Who Done It? (Zandelia/Closed)

[Creeper]

Timestamp: Spring 80, 512 AV Time: Early Morning Location: The Cages Who: Zandelia There was a man sitting quietly in the cages. Unlike many of those behind bars, he was a human. And he had not been affected by the fog. He was simply a criminal. And yet, he was behind bars instead of being cast from the encampment. No one knew his name, where he'd come from, or why he was here. But the fact that the Hahk'Shatara kept him meant he was important. He didn't appear dangerous. He was a slight of a man, short in stature, slender in frame, devoid of muscle. He had no memorable scars or features of any kind. He was possibly the most forgettable person one had ever laid eyes on. This is probably why Zandelia paid no mind to the man as she stood guard over the cages. After all, there were much more interesting people in this encampment. "Miss, do you think you could get me another blanket? This one is quite damp. And perhaps a leg of that deer I saw a hunter drag in? My guts can't handle any more fruits. Just like my good old Dad. Only thing he ever left me." The man looked quite pitiful and starving, and the weather was cold and damp. In a certain light, he also looked a bit older than he actually was, almost elderly. His eyes would show a certain sadness within them, and a wisdom beyond his years.

[Zandelia]

The journey to the Spires had taken its toll upon Zandelia’s body, hardy and used to punishment as it was. The riding had been swift, brutal and all but unending and had bruised her thighs and rump to the point where she was not sure she could use it to seduce anyone for some time to come. She enjoyed a little pain at times, however the pounding rhythm of hooves upon solid ground had stretched her endurance for pain to a limit she had not experienced in some time. So it was that, as she made her way through the accumulated cages, she found herself in a mood not disposed to happiness. She was not complaining about her location, however, as it provided her with a relatively easy job to fulfill compared to her running for Tua. On top of that she had much time to put into practice all that she had learnt in her lifetime of intelligence operations.

Not that these Jamoura make it all too easy, not when it comes to the things they do not wish know at any rate. Easier to get blood from a petching stone! she growled internally to herself as she continued her rounds.

Many of the cages were empty for now, though she suspected that now the Crimson Edge had arrived t help bolster the ranks of the captors that the fact would change quickly enough for her liking. What was found within the cages, however, were a mystery to her in many ways. Those whom were still feral comprised a great number of the prisoners, and when they were deemed to be lucid Zandelia knew that they were allowed to go free – for the most part. This gave her a conundrum of temporal inclinations in that she had little free time to ask them questions whilst taking breaks from her rounds. Still, at least she seemed to be gaining a small portion of respect from the hairy brutes whom she worked with. She knew how to guard, how to fight and she was keen to exercise her intellectual muscles also – something she noted caused much interest amongst the Jamoura. It was as she was ruminating upon what she had learnt of their culture that she was interrupted by a voice she had not heard before.

“Indeed?” she responded cautiously, only approaching the cage in so far as she was out of arm’s reach should he decide to assault her, “I could, perhaps, lend you some generosity. But as everyone knows generosity is not something that should come for free” she kept her voice level and tried not to betray her inner intentions to use the opportunity she had just been presented.

“From that perhaps I should deduce that your father is dead? You have my sympathies, but not my mercy. You should see what a living father can do to you with enough…application” she continued as she balanced her immediate actions within her mind.

She had little to lose after all as he merely wanted a drier blanket and some food. Prisoners were known to give more to those whom were easier upon them than harsher after all, though if she garnered anything in her life it was that fear was a far more powerful tool in the short term. Gratitude required time to flourish, needed to be nourished and provided for before it blossomed and paid back in kind. Still, with the harmless old man, for that is he seemed, she made the judgement that inspiring fear would perhaps only cause bitterness, a counter-intuitive response that would undermine any usefulness. Bargaining, however, was universally accepted.

“Very well, I shall see what I can do for you. Do not hold out much hope though, I’d rather not annoy the Jamoura. They could kill me with a single swipe” she muttered as she left him alone for a few moments to see what could be done about his requests.

As she rustled around the supplies she wondered why he had chosen to speak to herself. There were many guards around and she had not noted him as talkative before now. In fact, despite her observational talents she had not noticed him at all beyond in passing. She could have made full note of that but in her haste she pushed it to the back of her mind. She had finally got a hold upon a dry, folded blanket of coarse wool and had put it to one side as she also found a section of rough cloth also, roughly square in shape. She took it to the roasted meats and set about slicing strips of its juicy mass into the cloth and folded the corners over it. It was a small pile, but building trust was incremental – he could use her to get more in future, if he had a shrewd mind to do so.

“So, I have what you desire,” she told the stranger, "but do you have something I desire? Trade is the basis of civilization they tell me. I’ll give you this on faith, for now, but I would expect it be repaid in kind, if you have a mind” she told the man as she also motioned for him to place his blanket outside the cage and step backwards out of her way.

That done she stepped forwards gently and placed his requests inside the cage, stepping back quickly enough, pulling his original blanket with her. She took an opportunity to observe him more closely, appearing older than she would have guessed, his gaze deep and bordering upon the darkness within all creatures. He intrigued her no end, his enigmatic silence, his seemingly lucid nature yet still being a captive. She decided to try for a probing suggestion.

“You do not seem feral to me, not like the others entrapped here. What makes such a wizened man worth locking up for seemingly no reason?” she asked him, the beginnings of what she hoped to be an enlightening conversation.

[Creeper]

The man barely seemed aware, and thanked her for the food and blanket with a bob of his head. "I am not sure why I am here, but I've always been in the wrong place at the wrong time, my whole life. Have you ever been a slave miss? It's worse than a cage, you get tastes of freedom, while never truly having it. At least while here, I know what I am and what I have." He slowly ate, savoring each morsel, then curled up beneath his blanket, and drifted off to sleep. Zandelia was quite busy assisting a few new arrivals, a small group of Jamoura into their empty cages much further down the line. The man's eyes sprung open when he heard no one near his cage. He was immediately up and wrapping his blanket around two of the bars, then began twisting and pulling. He knew he wouldn't have gotten the bone, but in negotiations, you had to start with stuff you were willing to give up, even if you had no need for it in the first place. He continued twisting until the poles started to bend, and eventually, they popped out of the grooves that held them. But rather than escaping, he stuffed small shreds of the blanket into the bottom grooves. He then replaced the poles, and awaited for Zandelia to return. When she did, she would not notice anything out of the usual. The man was sleeping soundly, the shredded end of the blanket hidden beneath him. He waited the rest of the day, until night fell when many of the guards were seated, resting. Zandelia was resting, the day having worn on her heavily. So many prisoners coming in, so many fights breaking out, so much information to collect. She didn't notice the man slowly, silently pulling the poles out of the grooves, slipping out of the cage, just out of Zandelia's field of vision. He snuck up behind and from the side of Zandelia. However, she was able to hear the crunch of his footsteps, an observation most could not have made. But her reaction was slow, and he hit her in the temple with one of the cage bars, rendering her unconscious. When she woke, she would have a splitting headache, and would be surrounded by grumpy Jamoura staring down at her disapprovingly. In a deep, reverberating voice, "What have you done?"

[Zandelia]

“Well, if I told you that then you’d have more information upon myself whilst I have nothing from yourself. So why answer at all?” Zandelia responded to his searching question, telling him enough if he was capable of reading between evasive words. She waited a few moments but knew then she would get little more from the caged man than a lack of gratitude for her actions.

And it looked so promising too. Well, more where he came from I see she noted as she saw a group of Jamoura approach, not all of them destined to leave the cages any time soon.

It was as she went about her business as one the employed guards that her mind began to wander, the curse of the man’s seemingly forgetful nature creeping up upon her until she had pushed him out of her mind completely, something she was not usually prone to – taking care to remember interesting individuals. Her work was hard labor, Jamoura’s not being her forte by any stretch of her warped imaginations. Here were many new arrivals, the hunters having some successes this day evidently that they had not had since she had arrived and petitioned for her uniquely situated post. There were hopeful spirits in the air, a sense that perhaps things were going to come under control once more sooner than expected. She could find little sympathy for such thought herself, her own allegiances to herself and to no other, in practicality at least. She was glad that some took heart from the successful expeditions as it made her ob the more worth paying for, however a few stolen looks at those whom she had learnt were dubbed the Hahk'Shatara told her all she needed to know.

[i]The battle is far from over as far as their faces are concerned methinks[/i ] were her thoughts as she busied herself with bandages, food and the other menial tasks that were required of her. She had not got used to reading the expressions of their bestial forms, however she knew unease and worry when she saw it – they were only beginning their crusade.

She eventually found her day filled with no greater task than to patrol, keeping an eye upon the inhabitants of the ages to make sure their feral natures were not about to win out against all odds and cause a rampage of destructive force. It was growing dark by the time that the last of the new arrivals appeared, signalling the ending of the daily excursions. Only fools entered the mist under cover of darkness she had been told, or the exceedingly well prepared. She was inclined to agree with them, the mists in the city far too similar to those experienced first-hand in her own memories. The guards were taking the opportunity to bunk down for the night, taking their allocated positions to still be of use even when dragged from deep sleep. She took their lead and sat down in the gathering shadows, contemplating the day’s events.

“One useful person and nothing to say to me, my luck does not seem to run strong in this city. If only i had a season of stability I could make such a network as to rival some others. Alas, I lack the tools and opportunity for now” she muttered as she ate a few slices of her won heated rations and wondered why she had come to this accursed place, wrapping her cloak around her tightly against the frigid breeze.

It all happened suddenly, caught unawares in a region she was unfamiliar with. A crunching sound in her left ear caused her to start upwards and to her feet. She turned towards it as she grabbed for her weapons, only to be met by a solid blur that smashed into the side of her head. She retained consciousness a moment longer, enough to lodge the incident into her mind before consciousness fled under the impeccable onslaught and her only thoughts were dim, distant ramblings as to why she had been targeted. Retreating inwards her mind protected itself, keeping its subconscious form and directing it to assimilation of events, something many minds fell back upon when faced with trauma beyond reckoning.

"What have you done?" were what greeted her as consciousness percolated back into being, her head flashing with intermittent pain and racing irritability and disability through her body with equal measure. It was a few moments before she was able to fully grasp that it was a question as her mind pieced itself back together through the blackness.

“I was taking a nap, what do you think?” she muttered as she shook her head to try and clear the malaise from her vision.

“I’m sorry, force of habit,” she tried to retrospectively explain as she saw her answer had not been much appreciated, “, I was just sitting like everyone else. I heard a sound and then out went my brain. Must’ve been a sneak attack” she finished lamely as she tried not to rub the side of her skull and keep the nausea at bay.

“Anyone missing?” she finally connected some of the pieces, cursing her own ineptitude as she let the curse come flowing to her lips. “Bastard!” she hissed through gritted teeth, her head feeling far too large for her neck to support.

“If it’s him I’m going to gut him to pieces, I only got him a damned blanket and some food!” she continued as the direction the blow had come from began to prod at her mind, turning her head she could see the cage nearby, empty now, as she knew she was now in hotter water than she would like.

[Creeper]

The questioning Jamoura all ended up leaving at her lack of memory and uselessness in the situation. She would find herself wandering over to the cage that he had occupied, still left intact. The Hahk'Shatara needn't look for clues, they were confident in their ability to track anyone in their forest. There wouldn't be much to find however. There were the blanket scraps stuffed in the bottom of the hole where the pole had been, as well as the shredded blanket itself. There were bits of hair and other assorted scraps. But beneath the blanket, was a smile pile of wood shavings. Upon closer inspection, she would see a note carved into the wooden base of the cage, likely by finger nail. Your life is fair trade for the food and blanket, Zandelia. "I knew he'd be a sneaky one, ever since he'd arrived at camp." Zandelia would see the face all the mercenaries had come to recognize. Centroc. The man that ran the supplies wagon. "I hear he got the jump on you, hows that noggin of yours? Not too bad I hope, if you are going to catch him." There was a playful twinkle in his eye, clearly showing he knew more than he was letting on. "Those staffholders might be good, and it may be their forest, but they won't find him." He smiled at the young woman, "If you want the information, you can either do a favor for me now, or owe me one for later?" There would be no haggling, no debate. If she didn't want the info, he'd go back to working at his supplies wagon. The Hahk'Shatara would come back to camp, downtrodden and frustrated, further proof that the man had eluded the best trackers in the area.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia was still recovering from her assault, her skull only now really beginning to complain to her about its mistreatment. However, it was the embarrassment of being caught out, used and manipulated that chagrined her the most. She considered herself of above average intelligence, had devoted half of her life to seeking out hidden truth and shadowy dealings, all of which had been for naught after a few minutes worth of pity and sympathy. I was a stark reminded that, even in the peacefulness of the Jamouran realm she could not afford to let her guard down. It would not happen again, not here and not whilst the fates of a dozen others depended upon her leadership – another factor to cause her embarrassment.

Just think what they will say when they learn of it, if they do! she growled to herself internally as she heaved herself towards the now empty cage, anger barely restrained as she vowed to find the man and kill him, very slowly indeed if she had her way about it.

She searched the, actually quite neatly displayed, wreckage in search of clues. Even the tiniest of things could be of help to her, though she suspected that one able to so skillfully and rapidly free himself would have left little trace of his actual designs. Still, she searched in a vain hope for want of little else to do in the grand scheme of things. Technically her guarding shift had ended now and she was working on her own time – a fact she was more than happy with. She sifted through it all, piecing the events together in her mind. It was simple yet elegant, she eventually came to appreciate. The blanket had been a tool of escape, not a cloak against the cold. The shredded one had been used to undermine the bars for a timed escape, the other sodden and foul smelling. She did not have to touch it, her gaze instead taking in the warped prison bars and coming to its own conclusion. It was then she heard a voice, annoyingly amused, and rounded ready to draw her weapons. After reading the carved message she was not about to take any chances.

“He was certainly a tricky bastard, even left me a bloody message,” she told Centroc simply, recognizing him easily as the supplier of the hunts, “I think that I have a message I want to give to him too” she continued guardedly.

She listened to his proposal, her own mind though dulled from events still able enough to pick up upon a choice opportunity as well as a dangerous one. She had had her suspicions that the man was more than he seemed, now growing in her estimation with his offer. She was not one to be in anyone’s debt more than necessary, however the prison whom had escaped seemed more important than he appeared. The reaction of the Jamoura and the fact that his skill were clearly self-evident told her that he had a part to play for better or worse. She dearly wished to find out what he had done, where he had gone and repay the favor he had done her in kind. Still, she knew that the favor the supposed merchant would ask of her would be far from trivial. He had sought her out, studied her and waited for his moment. He was no fool and held designs of his own she would be willing to bet.

What does he want from me I wonder? Still, it seems I have little choice she thought to herself as she tilted her head in thought.

“I think I shall wait for a time Centroc, if you do not mind. You faith in the hunters may be proven true or false. It would be foolish to be in a debt that proved to be needless. Still, I thank you and I know where to find you if they fail” she told him as she watched him rub his chin a little, grinning immensely as he walked back to his wagon.

Wait she did also, tension building as the time passed and her desires increased. She set about simple tasks, feeding and watering the other prisoners for the most part – giving them no blankets this time thankfully. Still, she suspected she would find herself before Centroc again, finally sighting the hunters emerging from the mist. They were empty-handed as the merchant spider had predicted. She had little choice once that was evident to her and wandered towards Centroc once her guard shift was ended. Dawn was fast approaching as she found him, busy as always with his wares. She shook her head as she padded towards him, fearful of the price he would name for his intervention. She hoped it would be worth it.

“It seems you were correct, so you know more than it would appear. That intrigues me indeed, perhaps I stand in the midst of a master of my own craft. Still, you are the only avenue open to me. I have little need of debt when I can help it. What are your terms and what do you offer?” she asked him softly, her tone steely as she inwardly dared him to ask too much for giving too little.

That would be all I bloody need she told herself as she mentally braced for the inevitable spar of words and information, cloaked as always in a mist. Apt indeed for her current location

[Creeper]

Centroc leaned against the window counter of his wagon, watching the fingers on one of his left hands danced in the air, a teasing smile on his tanned and wrinkled face. "You are too cautious sometime my dear, and this time it's going to run your fee up, for that was a limited time offer. However, I'm a nice guy, so I won't leave you totally dangling, and I'll let you pay after the fact. Bring me an inherited item from one of those people you traveled with, and take it against their knowledge. Trust me, my dear, I see all here. The older, the better, I have a love of artifacts." His fingers continued to dance, as they had before, and Zandelia would notice that each finger, on all four hands, was adorned by a ring, and each ring topped by a massive colored gem, each a different hue. This man was much richer than a simple traveling merchant should be. One of those rings could feed her people back in Sunberth for several years. He stepped down and out of his wagon, leading the one eyed woman out of earshot of anyone in camp. "I do not suggest trying take this man by force, you won't win. But bring him back, and bring him back alive. He has several things to answer for, to powers greater than you." One of his bejeweled hands slipped into a deep pocket, grabbed onto something, and held it out. It was a compass, and it was pointing directly southwest, wavering slightly. "This compass does not point north, is not affected by magnetic metal. Right now, this compass points to that man and will lead you to him, no matter where he may be. You will borrow this for your little mission. Now go, this man moves like the wind, and is even harder to catch." He handed her a capture pack, in addition to the compass. After she left camp, she'd find her coinpurse twelve golden mizas lighter, the exact cost of the capture pack. She would notice that to the southwest, there was none of that dreaded fog, and the trees were smaller, though only slightly so. The compass continued to waver to the southwest, though it seemed to be edging closer to the south mark. After nearly a bell of travel, she'd feel the hairs standing on the back of her neck, and several pairs of eyes were on her from hidden locations. All that was around her were trees, and in the distance, a cave. She got the feeling she'd just become prey, and she was no longer the predator seeking out the escaped man.