[Sunset Quarters] I Just Want a Room! (Hatter)

[Benalder]

Evening, 11th Fall, 510 AV
Sunset Quarters

Petching figured. The Sunset Quarters were usually quiet, or at least blood free. Of course tonight would be the exception...PETCH! thought Ben. It didn't really matter who the men worked for, he needed to hide, and fast! Though if they were Byron's men, it was just all the more reason to make haste. Damn Baron. Ben looked around, quickly surveying his options. He could run down the intersection, and hopefully turn the right way, but the group might split up and take both streets. Still, he was an okay runner, and he might be able to outclimb them. Hopefully they were plastered drunk. That was probably too much to hope for. The rooms on either side were looking good too. It cut down his fleeing options, should they happen to search which ever room he chose, but he could fight at the doorway if need be, so that numbers counted for less. Not to mention there were a whole lot of rooms, and the group was not likely to search them all. It seemed the most sound option.

His decision made, Ben moved for the closest door on the left, hoping it was unlocked. The rogue drew his dagger, a wicked blade ten inches long, just in case, and tried the door...

[Hatter]

The door did not budge. Of all the doors in all the houses in all the cities, this one would be locked. Of course it would. Albeit the problem was no some simple device, the portal was blocked on the other side by several items. A dresser. A desk. The inhabitants were well aware of the consequences of an uninvited guest. Unfortunately for Ben, his decision gave the men enough time to catch sight of him. Of course it did. The small grouped stopped. They gawked for a moment before the leader stepped forward, pointed his torch, and said "It's him! Get him!" He was mistaken, but that did not seem to register on any of their minds. Like a furious storm the gang charged, torches and weapons flailing through the air in a desperate call for blood. It seemed that the chase was on. Of course it was. The men were not particularly fast. Except for the scrawny bastard in the back. Armed with only a dagger, the tall, thin man was bereft of any facial hair - even hair on his head for that matter. Somehow that seemed to only aid his speed. Like a cat he blitzed forward, bounding ahead at a pace that would no doubt prove the victor in a race. Benalder's choices looked all the more grim with every passing chime.

[Benalder]

Someone hated Ben. Probably a god. He cursed loudly when the door didn't move, half at himself after he realized his error, and half at the residents that had secured the door. That left running, or climbing. He ran. Ben took off towards the T intersection, opting to take a left once he got there. His mind was racing, recalling as much as he could about the layout of this part of the city. His feet were racing too, hoping to lose his pursuers. Slowing only partially,, he clumsily slung his bag around to his chest so he could get into it. One hand held it tight to his chest as he barreled down the street while the other reached inside. Rope, no. Bedroll, no. Food, no. Petch! Where were they? Finally he felt the point of a caltrop, and he grabbed the entire bag with his gloved hand. Ben swung his pack back into place. With his newly freed hand he reached into the bag and seized a handful of caltrops, then flung them over his shoulder. Then a second handful, then a third, until the bag was empty. And still he ran, his breath getting heavier and heavier.

If the caltrops didn't slow them enough for him to get away, he might be done for. There was a chance he could use his grappling hook to escape onto the roofs, but it was risky. But if it came to a five on one fight, he was dead. Sure, he might take that bald bloke with him, and maybe another, but he was no expert with his dagger.

Damn Baron.

[Hatter]

"Petch! PETCH! 'Hue 'da petch eu'ses cawltrops?!" A voice erupted into the air from behind Benalder. A successful ploy, the rampant foot-falls slowed as they came upon the mass of sharpened tacks. But as cruel as gods were, the one that had it would for Ben was especially good at his job. While the lull in the chase would have given the man a hefty lead, he had chosen the wrong rout. Continuing along his path, Ben came to the end of his flight. He found a dead end. Here the buildings curved into a small courtyard, an alley with no exit. In the middle was a fountain with no running water, except for a small pump that rested beside it. The cracked, ancient cobble here was bound to echo footsteps, but the surrounding architecture was filled with uneven stone and windows - the perfect terrain to climb upon. At the very opposite end of the alley was a reprieve perhaps, an open door with the small flicker of a candle inside. Should Ben find his way to the opening the room inside was a wide, open foyer, or at least what might have once been one. Anything inside had been torn asunder and revamped for more space. Two stair cases flanked either side of he inside and a large, bared oaken door lead away to the other side of the building, no doubt out of the quarters and to the edge of the Commons.

[Benalder]

A smile crept onto Ben's lips as he heard the curses sound out from behind him. The caltrops had worked. Now he only had to lose his tail. He skirted to a stop and the smile wilted. PETCH! A dead end! Another choice to make. Hopefully it would be the right one this time. Two wrong choices so far, it wasn't looking good. Ben started running again, choosing the door. Climbing might have been a surer thing, but only if the men didn't have any distance weapons. One bow, javelin, or spear and he would have been a sitting duck. His dagger in hand, he ran through the doorway, doing a little hop as he crossed the threshold, to avoid any tripwires. This was Sunberth, and it never hurt to be careful.

Another petching choice! Perhaps it was time for some misdirection. He had to move quickly, so John rushed forward and unbarred the door. There was no time to open it and further the ruse, so he just tossed the bar to the side. Now for more caltrops. He reached in for his last bag. Here goes nothing. Ben hurried up onto the stairs, scattering the caltrops over the rail, the pointed traps landing in front of the door. At the top of the steps he muttered a prayer. Not to anyone in particular, but he needed every little bit of luck or divine favor he could get. Ben looked around, hoping there was a good hiding spot, if not, he might be dead in a minute or two. He had his dagger, and five throwing daggers, but that would not be enough. He muttered another prayer.

[Hatter]

Ben's speed and previous trap gave him some time. The bar was easily displaced, but when the man reached the top of the stairs he found himself face to face with the unexpected. There, before him, was a surprised Konti. She looked humored, her lined face amused at the fact that there was now a line of Caltrops covering the railing that lead to the second floor. She observed the man for what felt like bells, her dark green eyes seeing beneath the hood to Ben himself. What a strange gaze. In a single instant it felt as if the man's soul had been, weighed, measured, and found satisfactory. The Konti offered him a smile and stepped forward, her form clad in little more than a silken night gown. Despite the fact that her long, supple popped in the candle light, she seemed somehow dangerous. Strange. She was not even armed. "I certainly hope you are not laying a trap for the children." The woman spoke sardonically. Was she jesting? "They're quite young you know, most don't know how to use dagger so much as pose a threat." Footfalls resounded from the courtyard. The mob was on there way and Benalder now had the attention of a defenseless orphanage keeper. Bad luck was luck after all. The man had maybe five seconds before Baron's men were on him, and from the sound of it the caltrops would only slow them further. A fight seemed inevitable.