Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="spyscribe" data-source="post: 1021402" data-attributes="member: 5808">Part the Very TwelfthIn which: Reyu is bewildered, an old friend returns, and Anvil ponders commissioning a masterwork gag.(as recorded by Fajitas)    Reyu glances around the inside of the Fortunate Traveller.  It is reasonably full, as it is still early in the evening.  Most tables are crowded.  She scans the room, looking for the familiar face of the scarred man.  Or, at least, looking for a furtive figure skulking in shadows.  She sees neither at a first glance.    She does catch a group of humans staring at her.  Not that that is terribly uncommon.  She is, of course, an elf dressed in traditional furs and beads and thus often attracts attention in Dar Pykos.  She is about to ignore them and turn back to her business, but she suddenly realizes that these humans aren’t human at all.  They’re elves!    She whips her head around to gawk at them.  Indeed, they are elves, but dressed in the manner of the humans of Dar Pykos.  Even more shocking, their hair is cut short, without the braids and life-beads that are so important in elven tradition.  Reyu is stunned.    They notice her staring back and whisper among themselves.  Reyu approaches, wondering if these strange kin can be of aid to her.  “Pardon me, sistren” she says to them in Elven.  “I find myself in need of assistance.”  Two of the elves stare blankly at her, while the third rolls her eyes a little.  “She wants assistance,” she explains to the other two in Common.  “I’ll say,” one of them mutters, while the other snickers.Reyu looks back and forth between them, slightly confused.  “Do you not speak our native tongue?” she asks.“I do some. They don’t,” the female explains.  “We don’t have a lot of use for it in town.”  She looks down her nose at Reyu, who is still confused.  The other two seem to be trying not to laugh at her outfit.“I’m sorry,” Reyu explains, thrown by their appearance.  “I had not realized… I am new here.” (“Clearly,” one of non-Elven speakers whispers, but Reyu ignores him).  “I did not know there were… elves… living in Dar Pykos.”  When she says “elves” it is not with her usual hesitation, but rather as if she is not entirely sure the word applies to these three.  It is difficult for her to keep the disapproval out of her voice.The others don’t even try to keep their disapproval quiet.  “You hadn’t?” one responds.  “I thought your type were supposed to be all watchful and stuff.”Reyu stares coldly, her ire fully roused.  “Are all the elves in Dar Pykos like you?” “No,” they answer.  “Just the successful ones.”Reyu swallows her anger and attends to business.  “I am looking for this man,” she says, producing the sketch of the scarred man.  “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed him here?”“No,” the elves respond, not really looking at the sketch.  “But you could ask the bartender if you’re curious.  It’s traditional.”  Somehow, they manage to make that last word an insult.Reyu turns her back on them and heads toward the bar.But before she gets there, she feels a tug on her cloak.  She turns around, expecting to see the three elves again, but instead she a very strange, very familiar, very short man with a ferret on his shoulder.“Hi there!” he says in an excited voice.  It is Hue, the man she and Thatch met in the forest.  “Fancy meeting you in a place like this!  What are the chances, I mean, Dar Pykos being so big and all….”  He continues prattling about the odds of such a chance meeting.  The ferret on his shoulder looks furtively all around them, as if suspecting that this “chance” meeting is actually some kind of plot.“Um,” Reyu says, adopting a page from Thatch’s book. “It is good to see you, but I am in something of a… rush.”“Can I help?” Hue asks.“Well--"“Great!  Lead the way!”Unconvinced of the wisdom of this action, but seeing little choice, Reyu hurries to the bar.  Hue follows behind her, going on and on about his latest discoveries on squirrel mating habits, and how there’s only so much even a legitimate researcher can take before he has to come back to town for a drink.“Hush,” Reyu tells him as they reach the bar.  She gets the bartender’s attention.  “Excuse me.  I’m looking for this man.  Has he been here tonight?”  She produces the sketch of the scarred man.“We’re looking for someone!  How come?” Hue asks, out of sight beneath the bar.  Both Reyu and the bartender ignore him.The bartender glances at the sketch.  “Oh him,” he says.  “No, I haven’t seen him tonight, but he usually stops by every couple of days.” “Indeed?” Reyu asks, her eyebrows arching.“Yeah.  He usually stops by to pick up messages.  Number of folk leave things for him here.  Lot of folk get messages here.  Travelers and the like.”“I do not suppose,” Reyu begins, her mind wheeling, “that a message was left for him a few moments ago.”“Actually, there was,” the bartender replies.  “Fella came in, dropped it off, waited a few minutes and then left.  Right before you came in, matter of fact.”“Might I perhaps… see this message,” Reyu asks.  The bartender looks hesitant, so Reyu, with little to lose, adds, “Kettenek’s Justice… demands it.”The bartender seems convinced, and reaches under the bar for a moment.  He returns with a piece of parchment.  He holds out his hand expectantly and clears his throat.  Reyu stares at the outstretched palm, not quite understanding, but Hue says, “I bet he wants money! You should give him some money!”The bartender looks pained, but Reyu drops a coin into his hand and he presents her with the parchment.  It reads:“The Justicars are looking for you. Lay low.  If they catch you, say nothing. We’ll take care of things.  –D”Reyu heads for the door, Hue trailing behind her.  “So, good news then?” he asks.  Reyu just smiles.************    It’s hard to say what Desalle is looking at with more disgust: Anvil, who watches him like a hawk with his sword in hand, or the manacles that pin his wrists.  He twists and pulls his arms, but the masterwork manacles give him little room to maneuver.    Desalle turns his eyes on Anvil.  “If you know what’s good for you,” Desalle says, “you’ll release me and we can pretend this never happened.”    “No, I don’t think so,” Anvil responds flatly.    “Do you know what the penalty for making unfounded accusations against a Count is in Dar Aego?” Desalle asks.    “I presume it involves slavery,” Anvil replies, “but as we are not in Dar Aego, it does not matter.”    “This cart is Aegosian property,” Desalle reminds him.  “You have assaulted my person and insulted my Lord here.  By the rightful law, I can have you--"    Anvil interrupts him.  “Do you know what the rightful law does to people who threaten Justicars?  It is only slightly less severe to them than it is to people who bribe Justicars.  I think you will find that Kettenek does not take kindly to his faithful being manipulated.  If I were you, I would not worsen my state by continuing to speak.”    Desalle mutters something under his breath.  Anvil leans forward to catch it, but at that moment, a sudden burst of light blinds and dazes him.  A spell, he realizes a moment too late, as Desalle knocks him off the cart.  “Drive! Drive, you fool!” Desalle hisses to the driver.    The cart races away, leaving a gasping, stunned Anvil lying in the street, staring after it.To be continued…</blockquote>

Verification