Encountering the Raconteur

[Maedoc]

53rd Day of Spring, 512 A.V., The Western Hills were ideal for the type of work Maedoc planned to do. Both main roads to and from Sunberth ran through them and the uneven terrain provided good cover. Plus there were no farmers to spot and report him. He was not very well known in these parts, but he definitely looked suspicious, and farmers were wary people. His cloak billowed around his legs, assaulting his calves as he drew calmly from his pipe. He felt the warmth of the smoke as it danced through his lungs and exhaled with a satisfied breath. A rare smile touched his lips as he remembered the day he liberated this particular batch of tobacco from a female peddler making her way through the outregions of Syliras. He did hate Sunberth though. The whole place reeked it’s humble mining roots. Such blatant reminders of his own wretched past was enough to keep Maedoc away from the city for the most part. It also gave him some warped justification for robbing the inhabitants. He imagined even the most humble of them to be just like the tyrannical miner’s who had enslaved him so many years ago. The tobacco visibly relaxed the grey clad bandit as he playfully spun his hammer on the grassy hillside. It also kept the hunger away. Many of the farms were still rebuilding and recuperating from the Djed Storm of nearly two months ago. The season’s crop had taken a severe blow, making food more scarce. Frown lines creased a worried mouth as he thought about the season’s woes. Maedoc had lost his entire troop, even Tulk the Terror was dead now. He had been forced to pray on smaller targets with less profit, hugging the cities and populated areas. Alone in the wild was dangerous, especially after the storm had somehow made all the predators more aggressive. A hammer was not the ideal tool for defending against a pack of wolves or god knows what else lay waiting. And most people did not travel as much anymore, save the bold. And the bold were not the type to prey upon whilst hungry and alone. But such places as Sunberth had a liberal amount of travelers, since the city was so open and full of the type of person who thought themselves more dangerous than your average man. Adjusting the buckles than connected his shoulder pad to his breastplate, Maedoc rose from the grass and hefted the war hammer over his shoulder. Taking another long drag from his pipe he made his way down to the bend in the road than would hide him from view of travelers coming out of the city. Perhaps today was his lucky day. He was getting to the point that even if he could not rob a man, he’d just as soon ask him for food. This cataclysmic upheaval was certainly not ideal…

[Wrenmae]

He whistled. It wasn't as though the day called for whistling. The birds did not inspire him to song, nor did the denizens of Sunberth mutter haphazard tunes between their grunting murmurs. Instead, music seemed born of situation and situation alone. Atop a borrowed wagon, Shroud relaxed to the sure sound of clip-clops on broken trail. The wagon bounced and rolled behind him, white canvas billowing over a secretive cargo. Long wrapped shapes buckled to the movement of the wagon, rolling within their roped constraints. Shroud set the horse at a trot, careful, even with his poor knowledge of horses, that he wouldn't wear it out. Sunberth grew distant behind him, a series of squat stone buildings fading in and out of view between the dust kicked up from the wagon's passage. The murderer was enjoying himself, and although the job wasn't glamorous, it paid. Mercenary work was the everyman's realm in Sunberth. Anything from snuffing out a life, to guarding a caravan, to simple disposal...mercenary was literally code for a hired anyone, just a body to get something done. Personally, Shroud would prefer someone else do the dirty work for a change. He wasn't the strongest, his slight body was made even more thin by the harsh rays of the sun, casting him in painful illumination. But still, this job was just as important as any other...and thus necessitated his services. Turning a corner down the long twisting road, the horse broke the path and sent the wagon bumping discordantly over grass and sticks, leaping to the rhythm of the lesser tread areas. Shroud veered his progress toward the forest, shovel rattling around between the long shapes beneath the canvas. It would take the better part of the day, perhaps even the next night as well...not the most ideal circumstances, but the money was good. That in itself mattered.

[Maedoc]

The sun gave off an unforgiving heat as Maedoc shifted to stay in the shadow of the lonesome tree that stood sentinel next to the path. He experimentally rubbed his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to find some saliva to whet his growing thirst. He groaned inwardly, leaning his hammer against the tree. Moments of prying with leather gloves and lethargic fingers left the cork to his bladder of water on the ground. Shaking the thing, he heard a light sloshing deep within it’s mostly deflated depths. A few swigs left. Maedoc let the liquid fall into his maw and swished the warmth around his teeth before gulping it down his gullet. After returning the cork and letting the leather bag fall by his hammer, he gazed down the path towards the city of Sunberth. A frown creased the skin around his mouth in a familiar way as his gaze fell upon a road empty but for the dusty haze of a spring afternoon. Pollen and insects floated and glided through the air in search of much the same thing that occupied Maedoc’s own thoughts. Food, water, work. Maedoc used his teeth to pull at the fingers of his glove, releasing the sweaty hand beneath. The air felt cool against the sweat on his knuckles for a moment, enough to make him do the same favor to his opposite hand. Though it was hot and humid, it was nothing compared to trying to survive during a Sylira winter. And at least he wasn’t alone in a snowstorm. He eyed his waterskin again, imagining the liquid contents pouring down his face. But that was how you died out here, wasting things you needed. No matter what he did with the water, he’d need more soon, and he was no expert on finding natural sources. “Gods are cruel.” His voice thick with bitter humor as he glanced skyward, as if expecting the huge faces of the gods to be laughing down at him. Clop, clop, clop. The sound of a horse, or donkey more likely, broke his self-pitying revere. Gathering up his hammer, Maedoc walked to the edge of the shade under the tree and turned to face the path. When a wagon appeared around the bend he smiled to see it sat only a single driver. The man was thin like a scarecrow and whistled a tune that caught the wind and sang past Maedoc’s ears even this far away. The half-starved highwayman’s smile faltered as the features of the wagon driver became definite. He seemed a young man, slight and unassuming, but his eyes held a hard edge that Maedoc recognized. It was the look of a man who could set his morals aside. Maedoc had seen it in his father near the end, and some of the slaves he had worked with after the last traces of hope were whipped out of them, and in himself a few times as well. He shifted his grip on his hammer and walked out to the edge of the road to meet the stranger. He raised a callused hand in greeting, taking a drag from the wooden pipe that protruded from between two dry lips.

[Wrenmae]

This was not Syliras, nor was it Zeltiva. The act of approaching a wagon was, in itself an unspoken challenge. The highwayman was armed with his clawed hammer, his dark clothes harsher under the strained sunlight above. By the time he'd moved, Shroud had already directed the horse well off the road and toward the forest, making it a difficult maneuver to twist back to the road and a nearly suicidal one to suggest a gallop. If the highwayman had friends, they'd almost certainly be just beyond the forest edge, crossbow bolts trained on his narrow chest as the horse came to a weary stop, watching the mercenary itself warily. Hissing under his breath, the murderer brought the reigns up to his chest, returning the short wave before the horse had come to a complete rest. "Gods are cruel," he muttered, eyeing the ever uncaring heavens, "Petchers, the lot of em." The hammer suggested a certain skill with combat, at least with that sort of weapon. The two could not be more opposite in style. Heavy hammer and long dagger, speed versus brute might. In a pitched combat, he would rely on a single blow to decide the combat and Shroud would rely on many, or at least one pivotal strike. Manoman, came Zan's usual cheerful tone from inside the mage, Isn't this just typical huh? Shroud didn't answer him. One little assignment and all the rats scurry out from under the logs. Better hand over your cargo, poor guy looks like he could use it to. Not that I'm playing peacemaker, but hammers aren't my friend, and I doubt the two of you would be on speaking terms to boot. I say you make a run for it. I will do no such thing, Shroud thought, There may be a way out of this yet Aaaah, Zan bubbled, Hypnotism huh? The everyman's tool for dangerous situations. Alright, Alright. I'll play audience this time. Let me know if you need help. Gladly, Shroud thought back, the ghost of a smile on his face, You, my symbiotic friend, will be the first to know. "Fair noon to you, sir," Shroud offered with his own short wave, remaining stopped atop his wagon, "If you're looking for a ride into Sunberth, you'll have to wait. I've a delivery to make, first." He undercut his words with a burst of hypnotism, lancing off his tongue in a thick coil of Djed, aimed to calm the brigand, bring relaxation, confidence. He'd be easier to manipulate if not wary and emotional manipulation was a simple matter. The first move had been set and as the highwayman approached closer, Shroud offered only smiles. There was nothing here the brute could want anyways, not if he knew the truth.

[Maedoc]

As the man pulled his wagon off the road Maedoc smiled ruefully. You wouldn’t find an ounce of trust within ten days of Sunberth. The city was a beast born of ambition and greed. But the wagon driver seemed amiable enough, cordially offering Maedoc a ride into Sunberth after taking care of some business. Maedoc stepped onto the road, dirt crunching under worn boots as he came closer to the wagon. Bugs chattered in the tall grass, singing to an otherwise silent landscape. The man was still smiling. That seemed rather peculiar to Maedoc. Men don’t smile at strangers with hammers. Unless they have something worse than a hammer. He let his eyes roam over the wagon suspiciously for a moment before answering the traveler. Or perhaps the man was simply nervous. Maedoc had made people nervous before. "Eh. You’re mad if you think this is a fair day.” Maedoc took another drag from his pipe, wiping sweat from his gleaming brow. He looked down at his grimy hand in disgust. “Been out here all day trying to find some damn well, I’m dry you see.” Maedoc said conversationally, glancing back grimly at his nearly empty waterskin under the shady tree. His eyes set on the driver again, now studying him under a steady gaze. The man was young, younger than Maedoc, though that wasn’t really saying anything. But he had a certain surety about him that said he was by no means out of his element here. Perhaps an honest working man out to make a few quick coins. Who knew with Sunberthians. “Bold balls to be out here alone, there are greedy Shykes out here you know.” Maedoc paused to blow pipe smoke out through his nostrils, the tendrils dancing away on unseen and unfelt winds. He pointed the wooden pipe at the treeline. “Wolves too.”

[Wrenmae]

A gnat crossed the skin above his eye, a crawling reminder that the stranger was right, poor day all around. The sun was hot, hotter than he remembered spring being, but maybe that was his Alvadan blood. Never to hot what was sheltered by the Kalean mountains. A wreathe of short lived smoke hung around him, souring the air with tobacco. Sonbirds warbled, safe in their shady boughs. The horse took the time to nibble at the tough rods of grass shooting from the earth. "You'll want a stream, not a well," Shroud answered, pushing his waterbag to the other side of him, "Push the forest well enough, she'll yield you something." His own water was enough for the day and maybe the night. The man was alone with a hammer by the side of the road. Probably too thirsty to play bandit, but might not pass up generosity. Shroud was created in Sunberth. Pity had been squeezed out of him and replaced with dirt and stones. Jagged stones. The murderer pat the long dagger on his belt once, smiling grimly at the other, "My answer for wolves and greedy shykes. They're invited to test themselves...if they want to see the color of their innards." It wasn't said as a threat, but hung like one between them. Shroud glanced down the road, back to Maedoc, then to the road again and sighed. "You've got a strong back and sure arms to carry that kind of weapon. Fancy yourself a digger? Water's in it for you if you'll help me dig a few holes." It was his only offer.

[Archelon]

Thread Award "..." And the Results!!!!: Wrenmae : SkillName 1-5 How/why? Hypnotism 1 Interrogation 2 Familiary 2 Observation 1 Driving(wagon) 2 Lores: Basic tenants of Driving a wagon Trying to get someone to dig their own graves... literally Would you like some extra turtle sauce ? : Interesting thread Any other questions, comments,or concerns please feel free to send me a nice pm.