of the time it just required that the not take note of him. He was, however, sworn to their cause and because of that, they expected him to survey the situation in much the same way they were. The men in brown were scarecrows that observed the situations.
Having Bain bound his hands was an immediate irritation for Mr. A. His eyebrows lowered and he showed his displeasure immediately, "Oh, I'm to help you now as your prisoner?" He didn't expect a reply. When Mr. A stepped to the bottom of the he blinked at the sight of his man. He had come quickly and though he should have expected it, it always surprised him to see him take appropriate action on his own without his instruction. Seeing Jyger on his side he called, quickly, "Wait." He did not know if Liam and Bain would listen, but the request was quickly made, "This man is mine." It surprised him that Jyger was fallen, he had not seen the man downed so quickly and to this end, he stopped suddenly, "What have you done?" He looked over his shoulder at Bain and suddenly, quite suddenly, his cooperative air had ceased. Mr. A's eyes were sharp and he insisted again, "Was this necessary?!" He was growing all the more unwilling to help them, still bound with one or his men quite injured. The Collector knew that Jyger probably had not attacked, at least, he never drew a weapon. The man named Mr. A was slowly becoming more and more wretched with the situation. The Collector did not enjoy the feeling that he was being treated as a dog and he did not enjoy the idea of replacing Jyger, whose pain he felt was a brutal point the other men demonstrated. It hurt his pride, it made ongoings inconvienent. He was hungry, tired and his irritation was a staggering monster. In his mind they had initially reached a pleasant agreement, he would give them the item, collect his pay from the other and they, in turn, would leave him alone. He was completely uninterested in being a tied up victim, uncomfortable, with his man being discarded in what he determined was an unreasonable way. To this end, the agreeable Collector was now a disgruntled captive. Lyall, the scribe, made a quick note, a quick drawing in his notebook of what he saw. There were not many great details because he was so far off. At first he had wanted to be closer but at seeing the conflict begin to rise and men adjust their positions, he was grateful he was far away. At last, he had found Cricket but now she was joined by someone he did not recognize, nor know he had been a long time player in the chess game.
Cricket was too far away from the inne to hear what went on inside, but she certainly noticed the subtle movement of the crossbow as Aloysius broke off from the group of wolves and began to approach her. She really was amazed at the man's audacity. Unfortunately, she could not entertain it, and she was angry that he would risk revealing their kinship in front of all eyes. She did not intend to cooperate. They were both safer if everyone thought them strangers or enemies. So it was, she treated his approach as she would have any of the other men in brown.
As soon as his steps began to close the distance between them, the hands upon her cane twisted opposite ways, and with a swift jerk, the blade hidden within was unsheathed and pointed directly at the approaching Aloysius, and without taking her eyes off the archer that now varied his aim between the two.
It was a risk she had to take.. for herself, and Aloysius. She was counting on the carriage driver's training to stay his bolt and not shoot without good cause. If he wanted her dead she would be so already. Slowly did her head turn toward Aloysius, who if he was wise, had halted in his tracks. He was close enough to catch her eye... and she hoped he understood what she was doing. She never once thought he had "joined up" with the wolves. She could easily see what he had done had been to find her. She hoped he had the same insight, that what she was doing now, was protecting them both.
The thin, extremely sharp blade she held pointed at Aloysius was painted on the end, the ichor upon it quite visible and it was safe to believe that even a scratch would kill. Her voice rose, clear enough to be heard by all that listened. "Approach me not, Wolf. Thee will find my blade or the bolt that is aimed just now at thine head," and of course she would call him a Wolf...she wanted them all to believe he had joined up with the men in brown. It benefited her at the moment..and it may benefit her later. How she planned on getting him out of it, was for anyone to guess.
She hoped he got the hint and backed up..and continued his little wolf masquerade because he was seriously risking true injury if that driver holding the crossbow found him a threat and she would have to explain it to Meg. Her earlier plan had been squashed..but that didn't mean she hadnt plotted another. What was happening at the same time inside the inne was not known to her..but even in the midst of her own confrontation, she noticed the pawing of the horses and the toss of their heads. They were a better indication that they were about to leave than the soldiers who never changed their stance. She could not see what went on inside the inne... the carriage blocked any view, but there was no longer a shadow at the second floor window and something in her gut told her that things were about to happen.
Cricket's address of 'Wolf' was unexpected and had he been of an impulsive nature, he would have questioned her choice of words aloud. With her blade drawn, he had instinctively taken hold of the pummel on his own, ready to draw in self defense. The standoff between Cricket and the bowman had now become one between the two of them. As she had hoped, he stopped suddenly staring at her. He closely studied her blade seeing the tip tarnished with something dark and ominous looking and discretion being the better part of valor, took two steps back. This situation presented a quandary within a quandary. How to rectify what painfully was obviously a mistake made on his part. She knew him well enough, she wouldn't think him a turncoat but rather to make him appear as such to others defining his role in the grand scheme of things.
He stood his ground, debating the best course of action. Glancing briefly at the bowman, he saw that the man's aim had shifted ever so slightly and as Cricket had so boldly pointed out, the bolt now aimed at his head. Pushing his sword it back into its scabbard, he then raised both hands in a gesture to dispel any perception he was a threat. He couldn't see how he could simply turn around and walk away explaining the incident as a case of mistaken identity because he had already told the men in brown he was searching for her to settle a debt, a piece of information he was certain would not be forgotten. But to proceed and carry on would mean either falling as a target for the bowman or meeting with Cricket's blade,neither of which was a preferred choice. No, it was better to play the role of enemy rather than friend because that was apparently how she wanted it played...for the moment.
He, too, had noticed the horses and like Cricket was expecting something to happen. What was unclear but considering the culmination that had formed at the Inne it would be no small matter. “Appearances must be made,” retorted the Lord in reply to the Collector’s comment regarding having his hands bound once more. The words were given in an extremely unnatural state, as if quite common, sterile, and void of emotion or much consideration. When spoken, those words were accompanied by a wayward glance to the Hawk. Liam’s brow was smooth, but a more close inspection might uncover the odd clench of muscles at eyes’ outermost reaches where crow’s feet had formed over time’s march.
Once down the stairs it was of no surprise to the men accompanying the Lord that he did not in the least react with annoyance nor implicate his fellows in unsuitable conduct given the man now lying flat on the floor. Without question the sentinel spoke in that ancient language. “Tá níos mó i fanacht taobh amuigh. Dealraíonn sé seo ar cheann a threorú.” The Lord paused the caravan of men, reflecting for a flash prior to a verbal response. “Más rud é nach bhfuil sé maslach é a fhágáil ar a comhaltaí.” The implications were dire. If the browncoat had been in the least aggressive he might have found his life withdrawn from the mortal world. Not so, though, and thus, the sentinel would do no more than to set the unfortunate man on his side, in a position suitable to sustain breathing and circulation, that he may yet rise at a later time.
For perhaps the good of the Collector the Lord spoke in a more common tongue. “Perhaps innocent, your man must not deserve death.” The actions of the sentinel had been weighed, for less than a transgression deserving of finality would surely have resulted in a quick and efficient dispatch.
Liam lifted from his sides his hands, making quick work to remove his officer’s coat. It was soon placed upon another, wrapping closely although it did not sustain the import of arms to occupy sleeves. The Collector was now awash in black with silver trappings, exposing the Lord’s foremost weapon at his right side and revealing his preference in digital dealings. Among his other weapons, though unseen by the Collector, was a blade, sheathed, between the length of a hunting knife and short sword, which occupied a place at his lower back, cant made to produce a most swift draw towards the floor.
Sentinel first, the Collector next, Bainbridge Martin, the Lord, and another guard. They ushered in to the light, bringing with them no semblance of the stark activities completed within the confines of the inn.
Soon, if all was to plan, as it rarely was, the Collector would be stowed across from the Lord, inside of the carriage, and the company would be on their way to complete a matter of business. The sentinels would assist the Collector in entering the carriage, to his pleasure or not, but they were careful to keep up certain appearances. Liam, however, stopped in the roadway to regard the gathering and stragglers before him. He called out, in a level and sure voice.
“Shebali, tá do séan ar ard. Let not the dogs nip your heels.” With his address complete he turned toward the carriage and began the actions necessary to enter the vessel. The party was at high alert, and they tightened their defensive circle that their companions could easily mount and join an imminent departure.
The doorman climbed on board, retaking the weapon relinquished some time ago, though the crossbow’s bolt barely altered would be course when exchanged.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, Aloysius StClaire and Liam OMaoileoin))
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Post by Lyall British on Jun 12, 2011 22:10:58 GMT -5
"Appearances? For who in the Hell are we keeping appearances? For the maybe...five hundred to a thousand pointless nobodies that live in this town?" The situation was obviously not within Mr. A's control, which no man with his level of drive or greed ever desired. The Collector had been wasting time. The wolves, the scarecrows planted behind Cricket and Aloy who observed saw their employer come out. Their chins lifted up in unison and it was as though an invisible string uniting them had been pulled. When Mr. A saw them with Cricket and a stranger he cut a half smile and his lips moved but he didn't speak. The action was quick but he clearly mouthed something in their direction. Whether they understood or not was unclear because they continued to watch as he was loaded up in the carriage. Only one of them was distracted by looking towards the inn door. As the carriage made its depart the man that had looked toward the inn splintered off from the others and stood in the threshold, one hand holding the door open and the other on the frame. He looked over his shoulder and whistled. The others looked between each other and eventually one stepped forward to join him. If any interpretation of the situation could be made it would be said that Jyger's health was now a burden to them. The men carried him out, him placing an arm over each of their shoulder's. At first, he didn't appear to be bleeding but the smell and the appearance of his clothes being wet was growing apparent. As they walked his hat fell off and it was as though he had quit becoming one of Mr. A's men. His hair was peppered and receding somewhat, there was a scar just above his hairline that was cut as long as finger. By the time they had gone five yards from the inn, the motion and pain had shaken him awake. His eyes went wide with confusion and then, seeing his present company, they became dull. Their organization and behavior was not to be confused with that of Liam and Bain, who were clearly marked with a military hierarchy. However, some sort of understanding was between them all because when one of the others took on the role that Jyger had, there was no complaint or upset. Cricket and Aloy were now in their company and the two men holding Jyger regarded them before looking to one of the other men in brown. He was harder to define from Jyger, closer in age with the others and without any readily distinguishing marks. The way they dressed was no uniform though it bore heavy similarities. If someone took the time to discern what it was about him that appeared different from the others it would have been that his items on his person were arranged differently, as they are on any left handed person. "I see you have found your debtor." The man said to Aloy, looking between him and the woman, "but you have also not finished your obligation to us." This man spoke with a finer, detached tone. He looked towards the dust that was in the wake of the carriage. He could hear Jyger trying to breath and it sounded like a wet cough in his throat. Their employer was always weighed by the many trinkets he collected and either he was electing not to use them or they were not on his person. His attention went back to Cricket and Aloy. The man nodded to one of the others and looked towards the inn and he proceeded to return inside and go up the stairs. "We must leave this city. Our vow is preventing everything." It wasn't just the promise, there was also the matter of the parties of interest being removed. The new leader of the group looked towards the inn and nodded towards it. One of the other's took the signal as a command and went to the building and scaled up the steps. The nature of what occurred was more clear then. There were items and markings on the floor and the blankets and pillows of the bed were disturbed. When he went to the bed he recognized some of the benign items that Mr. A had generally always taken with him but not the ones more serious. Not the Golden Travelers. Not the key. Those would have been the best items, considering his position. He took up what was there, be it an item Lyall, Bain or Mr. A had left behind. It could have even been discarded trash. Sometimes the items of interest their employer collected could look like nothing more than discarded rubbish. The grand total wasn't much and, lacking what he was hoping to find, he stepped outside and shook his head "no." Jyger coughed and it spilled red down the front of him. The new leader looked to Aloy and spoke to him quickly. It was clear that when he spoke, he was referencing what had been mouthed towards them earlier, "Our employer is being taken home, there is much to do. You may take the woman with whom you need to settle business with if you must, but our employer is now priority." He did not give Aloy much area for debate. After all, they had honored their agreement to him as a grievous cost. The two men carrying Jyger looked down the road of where they had to go. The man was named Johnaton, though he had no introduced himself. He spoke to the air, "We're going to need horses." His eyes went tot he others and he stepped over to Jyger, where he removed three items from him. First was the box which held the Silver Ouroboros. Second was the money he had been carrying. Third was a palm-sized piece of metal. His gaze went to Aloy and he tossed the bag of money towards him. "You. Acquire the horses. Since the woman is of your business, we won't be keeping her, that will be your responsibility. We are short on time," he spoke more for Aloy's benefit because the man was not in the alliance of nods and whistles, "and we must not fall too far behind. Perhaps he will take them the long way." There must have been a reason he trusted Aloy with their money and an important task-- to break what he had sworn must have had more substance than words. Johnaton turned and called. It wasn't a yell, shout or demand, but his voice carried long and clear, "Lyall." But Lyall did not answer. He hid with his journey tucked to his chest, standing flush against the wall and worrying the corner of his lips with his teeth. He just... no, he just couldn't step forward. Those men, he was pretty sure, wanted to kill him. But what about Cricket? It gave him pause. He could not hear what was going on, nor did he know his employer was being abducted. He saw much action and because the wolves were moving he knew that something was going on. Whenever they showed up something was always going on. The Collector was wasting time. During his entire imprisonment he had been wasting time. It started with being petty and emotional and all of it had clouded his thoughts. He was wasting time it and it was now time that he collected himself. Sitting in the carriage, he felt dwarfed by the black and silver wrapped around him like a boy wearing his father's coat. His eyes went out the window and he said in shallow, low tones, "Go north on this road." He assumed that they wanted to go to his home where the item was waiting. The men in brown were set into motion. To go to his home was to bring the battle into territory he knew and with that thought established, the Collector felt a great deal better about his situation.
As the seconds ticked by, Cricket became more and more irritated by the fact that she could do nothing but stand there. The crossbow insisted she do nothing but. She respected the owner of said weapon, for he had a job to do in protecting his superior and he would do so at his own peril, but it was increasingly hard not to be aggravated at the situation. She could not see who was put into the carriage, only the shift of it on its springs as someone was. This barely had time to register, before Liam showed himself in full, and her doubt it was him evaporated. His words came clearly enough..and she understood them well enough, to leave her with an arched brow of surprise, but a respectful bow from the waist with fingers touching her forehead and extending toward him as she rose in thanks. She watched with not a little relief, the departure of said carriage and all those it might contain though that crossbow refused to lower, preventing her desire from getting to the inne before the men in brown. Her look of irritated indignance at this followed the carriage and the soldier who held the crossbow, until it at last was no longer a threat. By then however, the men in brown were already in the Inne, and her jaw tightened as she watched them carry a bleeding and unstable Jyger out of it. Bloody fool, she thought..shouldn't have gone in there. Unhampered now by the threat of a bolt through her chest, she still had not moved from her place and instead watched with a growing interest in the way that one of the men in brown took everything from the injured Jyger, and suddenly took on his command too. Black gypsy eyes narrowed slightly and her thoughts snapped through her head like lightning as he called for Lyall. Could he still be here? ..and where if not in the inne? ..and why had Lyall left Mr. A yet again? So many questions..but none as important as one. Where was the Ouroborous? If that glimpse of silver she had seen had been the bracelet..and she was not sure it was..then that meant this new leader now had it upon his person. It also meant, that Liam had not already gotten it..and was likely on his way to do so. Oh, how rich it was, to think that it was right here all along... and could be now in her possession.
She wanted to go home..and to her children..but there was unfinished business with the golden traveler..and there was the problem of Aloysius..and now..there was temptation. The bag of coins had been tossed to Aloysius, and the command given him to find horses, but Cricket saw it only distractedly. Her attention, was on this new alpha wolf..and black eyes were glittering as the corners of her mouth curled into a slow smile. She turned to Aloysius then, who had been standing as she had, watching the departure of the carriage and all the soldiers with it and closed the distance between them. She did not stop however, but brushed by him with a bare brush of shoulder and a hushed and single word that was for his ears alone. "follow". Cricket headed in the direction of the town stables. If she had one advantage, it was that no one was taking her as a threat at the moment..and that was just the way she liked it. They wanted Aloysius to get horses..he would get horses, and if she had anything to do with it, the new lead wolf was soon not going to need one.
The bag jangled loudly as he caught it, the sound testimony to the fact it held a goodly amount of coin. Hefting it a couple of times, he judged the actual amount to more than enough to pay for the needed number of horses with coin enough to spare. Cricket's brush spun him about giving him a view of her retreating back. Her quiet commanding aire strongly demanded he not ask any questions or even dare to breathe a word to her.
Before she could get too far ahead, he jumped into motion following slightly off to one side and a step or two behind her. If she had something to say, she would say it when either the time was right or it suited her and until then he would remain quiet. He had made one mistake already and not wishing to feel her wrath by means of her cane sword,he wanted to live and see another day. Like Cricket, he hadn't seen either who it was bustled into the carriage but judging by the close knit activity he surmised it had to be someone of import in this little drama he'd found himself. Perhaps whoever was in the very center of it all or maybe in control. Whatever the explanation, the carriage was now the focal point of pursuit.
Once at the stables, Cricket would se a side of him few rarely saw. His demeanor took on a hard nearly unforgiving edge in dealing with the stable master. relatively his normal soft spoken manner took on an edginess to his tone of voice. He did not bicker over the price of the animals, insisting on the most robust and fastest available. To any who knew him, he would have appeared unnaturally demanding without compromise. But he had a job to do, however simple it seemed and he meant to do it well. There was a question of one horse who showed signs of a barely noticed limp. He grabbed the stable master by the wrist and took back five coins he had given him in payment.
"That one will go lame in less than a day. Give ne another and I just might forget how you tried to sell me an inferior animal." His voice was darker sounding then was usual and the scowl on his face contorted his features into an agry mask. If Meg had seen him at that moment, she would not believe him to be the gentle soul she knew. When the new horse was brought out, he briefly inspected the small herd they had acquired. All were in good health and good physical shape. Holding the leads in both hands he led the animals out of the stables and started walking bafk towardas the Inne. The instructions had simply been to get horses and he had dome exactly that. He looked around and through the small herd for Cricket to see that she was still with him. He gathered the horses together outside the Inne where the carriage had stood and waited The horses stood patiently as the riders chose their steed. Two were left over, one for him, the other for Cricket. Moving over toward her he held out the reins for her to take. "unless you prefer to walk." Leaning closer so as to whisper, he added, "You will have a goodly amount of explaining should we get ourselves out of this. Pray that we do" He released the reins as she took hold he moved away to mount the chestnut stallion reserved for his use. Once on the horse, he quietly murmured to himself. "The things I will do for love." Once Cricket was mounted on her horse, the two them were following the others. As they rode in mutual silence, he let his mind wander and thought about Meg, Laura, and the children. With Meg's reassurance, he knew the twins could sense Cricket was safe and still alive. He wanted to breach the subject and question Cricket about the situation but refrained from doing such. He undoubtedly incurred her wrath if not disappointment.
No. it would be best to operate on a need to know basid with Cricket dictating the what and when. So he jept his silence and his eyes on the road.
(( Rp exchange between Lyall British, Rogue Cricket, and Aloysius StClaire.))
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