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Curse of Darkness - Florentine Affair
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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5896190" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"So this is what you spent your afternoon on?", Appelenea asked as she gave the Bard a good once over. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Not at all.", replied Penn, ignoring her unspoken opinion of his new finery. "I spent a time at the tailors, getting trous fitted, then at the glass blowers obtaining some alchemy gear, then at the exchange, pretending to buy and sell things."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Pretending?", asked Seeburn in shock. "Why waste your time at that?"</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Because that is where our host conducts business. I learned everything I could about him and the guests of honor. He's the most important businessman in the city, and has actually paid money *not* to be named as a civic leader. The other guests are..."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I don't care who else the fool invites.", Seeburn cut him off. "And anyone who would pay good money to avoid being a leader is a fool, straight away."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Penn raised his hands in exasperation, then set about brushing off his companion. He hummed a slight tune as he did so, invoking a bit of Fey magic. The stains and smudges on the Scott's woolen shirt came away, his hair fell into place, his bushy mustache somehow looked trimmed, and the worn and frayed hem of his half-robe mended itself. By the time he was finished the normally unkempt warrior looked well groomed, and had a pleasantly faint aroma of heather about him.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">And if Seeburn had noticed, he might well have bloodied the Bard's nose for it.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Nedel had engaged some servants for the evening, as befit his station, and they accompanied the group to the dinner. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">They were welcomed as "Comus Nedel and party", and escorted to the "parlor", a chamber that rivaled the size of some temples they had seen. Here they had the opportunity to see just how extensive this "small gathering" was. Literally hundreds of people, with some of the servants wearing better finery than the companions.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Nedel blended in easily, and Penn managed to hold his own in small talk, but the others felt as if they were an island unto themselves. Some recognized Sylus' Olympic honor, and approached him, but this sea of silk and satin was a different world from the one he knew.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">***</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Down boy.", Seeburn cautioned, as they were seated for dinner.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Can't you see her?", Penn asked, his eyes fixed on the head table. They were seated above the salt, thanks to Nedel's title and Sylus rank as an Olympic archer, but there were still dozens of people between them and the host's table. It was a young beauty at that table that had caught the Fey's fancy.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Her name is Borgia, and she's well beyond you.", advised Nedel. </span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Oh I know. Like a mountain peak glistening with snow, her beauty shines even at night.", Penn replied, clearly not really hearing any of the cautions directed at him.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"What's so special about her?", Seeburn asked. "She's too skinny to make a good wife, and I doubt that she's milked a goat in her life. Warrant, she might know how to cook a good meal, but that flower would whither before the first frost."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I wasn't thinking of marrying her.", Penn laughed. </span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The conversation continued apace until suddenly there was a sharp silence from the head table. One of the guests, a stodgy looking man in deep blue, suddenly paled and raised a hand to his breast. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped in his seat.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Marcus leaped to his feet and rushed to aid the fallen man. After a moment of paralysis the room erupted in a form of orderly chaos. Servants rushed forward and eased the man to the floor, and many people stood to gain a better view, but nobody other than the Jovian Cleric moved to aid the man.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Cassius noted the relieved look on the faces of many of the guests, and coins were passed from one guest to another, surreptitiously of course.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Toss the drunk to the alley where he belongs.", Seeburn belched, draining his cup.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"The Concilatori is dead!", came the harsh rebuke.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Then toss his body to the pigs, and have done with him!", Seeburn growled back.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Abruptly there were a number of house servants surrounding the Scott, helping him from his seat, and escorting him from the room.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Where's Penn?", asked Appelenea, for she had lost sight of him in the confusion.</span> </p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px">[FONT=&quot]***</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Seeburn lumbered back to the inn afoot, almost hoping that someone would challenge him. But the passers by saw the mood that followed him and steered clear.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Once in his chambers he all but tore the shirt from his back and flung it across the room. Who in Tartarus were these people, these fat, perfumed, pampered, spoiled children, to treat him that way? Was blunt honesty such a foreign tongue that they didn't understand it? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">He changed clothes, then carefully counted out a score of copper pennies, enough to fill his best purse, and secured his blade. A good swig of strong Highland brew, and a small splash onto his shirt, and he was ready for trouble.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">***</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Darius smiled his silent smile, the one that showed no teeth, and drifted down the walkway. Ahead the drunken outlander staggered into the side of a building, then slid off and almost fell into the alley.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">He'd spotted the man a few streets back, and being open to opportunity, decided to follow. And now opportunity was knocking, or more properly, lurching down a lone alley, probably looking for a piss-pot.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">He slipped up to the alley in silence, his blade sliding noiselessly from it's oiled leather scabbard, then stepped inside.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">His first strike should have been the last, but the lout somehow heard him coming and spun in place, turning a short strike to the vitals into a long gash, painful but far from fatal.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"What took you so long?", Seeburn asked with a smile. And the fight was on.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Darius' blade wove a complex pattern, evading the brute's clumsy defense and scoring another cut to the ribs. Again, not fatal, but he'd come to miss that blood sooner rather than later.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Seeburn's attack was more direct, and gripping his blade with both hands he powered through his foe's fancy attempt at a parry, chopping through leather and flesh with a single blow.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Thus the dance played out, fancy bladework facing the raw fury of the Scocian Highlander, they traded blow for blow. Darius became desperate as he fought, for his foe seemed like the great bear, growing stronger as they fought instead of weakening. There was madness in his eyes and foam on his lips, and if there was blood in the foam the man seemed not to notice.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Finally, lacking any alternative, he tried a quick parry-spin maneuver, graceful as a dance step when done properly, a dance which ended with his blade under his foe's ribs.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">But the narrow alley hampered the dance, and he found that it was the Barbarian's blade buried a hand's depth in flesh, and the blood began to fill his lungs. As his knees buckled, the last sound he heard was the hue and cry of the guard, drawn by the sounds of the fight.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Seeburn stood for a long moment, watching as his fallen foe slowly slipped off of his blade. His breath was coming in great heaving sobs now, and he felt the battle madness abate, taking his strength with it. He crumpled in exhaustion, then into oblivion as his body finally noticed his injuries.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px">[/FONT]</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5896190, member: 6669384"] [SIZE=2]*** "So this is what you spent your afternoon on?", Appelenea asked as she gave the Bard a good once over. "Not at all.", replied Penn, ignoring her unspoken opinion of his new finery. "I spent a time at the tailors, getting trous fitted, then at the glass blowers obtaining some alchemy gear, then at the exchange, pretending to buy and sell things."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Pretending?", asked Seeburn in shock. "Why waste your time at that?"[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Because that is where our host conducts business. I learned everything I could about him and the guests of honor. He's the most important businessman in the city, and has actually paid money *not* to be named as a civic leader. The other guests are..."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "I don't care who else the fool invites.", Seeburn cut him off. "And anyone who would pay good money to avoid being a leader is a fool, straight away."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Penn raised his hands in exasperation, then set about brushing off his companion. He hummed a slight tune as he did so, invoking a bit of Fey magic. The stains and smudges on the Scott's woolen shirt came away, his hair fell into place, his bushy mustache somehow looked trimmed, and the worn and frayed hem of his half-robe mended itself. By the time he was finished the normally unkempt warrior looked well groomed, and had a pleasantly faint aroma of heather about him.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] And if Seeburn had noticed, he might well have bloodied the Bard's nose for it.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] *** Nedel had engaged some servants for the evening, as befit his station, and they accompanied the group to the dinner. They were welcomed as "Comus Nedel and party", and escorted to the "parlor", a chamber that rivaled the size of some temples they had seen. Here they had the opportunity to see just how extensive this "small gathering" was. Literally hundreds of people, with some of the servants wearing better finery than the companions.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Nedel blended in easily, and Penn managed to hold his own in small talk, but the others felt as if they were an island unto themselves. Some recognized Sylus' Olympic honor, and approached him, but this sea of silk and satin was a different world from the one he knew.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] *** "Down boy.", Seeburn cautioned, as they were seated for dinner. "Can't you see her?", Penn asked, his eyes fixed on the head table. They were seated above the salt, thanks to Nedel's title and Sylus rank as an Olympic archer, but there were still dozens of people between them and the host's table. It was a young beauty at that table that had caught the Fey's fancy.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Her name is Borgia, and she's well beyond you.", advised Nedel. [/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Oh I know. Like a mountain peak glistening with snow, her beauty shines even at night.", Penn replied, clearly not really hearing any of the cautions directed at him.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "What's so special about her?", Seeburn asked. "She's too skinny to make a good wife, and I doubt that she's milked a goat in her life. Warrant, she might know how to cook a good meal, but that flower would whither before the first frost."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "I wasn't thinking of marrying her.", Penn laughed. [/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The conversation continued apace until suddenly there was a sharp silence from the head table. One of the guests, a stodgy looking man in deep blue, suddenly paled and raised a hand to his breast. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped in his seat.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Marcus leaped to his feet and rushed to aid the fallen man. After a moment of paralysis the room erupted in a form of orderly chaos. Servants rushed forward and eased the man to the floor, and many people stood to gain a better view, but nobody other than the Jovian Cleric moved to aid the man.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Cassius noted the relieved look on the faces of many of the guests, and coins were passed from one guest to another, surreptitiously of course.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Toss the drunk to the alley where he belongs.", Seeburn belched, draining his cup.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "The Concilatori is dead!", came the harsh rebuke.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Then toss his body to the pigs, and have done with him!", Seeburn growled back.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Abruptly there were a number of house servants surrounding the Scott, helping him from his seat, and escorting him from the room.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Where's Penn?", asked Appelenea, for she had lost sight of him in the confusion.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][FONT="]*** Seeburn lumbered back to the inn afoot, almost hoping that someone would challenge him. But the passers by saw the mood that followed him and steered clear. Once in his chambers he all but tore the shirt from his back and flung it across the room. Who in Tartarus were these people, these fat, perfumed, pampered, spoiled children, to treat him that way? Was blunt honesty such a foreign tongue that they didn't understand it? He changed clothes, then carefully counted out a score of copper pennies, enough to fill his best purse, and secured his blade. A good swig of strong Highland brew, and a small splash onto his shirt, and he was ready for trouble. *** Darius smiled his silent smile, the one that showed no teeth, and drifted down the walkway. Ahead the drunken outlander staggered into the side of a building, then slid off and almost fell into the alley. He'd spotted the man a few streets back, and being open to opportunity, decided to follow. And now opportunity was knocking, or more properly, lurching down a lone alley, probably looking for a piss-pot. He slipped up to the alley in silence, his blade sliding noiselessly from it's oiled leather scabbard, then stepped inside. His first strike should have been the last, but the lout somehow heard him coming and spun in place, turning a short strike to the vitals into a long gash, painful but far from fatal. "What took you so long?", Seeburn asked with a smile. And the fight was on. Darius' blade wove a complex pattern, evading the brute's clumsy defense and scoring another cut to the ribs. Again, not fatal, but he'd come to miss that blood sooner rather than later. Seeburn's attack was more direct, and gripping his blade with both hands he powered through his foe's fancy attempt at a parry, chopping through leather and flesh with a single blow. Thus the dance played out, fancy bladework facing the raw fury of the Scocian Highlander, they traded blow for blow. Darius became desperate as he fought, for his foe seemed like the great bear, growing stronger as they fought instead of weakening. There was madness in his eyes and foam on his lips, and if there was blood in the foam the man seemed not to notice. Finally, lacking any alternative, he tried a quick parry-spin maneuver, graceful as a dance step when done properly, a dance which ended with his blade under his foe's ribs. But the narrow alley hampered the dance, and he found that it was the Barbarian's blade buried a hand's depth in flesh, and the blood began to fill his lungs. As his knees buckled, the last sound he heard was the hue and cry of the guard, drawn by the sounds of the fight. Seeburn stood for a long moment, watching as his fallen foe slowly slipped off of his blade. His breath was coming in great heaving sobs now, and he felt the battle madness abate, taking his strength with it. He crumpled in exhaustion, then into oblivion as his body finally noticed his injuries. [/FONT][/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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