Completed [The Stone Gardens] Chasing Rumours

[Fallon]

8th Summer 513AV

It was just a rumour, right? A whisper on the wind, a mumble of words designed to send children to their beds at night. A frightening tale created to play upon their imagination. Perhaps it was just that. Nothing more, nothing less. And perhaps it also would have been wiser to presume such things, to discard it as little more than a myth. The man in black. The keeper of peace. The rogue knight. It was just a fairy tale, right?

But this was Fallon. And the moment something had perked her interest, had grabbed her mind for long enough to want to turn to it, to sink her fangs into the tales that were weaved around it… She rarely let go. Superstition? Most probably, but it was an interesting one never the less.

In the cool of the early morning, the squire had perched herself down in the stone gardens. A habit that was becoming more and more frequent. The stallion was too hot, the dormitories too noisy, and Kova’s well seemed far too suspicious for her to be lurking about it for too long. So she was left to the mercy of the stone gardens, a place that at large was rather absent of most people it seemed. Besides, it was relatively cool and pleasant at present despite the lack of wind.

Within the shade Fallon sat herself down, broad book open, a series of scribbles coming off it as she thought to herself. There was not a lot to go by, and she had not come across those who had actually met him or had seen this mysterious knight. And even then she was sceptical that some stories may have been tall, drunken tales. Alcohol had a tendency to cloud the mind after all. Her fingers drummed against the page for a chime.

Rumour. Little info. No witnesses. Appears at night. Big cloak. Possible drunks.

She gave a frown and rubbed at her jaw. She needed more information, from subtle thoughts to full blown leads. Even the most bizarre would help in pushing her along the right path. For at present, nothing could be overlooked if she was to allow herself to come to a solid answer on what this ‘knight’ was. And if in the end it did turn out to be little more than a rumour and a story… well that was just what it was and where it will remain.

And perhaps that would be for the better.
x

[Matthew]

Matthew patiently pasted his poster to one of the stone pillars in the garden, replacing the one that had been worn away by the winter elements. So far no one had ripped down the poster, which bode well. However, he hadn't exactly gotten any customers from the posting either. Perhaps it was in a bad location? Or perhaps he was insensitive to prey on those who were coming to mourn the recently deceased. Wouldn't those be the ones who needed the most comfort, though? He absentmindedly chewed his lower lip, furrowing his brow in thought. Perhaps he would have to rethink this entire advertising plan. Or maybe he would just have to come up with something a little more eye-catching. Mumbling little thoughts and ideas to himself, he finishing pasting up the fresh new poster and crumpled the old one up in his hands. Turning to glance around, his eyes were led to the lone woman who occupied the Garden. She looked to be the only one besides him, which was understandable, considering the hour at which they were here.

He regarded her silently, blue eyes scouting her out, trying to figure out what she was doing. Was she reading? No, for she kept on making marks. Was she perhaps writing a book or detailing in a diary, then? It seemed like an odd place to do it. He doubted she was mourning the loss of anyone, for she looked fairly at peace with herself.

Making up his mind, the Escort strode forward, his gait casual and sleek. A slight breeze kicked up, hooking his silk scarf and sending the tail end of it fluttering in the wind. He was nicely dressed, with a slim body wrapped in a black button-up knee length coat and a red scarf. Black britches and nice shoes were peeking out from under the coat, showing that he was quite bundled up for a warm summer day. It was cool in the Gardens though, so perhaps that was it? In truth, he simply didn't have any summer clothes that were clean enough to wear, and didn't want to take the time to wash them. He would get to them later tonight, and until then, he would suffer the wrath of the sun. Not that it really mattered in Syliras castle. They never really suffered the full brunt of any sunbeams.

"Hello, miss." His voice was soft, each word professionally and carefully spoken. Blue eyes stared down at her, a small nod offered if she glanced up at him. "You look thoughtful, which is rare at this hour in the morning. I can't help but let curiosity overcome me for whatever you may be doing. Am I bothering you?" He stuck out a slim hand, offering a formal handshake. "I am Matthew. The pleasure is mine. I would like to stay in the shade for a few chimes longer, and figured I might as well meet some company while I was at it." Quite a forward way to strike up a conversation, but he didn't seem to be ashamed at all. He merely glanced from her to her broad book, curiosity shining through those bright eyes every so often.

[Matheld]

The Stone Gardens, a lovely place to clear his mind and go over his current data in relative peace and quiet. The blonde haired man strode through the gardens, data running wild and uncontrolled in his head as he worked through the rumors and hearsay. A witch hunt was on, wizards were becoming a problem and a bounty had been placed on the identification and capture of those causing trouble. Matheld had always known in the back of his mind that it would come to this, it had been an inevitability. The man seated himself down, going over the implications of this and many other developments that were transpiring in the city. Bounties on wizard, rumblings amongst various merchants, and the whispers of a shadowy knights. It seemed as though the whole city was on the verge of something big, a larger picture that Matheld was failing to piece together. He sighed, there was quite a bit to hold his attention and a number of leads he would need to follow up on. Unfortunately he was in the middle of a rather slow time, a number of his contacts had vanished or left the city. This meant a number of trips to various taverns throughout the city, getting people's tongues loose with alcohol. It was a rather unfortunate time, a spy with little to no contacts was no spy. So he was following his own leads, looking for possible rewards and work here and there. At the moment he only had those three, narrow options. The merchants were definitely something to follow up on, they were always a wealth of work. The hunting of wizards also was something he was keeping close in his mind, one never knew when identifying other wizards might be useful. At the very least it would make the wizards less likely to harm others. The Rogue Knight... he was another matter entirely. His very existence was shrouded in mystery and hearsay, a shadowy bringing of the peace in the night. Matheld was curious as to the validity of the rumors himself but until he built up some contacts in the knights, beyond his sister, this might very well be a dead end. He had some theories as to the Rogue Knight himself, but they were mostly educated speculation based on drunken rumors. Nothing reliable by any stretch of the imagination. The man stood and started walking, figuring it would clear his mind and align his thoughts. The merchants and the wizards, that what he had. It was rather depressing but they were at least valid leads. As he walked he happened upon two others, a thoughtful looking woman in the shade and well dressed man. Whatever they were doing was likely not his business, but he still decided to sit down within earshot. There was no one else besides the two of them, so he opted to spit out a polite apology. "My apologies for the interruption, just looking for a place to clear my head." He said with an apologetic grin. One never knew when there was an opportunity for information gathering.

[Fallon]

The quill nib scratched upon the page once more as she bit her lip with slow and careful thought. Her lips twitched as she breathed the words that were slowly forming on the page. Her eyes doubled back across what was written, and then she stopped. Her skin prickled at the sound of another’s voice, and her thought was disturbed. Eyes locked upon the shoes that stopped before her. Her back straightened and her eyes narrowed.
Now who do these belong to?

She gave him only a quick glance, for that was all she needed. She saw the extended hand, but did not act upon it. She heard the words and gave only a simple nod of acknowledgement. Her thoughts were focusing on something else at present and talking carried the risk of losing her focus. Nostrils flaring, she tapped the page and scribbled down two more words.

Rogue Knight.

But there was one other thing she did notice about this ‘Matthew’. He looked smug. Too smug.

Perhaps he was one who was natural smiles, or a pleased with himself most of the time. It would make sense judging by his sense of forwardness with her. The book was closed her finger marking the page as she got herself comfortable once more. Another passed by, a quick apology on his lips before he sat away from the pair. The squire gave a shrug and addressed Matthew directly.

“Depends on your definition of bothering,” her tone was crisp “Of course… in my books if you can hold my interest the individual is generally not a bother…” Fallon gave a frown, lips pursing together with thought. She was still stumped with her mystery of the Rogue Knight, and her lacking leads were far from useful to her. The squire wet her lips, her eyes coming down to a point upon the cover of the book “Tell me, Mister Matthew. If I may be so bold… what do you know of Syliras?”
x

[Matthew]

The passing Matheld didn't faze him in the slightest. A polite smile and a nod was given to him as well, signaling that Matthew was not at all bothered by his presence or interruption. He didn't even think that the man could be positioning himself for a listen, glancing back to Fallon without much more examination of the other nearby man. Matheld would be completely free to listen, without a single bit of suspicion from Matthew.

The fact that his handshake went ignored did not escape him, but he tried to just let it roll off his shoulder. It bothered him a slight bit, but he chalked it up to her focus on whatever she was reading. He pulled back the hand, slipped it in his pocket, and didn't think of it again. He didn't respond to her hint that he should interest her, but rose an eyebrow at her question. Her slowly sat, folding his lean body down in front of her, crossing his legs under himself as his blue eyes stared at her own. He made eye contact the entire time they were talking, even when she glanced away or down to her book. Her question was a loaded one, and he wasn't quite so sure how to answer. Obviously it would be with the truth, but how much of the truth was appropriate? He puzzled her out, curious to who she was, what she was, and why she would ask the question. It was so simple, but for some reason, it required quite a bit of thought.

After a few moments of pause, the confusion evident in his expressive gaze, he finally spoke. "Only a little. I recently moved here from Zeltiva to further my career. I am a pleasure-giver at the Herald's Arms." He admitted to this without pause or shame, not even pausing before continuing on. "I spend most of my time there, or home. So, as for what I know... I only know the people. Only certain people. The lonely, the desperate, the hurt, the corrupted, the depraved."

He shrugged his shoulders, expression neutral. "I suppose every city has these. I just am growing familiar with Syliras's. Why do you ask, Miss?" Mister could only be replied to with a Miss, he reasoned.

[Matheld]

Matheld could hear their conversation and opted to listen in as much as he could, attempted to glean whatever information he could gain from them. The woman was not proving to be very informative, but he already had a wealth of info regarding the other man now, this so called Matthew. The name itself held some significance to Matheld, it had once been his name as well before he became lost. The man was a native Zeltivan apparently, though his accent had certainly not sounded Syliran so that was not much of a surprising. He seemed unsure when he talked of the city itself, likely due to lack of long term knowledge in regards to the city and how things were run. It was common among foreigners. He was also a prostitute apparently at the Herald's Arms, a useful bit of info Matheld stored away incase he needed to call on him in the future. He deduced that this 'Matthew' might be a useful contact in the future during any potential investigations. One never knew when a prostitute could glean something from passionate patrons. He himself did not seem to fit the bill of the people Matheld observed, just another commoner trying to make a living. The woman was a different story, she was blunt and to the point, a seemingly forthright individual. There was something oddly placed about her question regarding Matthew's knowledge of Syliras that bothered him. The young blonde haired man went over the subtext of the words and drew the conclusion that she was doing what he often did, fishing for information. What information she was looking for was yet to be determined but this was how it seemed to him. Matheld's interest was piqued now so he listened much more closely and carefully to both of their words. As a form of cover, the man leaned back and closed his eyes, looking rather like he was relaxing. He did not want them to know he was analyzing their words and, by extension, sizing them up.

[Fallon]

Her nose returned to her book once more, the quill nib drawing small circles in the top corner of the page. Her lip was chewed as she thought, piecing together what he had said. It was of little use to her, more so with him being a near stranger to Syliras. She doubted he had any leads that could help her on her search. She gave him a quick glance, her eyes looking to expression of confusion that slipped away to a neutral mask. He had given her an answer, but it was not the answer she was looking for. Exhaling she lowered the quill and looked out across the stone gardens.

“So, you’re a prostitute? A Gigolo?” lips pursed together, her fingers drumming upon the spine of the book “I see. I suppose you should do a job you enjoy.” Her eyes did not look at him, if anything they were not really looking at anything. She was busy staring off into space whilst thought worked its way round. Or at least until he asked his own question, “Why? Well, why not? You would be surprised about the little people know of the city they call home. Or even history related to it. Then again you could just argue not many of them care about either the city or its population,” The squire gave a shrug, “Still it must be interesting, hearing what these depraved, lonely, pained and suffering people who are bent on their own lusts know. They must have a lot of… I suppose gossip. I was once told you can learn a lot from the loose lips of pleasure seekers. Then again, I imagine you can receive a lot of stories too.”

The other man, well he seemed to be doing nothing. He was in his own little world of relaxing and enjoying the gardens. Still, Fallon found it hard to resist giving him the occasional glance. Her words however turned silent after that, there was no longer a need to speak. And with her chances of gathering information now snuffed out once more there was little she could now follow.

What a pain. Looks like I am back at the start again.
x

[Matthew]

A spark lit his eyes as she called him a Gigolo, but it wasn't one of anger. Instead, as he opened his lips and quickly spoke, she would realize it was one of boyish excitement. He had found someone who he could talk to about his hobby, and he was about to fill her ears with knowledge that she probably didn't really care about knowing. "A prostitute more or less, though I am trying to expand it into something a bit more sophisticated. You could also call it a 'gigolo', but that term is usually reserved for the more loyal of prostitutes. Often a gigolo will go steady with one woman, trading her his body and company for a constant flow of gifts. This isn't the only use for the word, just the more common one. I do not much like this sort of relationship, as it usually goes beyond purely professional. But, yes, I do enjoy my job. It is rather interesting how my original studies on science and medicine cross over so well into this relatively un-researched land of gigolo's." He chortled for a moment, amused by his own joke.

He pursed his lips, tilting his head, giving her a thoughtful stare when she spoke again of Syliras. "You have a point. I should know more. I have made it my goal to learn about my patrons, and what makes them my patrons. This usually gives me some insight into the city of the history, but I don't know much beyond what is taught in Zeltiva University. A brief overview, really. I'll have to make a time to study up on the castle that houses me, out of respect if anything."

His lean arms crossed at her last couple of words though, eyes growing a tad sharp. He seemingly found no offense in her stone-faced comments at him (they didn't seem phrased to specifically be offensive, just blunt) but he felt a small pang of anger at how she talked about his customers. Bent on their own lusts? Some of them, yes. Others though? Once again, she probably didn't mean it in a harmful way, but he couldn't help some carefully calm words worming their way out. "I do. There was one woman, a widowed wife of a former Knight. Apparently he died during the recent storms. I can only offer up a prayer to thank him for his sacrifice, but I don't truly understand it. Her, she comes once a week for me. Only to lay in my bed and sleep, with her body next to mine, just taking in the warmth. She lived for dozens of years with that warmth by her every night, and now, she doesn't know how to live without it." He paused, voice quiet. "Stories like that, usually. Though there are a few happy ones here and there." He took a breath, calming himself from his (calm from the outside) outburst.

Blue eyes turned sideways to glance at the other man here, who appeared to have fallen asleep. "Is there a particular story you are interested in, miss?" His eyes turned back to her, once more curious in their steady gaze.

[Noaru]

“ The deeds of the fallen are sometimes outweighed by the sins of the wicked.”

The spirit thought of this, as he passed the memorial stones with names carved and forever immortalized in stone. There were a few people here, none aware of the invisible and silent presence. A few walked right pass Noaru and did not take notice in the blackness of his form; he takes notice of the stones around him, there were names, to many for him to count. However, this did not stop him from looking and remembering some of the names; these souls fell and did not rise again in battle but were in turn, here in this place, made immortal.

Noaru didn't allow the tears of the living around him or the silence of the dead beneath the stones of the earth to weigh heavily on his mind. He would keep the honor of the fallen, as a fallen one because he to fell into darkness and obscurity but could not find the light to guide him out like these souls had. Noaru found his attention being focused on three people near a table; he levitates over the stones and gets near them but not to close--taking practical caution should one be a spiritist. He decides to listen on their conversation: maybe, something good would come out of it.

[Matheld]

The flow of data at this point was nearly too much to process all at once and in fact, Matheld needed to go back over the words a few times to ensure the meanings were correct. Matthew's words were the easiest to pick apart as he freely offered information, making the young blonde haired man's job much easier. The woman was of a harder sort, but slowly he was beginning to piece together what information he needed to find what she was fishing for. It was all a matter of opening one's mind and looking for meaning where others dismissed it. He was no fighter, his realm was that of the mind. Matthew's information about the distinction between a 'gigolo' and a normal prostitute were something he was quick to add to his memory. For a prostitute he was certainly knowledgeable about his art, a trait that Matheld couldn't help but admire. His slip of adding in the University of Zeltiva, an organization renown for being a great center of learning caught his ear and Matheld saw his view of the prostitute improve considerably. He would definitely need to visit the Herald's Arm at a later date. There was very little else he could glean from Matthew, other than he would be a useful contact for information most likely at a later date. This was extremely good news, as most of his contacts had dried up. A spy without a few good contacts was no spy. The woman was still eluding his analyzes, and once he opened a half lidded eye to get a good look at her before shutting it again quickly. She was fishing for recent info, but Matheld was not sure exactly what she was after. It was a little suspicious, though the same could be said of him as he pretended to relax an listen in on their conversation. He was more than content playing the role of the faceless stranger for as long as it suited him. Matheld couldn't help feeling an odd chill run down his spine as he continued to listen, it felt like he was being watched as he watched Matthew and the woman. Being the ever paranoid wreak that was he opted to stay alert and moved his hand subtly closer to his boot, where his trusty dagger was hidden. Caution was the better part of valor.