He stepped off the plank to the stone of the quay with head high and eyes up, daring any to meet his gaze. A minor illusion covered Hethir's horns and lightened his features, rendering him merely exotic looking instead of fiendish. Michael walked beside him, and several of his more competent crew marched behind. Hethir cut an imposing figure as he strode into the city. He wore a red wool coat trimmed in silver that reached to his calves; brilliant silver chainmail gleamed on his chest, with a deeper red vest overtop. A single sea-green gem gleamed near his neck, affixed firmly to his armor. Loose woolen trousers and black travelling boots completed his ensemble. He looked almost like one of the nobles of the city, except that the chainmail he wore indicated he was far more serious. He also bore no weapon, which would greatly confuse any martially inclined individuals he spoke with. No noble ever went about without exercising their own right to bear weapons--typically as brightly polished and gem-ridden as possible--and that he did not would immediately draw more attention.
Michael stalked beside his captain. It really was the only word to describe his gait. Most mercenaries marched, they came from the army at one point or another. Those that didn't march sort of slouched around, a holdover--or perhaps continuation--of keeping attention from themselves as thugs and cutpurses.
Michael stalked beside his captain. It really was the only word to describe his gait. Most mercenaries marched, they came from the army at one point or another. Those that didn't march sort of slouched around, a holdover--or perhaps continuation--of keeping attention from themselves as thugs and cutpurses.
Michael on the other hand walked like a tiger stalking his prey, and from the large blade at his waist and the massive bow on his back, he looked like he intended to catch it.
The three sailors behind them were a bit cleaner than most sea-dogs in port, but otherwise were the picture of sailors on shore--they walked like drunkards and freely gawked at anything female that walked past. Any conversation they had was low, beyond the hearing of anyone more than a few feet away.
Hethir could hear Michael's and the three sailors' thoughts back and forth as they looked around. Two of them had never been to Tastrel, and were suitably impressed, the third had grown up in the shadows of the nobility's ivory towers and was less enthusiastic. Michael was--as usual--constantly analyzing the surroundings and passerby for any potential threats. He also had a habit of walking in a slightly weaving line that allowed him to catch glimpses behind him without it being too obvious.
Hethir found the process somewhat amusing, as he easily tracked all the minds around them, even through the walls and inside the buildings they passed. Still, having a cautious guard frequently made those observant enough to take note discount Hethir himself as paying attention. Watching as a mind bobbed doggedly to avoid Michael's sight was among the more amusing things Hethir had experienced.
They walked around ten minutes into the city center to find a likely place. Along the way Hethir had subtly dealt with two would-be pickpockets, and Michael had less-subtly dealt with a mugger with a poor choice in targets. Hethir was certain the blood would be cleaned up before the hour was out, the nobles were picky about that sort of thing.
One of the most prosperous inns in the city--possibly in any city, Hethir mused--was the Shattered Shield. It was built by a retired mercenary, and catered almost exclusively to them. Built after the fashion of a stockade, it had a sand-filled courtyard where the owner permitted his guests to spar or wrestle. But he expressly forbid any honor-duels and such nonsense; it was bad for business. As Hethir walked through the open gate into the courtyard, one such brawl was taking place. It was clearly a matter of amusement, as at least a dozen burly mercs stood around the perimeter hoisting drinks and laughing.
The two men were wrestling and boxing furiously, but Hethir couldn't tell what they were trying to accomplish. That is until one of the combatants managed to deliver a solid blow to his opponent's head. While he was stunned, the winner pushed him to his knees and bent him over until he seemed to be kowtowing. Then picked up a wooden sword that lay in the sand and smacked him with the flat of it, right across his ass. The fallen merc howled, and the rest of the audience roared with laughter. The sailors joined in the laughter, while Michael maintained his stoic tiger impression. Amidst the laughter, Hethir caught a higher note lilting over the rest of the coarse guffaws. Above them, the second floor of the inn had a balcony which ringed the courtyard, and seated alone at a table was a woman. Her dress was simple, but elegant. It lacked the rich embroidery and stones that always marked a noble of Tastrel, but that was more than made up for by the woman herself. From dainty, painted, toes to her perfectly braided and pinned hair, and all in between, she was the very image of perfection. But if one knew to look, you could see the hints of horns peeking through the braids of radiant black hair, and the fact that her eyes were just too dark, and her pupils too large. She caught sight of him only a moment later than he did, and her crystalline laugh filled the courtyard again. "Why my dear Captain! I did not know you to be in port!"
Hethir allowed himself a smile that looked just a trifle too feral, "Lady Valeras, I did not know you to set foot in Tristral."
"Of course not! that is what carriages are for, and sedan chairs, but you wouldn't know about that now would you Captain..."
A brief mental command to Michael and the sailors had them moving into the main room of the inn to look for possible hires, while Hethir walked around the courtyard to the area beneath the lady's balcony.
"Since you will not set foot in Tristral, I suppose you expect me to join you in the sky?"
The lady once again laughed, the sound more reminiscent of tinkling crystalware than a true laugh. "Why of course Captain, you have kept me waiting long enough!"
The magic bound to his feet warmed, and a slight current of air pushed away from him as his feet left the ground and he drifted gently up and over the second floor balcony to stand next to the lady's table.
"As always, a pleasure to see you Captain."
I would be so bold as to say the same Val, except that I find your presence in Tastrel awfully convenient.
The woman looked at him with a hint of a smirk on her face, and simply batted her eyelashes.
"You know that is terrible rude, not to respond to a lady when she greets you."
Hethir suppressed a sigh and bowed instead, "Sadly, I never bother to keep up with such matters; you must forgive me."
"Oh all is forgiven, you impossible man. Do sit down."
"My thanks, Lady," Now why are you here? Semantics aside you hate this city, or at least you did last we met.
"How has your man Michael been? He always was so very droll; has he managed to crack a smile yet?" When we last met was nearly three years ago. The least you could have done is write, much less used your vaunted powers.
"I'm fairly certain his face would in face crack if he tried, Michael never has been one for emotions, it makes him useful in many ways though."
Val, the last time I saw you was when you threw a knife at me--two in fact--why should I keep in touch with you after that? And you didn't answer my question anyway.
"Pity, you really must get yourself a better servant."
Hethir... I'm sorry...
For the first time, Val's eyes dropped to the table, Hethir stared blankly.
What? You've never apologized for anything, not since we first met! Val what is going on?
I... I got stuck with a bad crowd a few months ago... barely got out, but I'm almost certain they are coming after me... and possibly after you.
After me... What did you tell them Val?
I told them you were like me, only better, and you had men, a ship...I was trying to get you more work, but that was before things went sour, before I realized how deep their shit went. They are bad news. I pushed... and got an Impression that I could meet you here, so I've been waiting.
Hethir frowned, an Impression is what Val called her divinations--she didn't think they fit with the usual mages ideas of what they were supposed to do. Maybe they didn't, Hethir had never figured out the knack for them, like how she had never had his knack for telepathy.
These people... would their leader refer to himself as D?
Nine hells... they've already found you!
Four days ago, some kind of magical messenger, delivered me a parchment. At least now I know how they found out about me. You might have warned me that you were going to go around spreading rumours about me! I prefer my profile to be low; I don't work like you in case you've forgotten!
Hethir was almost certain she was playing him, but he could see the tears hidden in her eyes, and her eyelashes seemed to be batting a bit more often. He relaxed his mind, and opened it wide. Val's thoughts spilled out before him, like a table covered in letters. She was playing him, but not how he expected. She wasn't trying to get him to clean up her mess, she was trying to keep him out of it.
Too late now Val, I'm already in it.
She looked up at him sharply, and her mind slammed shut. Hethir could have fought her, but didn't bother, he had seen enough.
I told you never to do that to me again!
We aren't teenagers any more Val. We aren't the only ones like us around either, and you and I both know the stakes here. I had to be sure you were level with me.
The tears disappeared, but her lip had a slight quiver for a moment. You still don't trust me.
I didn't. I do now. You're terrified of these people Val, and I know you well enough to know you don't scare easily. If you're scared of them, then it means they are worth being scared of, and that means I need to know what you know about them.
I can't! They'll kill me!
Really? Then you know more than they meant you to? In that case... Oh hells...
One of the sailors had posted himself by the front door, watching for trouble, and had just sent a call to him. Three mercs had just gotten out of a deal room--special sealed offices the innkeeper had built for easing of sensitive negotiations--and were making their way towards the upper balcony. There weren't many people up there besides Val and Hethir, and the man they had been negotiating with was one he recognized. He was one of Val's former contacts.
What is it?
You were right, they are coming to kill you, I think we should deny them that option.
When? Where?
Now, here, three mercs are coming up the stairs. We're leaving.
Val stood quickly, nearly upsetting her chair, and turned towards the stairs just in time to see a merc step off the landing, crossbow raised. Hethir had watched their minds coming up the stairs, and was ready for them. The crossbow-wielding merc suddenly staggered and nearly dropped his weapon as agony coursed through his mind. Blood gushed from his mouth and nostrils and he struggled to keep his weapon. Val looked from the mercenary to Hethir with undisguised shock.
I've learned a few tricks since you last checked, Val.
The other two mercs pushed past their disabled compatriot and charged the two tieflings. Val pushed back with a psychic shout, and they stumbled.
Time to go, if you'll excuse me...
Without giving her time to respond, Hethir grabbed Val around the waist, pulled her to him and leapt back off the balcony. A sudden intake of breath was all she managed to get out, and then Hethir's magic shot them upwards, above the roof.
We'll be safe here for the moment. I'll let Michael finish things below.
As if on cue, there was a muffled cry from below them, followed by a heavy thud. A brief scuffle later, two more bodies hit the floor.
They have been silenced Captain.
Excellent, were you able to acquire any for ourselves before this ruckus began?
Yes, only three so far, but I do not think it is wise to stay longer.
Collect the men and head back to the ship. I will meet you there.
Aye
Hethir looked back to Val to find her glaring daggers at him. Now what?
"You nearly ruined my dress you fool, have you any idea how hard it was to get? This was one of the duchess of Norlan's favorites!"
Unable to help himself, Hethir just laughed, "You would be more interested in your clothes than your skin Val. Time to collect what you have left of them. We're getting out of Tastrel."
"Then go! I'll get myself scarce."
"Oh no, not after what you told me today...you're coming with me."
"Hells I am! I don't want to get mixed up in your problems too!"
It isn't as though you can stop me Val...
She threw up a mental barrier against him, but this time he brutally smashed it aside. Val made a quiet choking sound and would have fallen except that Hethir still held her against him. I'll make a trip to recover your things for you, but you're coming back to the Storm Hawk with me, and I am not such a gentleman that I won't force you.
Val just nodded, though he could sense the venom in her glance at his feet. And no more daggers; our allotment of violence has already been met this time.
This time, Val did meet his eyes, her countenance sly and calculating. "Then you should be careful... You have no idea how many I'm hiding under this dress..."
"As always, a pleasure to see you Captain."
I would be so bold as to say the same Val, except that I find your presence in Tastrel awfully convenient.
The woman looked at him with a hint of a smirk on her face, and simply batted her eyelashes.
"You know that is terrible rude, not to respond to a lady when she greets you."
Hethir suppressed a sigh and bowed instead, "Sadly, I never bother to keep up with such matters; you must forgive me."
"Oh all is forgiven, you impossible man. Do sit down."
"My thanks, Lady," Now why are you here? Semantics aside you hate this city, or at least you did last we met.
"How has your man Michael been? He always was so very droll; has he managed to crack a smile yet?" When we last met was nearly three years ago. The least you could have done is write, much less used your vaunted powers.
"I'm fairly certain his face would in face crack if he tried, Michael never has been one for emotions, it makes him useful in many ways though."
Val, the last time I saw you was when you threw a knife at me--two in fact--why should I keep in touch with you after that? And you didn't answer my question anyway.
"Pity, you really must get yourself a better servant."
Hethir... I'm sorry...
For the first time, Val's eyes dropped to the table, Hethir stared blankly.
What? You've never apologized for anything, not since we first met! Val what is going on?
I... I got stuck with a bad crowd a few months ago... barely got out, but I'm almost certain they are coming after me... and possibly after you.
After me... What did you tell them Val?
I told them you were like me, only better, and you had men, a ship...I was trying to get you more work, but that was before things went sour, before I realized how deep their shit went. They are bad news. I pushed... and got an Impression that I could meet you here, so I've been waiting.
Hethir frowned, an Impression is what Val called her divinations--she didn't think they fit with the usual mages ideas of what they were supposed to do. Maybe they didn't, Hethir had never figured out the knack for them, like how she had never had his knack for telepathy.
These people... would their leader refer to himself as D?
Nine hells... they've already found you!
Four days ago, some kind of magical messenger, delivered me a parchment. At least now I know how they found out about me. You might have warned me that you were going to go around spreading rumours about me! I prefer my profile to be low; I don't work like you in case you've forgotten!
Hethir was almost certain she was playing him, but he could see the tears hidden in her eyes, and her eyelashes seemed to be batting a bit more often. He relaxed his mind, and opened it wide. Val's thoughts spilled out before him, like a table covered in letters. She was playing him, but not how he expected. She wasn't trying to get him to clean up her mess, she was trying to keep him out of it.
Too late now Val, I'm already in it.
She looked up at him sharply, and her mind slammed shut. Hethir could have fought her, but didn't bother, he had seen enough.
I told you never to do that to me again!
We aren't teenagers any more Val. We aren't the only ones like us around either, and you and I both know the stakes here. I had to be sure you were level with me.
The tears disappeared, but her lip had a slight quiver for a moment. You still don't trust me.
I didn't. I do now. You're terrified of these people Val, and I know you well enough to know you don't scare easily. If you're scared of them, then it means they are worth being scared of, and that means I need to know what you know about them.
I can't! They'll kill me!
Really? Then you know more than they meant you to? In that case... Oh hells...
One of the sailors had posted himself by the front door, watching for trouble, and had just sent a call to him. Three mercs had just gotten out of a deal room--special sealed offices the innkeeper had built for easing of sensitive negotiations--and were making their way towards the upper balcony. There weren't many people up there besides Val and Hethir, and the man they had been negotiating with was one he recognized. He was one of Val's former contacts.
What is it?
You were right, they are coming to kill you, I think we should deny them that option.
When? Where?
Now, here, three mercs are coming up the stairs. We're leaving.
Val stood quickly, nearly upsetting her chair, and turned towards the stairs just in time to see a merc step off the landing, crossbow raised. Hethir had watched their minds coming up the stairs, and was ready for them. The crossbow-wielding merc suddenly staggered and nearly dropped his weapon as agony coursed through his mind. Blood gushed from his mouth and nostrils and he struggled to keep his weapon. Val looked from the mercenary to Hethir with undisguised shock.
I've learned a few tricks since you last checked, Val.
The other two mercs pushed past their disabled compatriot and charged the two tieflings. Val pushed back with a psychic shout, and they stumbled.
Time to go, if you'll excuse me...
Without giving her time to respond, Hethir grabbed Val around the waist, pulled her to him and leapt back off the balcony. A sudden intake of breath was all she managed to get out, and then Hethir's magic shot them upwards, above the roof.
We'll be safe here for the moment. I'll let Michael finish things below.
As if on cue, there was a muffled cry from below them, followed by a heavy thud. A brief scuffle later, two more bodies hit the floor.
They have been silenced Captain.
Excellent, were you able to acquire any for ourselves before this ruckus began?
Yes, only three so far, but I do not think it is wise to stay longer.
Collect the men and head back to the ship. I will meet you there.
Aye
Hethir looked back to Val to find her glaring daggers at him. Now what?
"You nearly ruined my dress you fool, have you any idea how hard it was to get? This was one of the duchess of Norlan's favorites!"
Unable to help himself, Hethir just laughed, "You would be more interested in your clothes than your skin Val. Time to collect what you have left of them. We're getting out of Tastrel."
"Then go! I'll get myself scarce."
"Oh no, not after what you told me today...you're coming with me."
"Hells I am! I don't want to get mixed up in your problems too!"
It isn't as though you can stop me Val...
She threw up a mental barrier against him, but this time he brutally smashed it aside. Val made a quiet choking sound and would have fallen except that Hethir still held her against him. I'll make a trip to recover your things for you, but you're coming back to the Storm Hawk with me, and I am not such a gentleman that I won't force you.
Val just nodded, though he could sense the venom in her glance at his feet. And no more daggers; our allotment of violence has already been met this time.
This time, Val did meet his eyes, her countenance sly and calculating. "Then you should be careful... You have no idea how many I'm hiding under this dress..."
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