= (IRP) The Sword and the Shield

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro chuckled, dark and humorlessly. "Am I alright? How could I be? Look around." He got up unsteadily, swaying like a drunk. "Look at all the death. And for what? So one man can tell more people what to do? How could this happened?"

Suddenly he looked up to the sky and roared his fury to the heavens. "AND WHAT ARE YE DOING? WHY DON'T YE WAVE A HAND AND MAKE ALL RIGHT? AREN'T YE SUPPOSED TO BE ALL-POWERFUL?" Tears began to roll down his face, but he was oblivious to them. "YE TOOK BARRABAS FROM ME! YE TOOK THESE MEN, WHO HAD FAMILIES, AND FRIENDS WHO CARED FOR THEM! HOW MANY MORE MUST YE TAKE BEFORE YE ARE SATED?" He picked up his staff and with one swing smashed it against the earth. Already weakened from the sword, the staff broke, the half rebounding up to hit his knee.

His anger spent, he felt weak. "See? Even our weapons break on us." He fell to his knees again, sobbing freely. "Why can't I save anyone?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan waited patiently for Jerro to finish. She understood he needed to vent it out, but she also understood she had to be hard to drop him back to the ground when he was ready for it - to make him realize that life was cruel and merciless by nature and there was nothing either of them could do about it. When she was sure Jerro was calm enough to listen and understand, she said:

"Well, Jerro, obviously ye can't save everyone, none of us can, but ye can save a hell of a lot of people still. Like those girls in that prison. Like the dozens or hundreds of people d'Argent is going to poison if he's not stopped." Pagan paused and continued with a softer voice. "Like yerself, Jerro. Ye are in his list too, and he's not going to stop unless he's stopped or he's killed everyone that stands in his way. I'm sorry, but that's the way it goes."

Pagan turned and saw everything was ready. "Ye can think about this later, Jerro", she continued. "Ye have certainly done more than yer fair share. But we need to release those girls and bury the dead first, don't ye think?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded. He knew that he had to act, but that didn't help. What Pagan said was true. Jerro still felt hollow inside, he knew he had been naive, but had never known the full extant of his ignorance. No one deserved to die, but it was inevitable. He would have to try and save all he could. No one would be saved if he just sat there wallowing in his own despair. Mechanically, he stood and followed the rest of the soldiers.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Soon everything was ready and they set out to the old prison. The wagon stopped in the middle of the yard and Pagan hopped out of it. Heavily she approached the iron door and jerked the heavy bolts. She managed to crank the door open and stood staring at the half darkness, seeing nothing. A weird smell hit her - warm, ingratiating, almost animalistic. Pagan shivered in horror. She was terrified of mental illnesses and disturbances.

Were the prisoners insane? Would they throw themselves at her biting and clawing - crazy as female bears in spring?

Rubbish! She dug a flint and steel from her pocket and used it to light a torch. When she had managed to light it she lifted it up.

Three pairs of eyes were staring at her.

"Come out", she said hoarslely. "Ye are free."

They didn't move. Just stared.

Pagan was infuriated when they didn't obey her, and that kept up her ridiculous fear towards them.

"Come out!" she repeated. "They are dead."
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--Shamus

Shamus stood next to Pagan, watching the girls carefully. He saw that one of them was the one he had "rescued" when he had saved Pagan and Jerro. He was worried at what had happened. He pulled Pagan aside and whispered to her, "That bastard! I think he tortured these women and broke their minds. I remember Callaghan sayin he would "break ye." He may have been trying to turn ye like them, servile and unable to think for yerself. Now, I want to try something, and if it doesn't work, I'll look like a fool, if it does, I'll look like an arse. Either way, it may be our only shot."

He stepped out back into the doorway and, in his most commanding voice, said, "Callaghan has sold ye to me, I'm yer new master now. Come!" He accented this by clapping his hands twice. Then he stood back and prayed to Jah that it didn't work.

Pagan

There was some rustling in the shadows. One after another stood up from stinking piles of rags. They were sneaking towards the door like dogs. Pagan retreated from their way, out into the sun. She felt uncontrollable urge for booze. She watched them as they exited - slowly - pale faces reflecting deep-rooted fear and suspicion. The women looked around them and pressed themselves against each other because of their shared insecurity and fear.

"It is over now", Pagan said with a husky voice, her trembling hands desperately trying to uncork her hipflask.

"Over?" one of them repeated. "Over?"

Pagan looked at her. Her long, red hair was hanging in greasy flocks on her half-naked upper body. She had swollen red stripes on her shoulders - like she had been whipped with a thick stump of rope.
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--Shamus

Shamus cursed to himself quietly. He was afraid that it might have worked. Picking up where Pagan left off, he said, in a gentler voice, "She's right, it's all over now, I don't need any slaves." He saw their eyes widen, panic in them as they started to retreat from him. "What I mean to say is, yer free. Surely ye must remember life before Callaghan? I want ye to go out and live for yerselves, not as servants. I'll even join ye to make sure ye find homes safely, how does that sound?" He hoped this dismissal was enough to break the chains that Callaghan had laid so thickly over them.

--Viscomte_dargent

To the Red Duke come greetings from Viscomte d'Argent on this fourth day of June in the year of the Nameless, 1459, being the Feast of Galzag the Defiler.

Grace,

I pen this missive from the offices of the MacKenzie Circus, where I am relieving the proprietor of various articles and placing certain evidence that will make the Pagan's life....festive.

Fortunately that idiot Grunt who works here did not spot me coming in here.

The Pagan has gone to the old prison and taken its pet-geriatric-along to ambush the thieves I sold the place to.

If they survive the fight there, they shall return, perhaps, to a rather exciting home front.

When the Finisher makes landfall, I will require her to cleanse that Indigo mess drinking heavily downstairs.

What can Anto be thinking?

Infernally yours,

d'Argent

The letter was sealed with the Pagan's wax, attached to a raven, and sent out into the night. Time to wander back to his own quarters in the hidden hallway. d'Argent snagged up a meat pie and some wine from the kitchen as he passed through.

Pagan

The girls stared at Shamus with empty eyes, as if they were unable to comprehend the meaning of his words. A hard knot tightened inside Pagan. She knew it would take some time for them to heal. She said: "Go inside the prison and take what ye need. Food and clothes. We will unload the wagon and take ye back to Imleach. But do it quickly, as quickly as ye possibly can."

They were blinking their eyes unsure of what to do. Then they started moving - slowly at first, then faster, until they ran so fast their hair was flowing.

Blood was clotting on Pagan's left arm. She staggered towards the wagon and inspected the load. Crates full of canned food, booze, flour, sugar, salt - everything that was needed for living outside of civilization. There was trunks filled with clothes, hats, underwear, linens and wool blankets. There was big and heavy boxes filled with weapons, cartons that most likely contained loaded dice, unopened decks of cards and small pocket mirrors. A perfect stock of cheating devices. The wagons also contained collapsible tables, beds and several bar stools. Heavy oak planks and sawbucks apparently formed a mobile bardesk. Pagan ordered the soldiers to help her in tossing most of the stuff in a big pile in the middle of the yard. Then she ordered the wagons to be pulled farther while she set the pile on fire. All that she spared was some clothes, food and a crate full of whiskey.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro walked around, helping when he could. He was still fogged out, but he was getting better, slowly. He was carrying a crate while Pagan and Shamus were dealing with the women. As he carried one of the crates, he tripped over a step. He dropped the crate he was holding, but managed to stay upright. The crate's top was knocked off and the contents spilled out of it. The crate was filled to burst with loaded dice and decks of cards. He sat there, staring as ones and sixes, and kings and queens stared back at him. He reminisced about old times, and old wounds opened up. He reached down, without thinking, and picked up a deck of cards held together by string. He stared into the deck and remembered.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The flames were licking the pile greedily. The girls came at the door - they were eating while watching. Pagan waved at them and pointed at the pile of clothes. They rushed at it. A little later Pagan could hear them splashing in a nearby pond.

She was sitting on a shaft of the wagon trying to bandage a bad wound on her shoulder. It didn't bleed anymore, but she was afraid of the infection. She felt dizzy and miserable, but for some reason she couldn't force herself to ask for help. Perhaps she felt guilty for the dead soldiers who had given their lives for her. She would have to return their bodies to their families. They would receive heroes burial - not that it would make it any better for their parents, wives and children if they had them.

After nightfall the women came out.

Pagan was sitting on a shaft weaving, dead drunk. The women gathered around her, startled by the sight. Pagan tried to stand up, but couldn't. In the light of the glowing bonfire her face looked wan and ugly.

"Ye mussht..." she started, went quiet, turned slowly and slumped to the ground, passing out cold.

Somewhere a humming bird started singing. It continued until a hungry wolf started howling in the bushes on the foot of the ridge.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro sat by the bonfire, idly shuffling the deck of cards. The only survivor of the bonfire. He kept thinking about his past and his future. What could he have done differently, is this what he truly wanted to keep doing? It was obvious that, no matter what he tried, he couldn't change the past, but could ha change the future? Was one man, barely old enough to start a trade, change the world? If he were to quit right here, what was the worst that could happen? If he weren't here, the man he fought would still have died. If he weren't here, nothing would have changed.

Suddenly, he heard Pagan's voice. He turned towards the sound to see Pagan pass out. He dropped the deck and rushed over to her, remembering the wound she received. He practically pushed the girls, who had crowded around her after she had fallen, out of the way. He carefully moved her so that he could check out her wound. It was wrapped somewhat loosely by a bandage. After removing the bandage, Jerro inspected the wound. It wasn't bleeding and it didn't look infected. He sighed in relief, she was probably just drunk then. He re-wrapped her shoulder with a clean bandage and set her down near enough to the bonfire so that she wouldn't get cold.

As he sat back down on the other side, it occurred to him. There were people who needed him. If it weren't for him, would Pagan have survived the first poisoning? Would they have been able to get Dr. Sweeney to town as fast as they had? He thought of the friends and family he still had. They needed him, even if it were for nothing more than to just be there. While he still breathed, there he would do everything in his power to see that the right thing was done.

"Let's follow our leader's shining example and get some rest." Jerro called out to the men who had started to see the commotion, his new resolve filling his voice. "I'll take first watch. Get some sleep, we've had a long day and it probably won't get much better tomorrow." As the activity slowed down, Jerro picked up the deck. He looked at it, picking out several cards. The king of spades, the jack of diamonds, the four of clubs, and the five of spades. He looked back to Pagan, to the women they had rescued, the men who had risked their lives. He put them back into the deck and threw it into the fire. He put his chin on his hands, ready to wait all night if needed.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The next day - just before dawn - they buried the dead bandits in the mellow soil in the back of the prison. Pagan was weak of the loss of blood and nauseated of the dirty work, but she didn't slow down before it was done. They had found Callaghan's body too, early in the morning inside the prison. Somebody had impaled his head with a sword. They buried his body along with the rest of them.

Just before sunrise one of the women came out - she was waving at the working soldiers. One after another they washed themselves in a tub by the wall of the stable and went inside the main building and to the dining room. Fried bacon and red peas were boiling on the stove and casks of ale were waiting alluringly in the background. The girls had even fried bread for them, and set it on the plates golden brown and fragrant.

Pagan looked each of them in turn. Washed and cleansed faces didn't somehow seem to match with the seductive outfits they were wearing.

The women weren't looking back. They were sitting quietly on a corner, staring at the floor, without making a sound.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro ate quietly. When he had recieved the food, he had tried to talk to the women, but they were still withdrawn. They did cook well, though.

"What do we do now?" He asked. "Callaghan's dead, d'Argente's gone missin, and we rescued some prisoners," He got closer and spoke quietly, "Who I am very worried about." He began to speak in a normal voice again. "This was our only lead, and now it's gone. What now?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan found out she was terribly hungry. She buttered a piece of bread and had a cautious bite. It tasted incredibly good. She gobbled it down. The beer tasted if possible even better. She emptied a large tankard and gorged a large portion of peas and bacon. All the soldiers were stuffing themselves in a similar fashion, and the girls were staring at them with fascination. Several of the soldiers noticed that, blushed and toned down their gorging. They didn't realize that cooking for hungry men was a new experience to these lasses.

Pagan lifted her gaze when Jerro talked to her and looked him in the eyes. "I'm not sure. Maybe the girls know something? They have been living here fer quite some time now, they must know something! If we just could get them to open up."

Pagan looked at the girls and smiled. They smiled back cautiously.

"This is delicious", she said. "Why don't ye join us?"

That finally broke the ice, and they were all talking at the same time. They were competing in serving the soldiers, guessing their wishes and expressing their gratitude in thousands of different ways.
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= (IRP) The Sword and the Shield

Pagan

It rarely happened that Pagan MacKenzie - a colonel in the New Munster Army - allowed herself to think about her future and the years she had still left. While it was true that she owned the uniform that gave her permission to kill for the county, in her core she was but a warrior, a drunkard and a rogue. She had belonged to the Imleach 2nd regiment for about seven or eight months and her career there had been like a shooting star. And now she had a regiment of her own. But Pagan hadn't achieved the rank for free. The Laighean war and about half a dozen dangerous missions after it had lifted her to the top. She had never cared to count how many people she had killed during her time in the army, possibly because she instinctively knew that the number would be terribly high - too high, and the attempt to lower that number might cost her her life. In her profession life often depended on who made the first strike so that the opponent couldn't get any chance at all. A soldier couldn't always follow the dueling rules of the arena, even though the desire to give her opponent a fair chance had often nearly cost her her life.

But on that night Pagan had to think. She thought about that fraction of a second that decided who lives and who dies. It was not about anything as stupid as who deserved to die, nor who would benefit the society more if they lived. No, it was all about time, and time is neutral.

Only eight minutes ago she had killed a man.

Pagan had encountered her as planned - in a dark alley that lead to the back door of the hostel. She had stood there in the dark waiting for the sound of footsteps. And they came... closer and closer. When Pagan saw the silhouette she stepped in the middle of the street and said one single word. She saw how the dark figure startled and his elbow swung. By then Pagan had already drawn her own sword, a present from Kadie she carried sheathed on her belt. There was a short but heated exchange of blows before her sword impaled the man and the figure in front of her fell down without making a sound.
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Sajjhe

Sajjhe didn't realize how close he was to insanity. The profession he carried as an assassin made him change his life forever. Once he was innocent and...Good by the society laws. In a fact you never know if your right or wrong, if you made mistakes or not but in todays society there were rules that dictated and established a wall between good and evil. And according to them, Sajjhe was evil. Deserved to be thrown in jail and throw the key away so he slowly experienced a painful death. To punish him severe and harshly for all the lives he had taken, babies to old erudite people. To pay the price. A sacrifice for the lives he so coldly ended.
As a proof that he was in a fact at the edge of insanity, not so long ago he had almost killed the one person he ever loved, Haylen. Both were engulfed in a intense fight were jealousy and doubts reigned each others head. Was so intense that he nearly sliced his lover's throat, leaving a bruised mark around her neck, made by his bare hands. Almost choking her to death. What stopped him from actually take a blow and vanquish her life? The words of affection she expressed, convinced her soul would leave the world.

When he finally was aware of his actions, he even felt appalled with himself. He left her with a bruised neck, and hit the road to clear his mind and wonder when he had become this violent.
Some days passed by, and Sajjhe at all costs avoided Haylen. He didn't want to face his consequences and generally chose the easy way out. Run away from his problems and never face his own consequences.
There was this festival in Cork and Sajjhe thought maybe this would make him forget his problems for a bit and enjoy his time in Ireland, the time he had left anyway.
A man frantically shouted at the public to come and take a chance at the throwing knives game. Of course, being an assassin, Sajjhe had no problem to deal with knives and rarely he missed the aim. One, two and three knives were thrown. All of them hit the middle of the target. As a prize, he gained himself coupons for some free drinks at the festival temporarily tavern. Little did he know he was being watched meticulously by strangers...

At the bar, Sajjhe exchanged the coupon for a drink and scanned the crowd distractedly. It was a habit he had since many times his life was threated. This was a way to protect himself, by being prepared to what to come. Two man approached him. They were wrapped around a crimson cloak and the rest of their clothes were black. Sajjhe laid his back on the counter nonchalantly as if he didn't notice and his finger commenced to finger the wrist blade mechanism that would make the blade unsheathe in a matter of seconds.
Are you Sajjhe de L'eau de la Vega? One of them asked with a drumming deep voice.
Yes I am... Sajjhe instinctively knew what these men had planned for him. Another assassination mission. The rest to know was who to murder.
In what can I help you monseigneur? Sajjhe inquired, before sipping on his drink.
The man looked right to left and left to right to check if it was decently safe to talk about business in a crowed place.

Can we talk privately? They asked once again. Yes of course. Lets go to the back of this tavern. There is no one around there and we can talk safely. Sajjhe left the half drunk beer at the table and followed the men to the meeting point.
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

Eight minutes later Pagan was standing in front of a tavern entrance. She knew that the Field Marshall and the colonel of the Corcaigh regiment would know that it was her who had killed Uilliam Thompson. The authorities of An Mumhain had been hunting Thompson for two years already, and just recently the task of ending his career had been handed out to the army due to his elusiveness. But it was important that nobody outside of the NMA Council knew how Thompson had died. In this line of work the namelessness, the deniability was necessity. If she had been caught doing it, the army would have denied they had anything to do with it.

Pagan sensed the quaint smell of blood on her clothes. She had cleaned the blade and rubbed carefully her right hand. She didn't get in right away so the cool night air could fan the crisp smell from her clothes. As she stood there she was thinking about what had happened. How easily it could have been the other way around! A hint to Thompson, and he would have been the one stalking Pagan in a dark alley and possibly shot an arrow on her back without giving her any kind of chance to defend herself. And Thompson had been so nervous, he had walked the alley with a sword in hand; he had reacted in a fraction of a second after Pagan had uttered the only word she had time to! It was balancing on a razor's edge - maybe even harder because she couldn't always trust her ability to be better in swordsmanship than her opponent. In this game of hide and seek chances and coincidences often defined the victor - and who could protect themselves from fate!

Pagan knew she could not survive in a life without danger, suspense and violence. The action and adventure were like food and drink to her. Otherwise she would have just drank whiskey until her healt and understanding were all gone and waited for death in a long state of hibernation. Death had been a constant in her life since childhood. Pagan was sure she wouldn't grow old. Nobody in the ranks of the NMA never did. She would face her destiny like so many of her colleagues or enemies - by the sword, a knife on her back or mutilated and out of her mind in torture. This certainty always haunted Pagan, but she always took it in account when she was planning a mission, she took it on account like a concrete opponent and played her cards so she had emerged the victor so far. Pagan knew it wasn't just luck that she was still alive; she had honed the skill to live into perfection - to live and kill to live if necessary.
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Sajjhe

They arrived to the meeting point. There was no one whom could possibly be eavesdropping in that place. One the smell was just awfully bad, enough to scare off any visitors and two...Who wouldn't want to hangout at the back of a tavern instead of drinking?
Sajjhe easily ignored the smell. Many times during his training with his uncle, he had been submerged into very poorly conditions when carrying on his mission at the time. Crawling in the mud with mixed dejects and dead fishes. Sometimes they would even encounter tossed bodies in the valleys and they had to make their way around them, tainting their clothes with their blood pouring out of their corpses, some even in a very high decomposing state.
All of that intensive training, granted by his uncle, served Sajjhe to be more rigid with such annoyances, specially olfactory ones, and flexible in any type of environment.
One of the two crimson cloaked men covered his nose with a handkerchief, showing off a golden ring in his right hand.

The sun hit fully on the man's ring, attracting Sajjhe's gaze like a magnet. He had a fleur-de-lis craved on the very ridge of the golden ring. Some sort of a crest implanted on the ring, of a cult or organisation.
With these gathered informations, Sajjhe could mold his speech to fit it perfectly with the surroundings.
It is safer here. No one will eavesdrop in such condition. Right in front of them there was a valley, full of mud till up, mixed up with the trash from the tavern.
The tallest cloaked man nodded his head and pulled from his jacket a bundle of herbs and some sort of paper. Slowly he began to roll the herbs within the paper and lick the inside of the paper edge, rolling the now formed tube in between his fingers. He lit it up with a mechanism and began to slowly puff it till the tip was incandescent. He pulls some more air into his lungs, glancing over at Sajjhe next.
Sajjhe leaned his back on the wall, staring at him back awaiting for the plan.

We need your services... he took another pull from his cigarette and resumed his idea. There is this...Woman, the Color Sergeant in the Imleach 2nd of the NMA.. I think you have heard about it already, right? Sajjhe nodded his head slightly listening closer to the details of the man. This woman has been taking out some of our investors and members of our organisation non stop. She was adopted into the MacKenzie by Oddman. Oddman was a colonel in the New Munster Army and trained her in the arts of defense and attack. She has very good fight skills and they have been becoming better and better as she performs this murdering missions. She has to be stopped. Kill her. We would prefer in the most painful way possible... The man grimace with evilness splatted on his face, as the thought of the girl suffering filled his soul with happiness.
Sajjhe scratched his chin thoughtfully as he processed the information. Very well...I accept this job. Although I need some more information. How she is like? She must have weakness, so if you monsieur tell me will make my job easier...Does she have a fiancée, a lover? How about family? How is she personality wise also?

The two men nodded their head as if they could guess Sajjhe would inquire every single of this questions. The smoker began to reply them one by one...
She has brown hair, often bleached blond; Short stature, around 5'3''; Grey eyes; She has a scar on her left shoulder and her nose has a mark from an old injury; Fit... Of course for a person in the army has to be...Personality wise, she has a drinking disorder and is many times reckless. Antisocial sometimes although she has a lover, Kadence. She is Oddman's sister. They paused for a moment thinking what else was left unspoken but nothing they added more.
Very well...Now the only thing is the price. I demand 1.200 pounds. 500 now and 700 later when the job is done. Sajjhe said as his last request.
The two hesitated for a while but agreed with the price.
It's a bit high so we expect a well done job. The man extended his hand to handshake Sajjhe. You have my word. Sajjhe spoke lastly, shaking the man's hand and ceasing the contract.
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

But Pagan had never become so callous that the killing would have turned into routine. Something inside her was always rebelling. In spite of whether the opponent deserved to die or not, it always made her feel somewhat nauseated, anxious and remorseful afterwards. And in that state of mind these thoughts kept surfacing - when will be your turn, Pagan? When the sword will get stuck in the scabbard? When the blade will brake? When somebody talks too much and gives you away? All it takes is one blow from a sword or an arrow - just one blow to the right place! Don't forget that death is blind, it won't pass you by just because you belong to the NMA!

Gathering her strenght Pagan pushed these thoughts back into her subconscious and focused on the lit main door of the MacKenzie Knot. The grey and gloomy facade didn't reveal anything to a random spectator, but the tavern had held unforgettable parties to both MacKenzie's and other groups of An Mumhain since it's creation. Pagan smiled as she stood there. It had been a while since she had been to Corcaigh before and she had never seen the capital as lively as it was now. The gods sure were smiling upon the county of An Mumhain, but it had required an enormous effort from number of people to make it happen.

Pagan fumbled assuringly at her purse and put her hipflask back to her pocket. Slowly she passed by two loud drunks and climbed three steps at the heavy, dark oak door. She knocked it with a brass knocker. The hatch opened.
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Sajjhe

[Two hours later...]

Sajjhe opens up his armoire and takes out the outfit he always wore when carrying his mission. An obsidian velvet shirt with micro-fibers of an array of metal neatly implanted in the shirt, giving it a vintage look. It gave him some protection, making the blade of his opponent not slide neatly; his two shoulder pads, one with a diamond shape made of leather and partially of the metal fibers giving it a silver metallic appearance. The other shoulder had the familiar labyrinth symbol, crafted in the shoulder pad armor, with the crimson color highlighting it. They both were linked to his body thanks to the leather belts, traversing his upper chest and around his back. Sajjhe's most signature piece of attire is his black plain cloak with red lining.
Sajjhe quickly slips inside his loose yet close fighting clothes allowing physical dexterity. He glances at his weaponry deciding today to just use one of his twin swords and taking today his bow, strapping it against his back underneath his cloak to conceal it.

A slim leather belt adorns his waist, loaded with pricks and knives, as well as his little knife. Soft yet sturdy boots cover his feet and with a little surprised. Those boots had a mechanism with pointy blades, when he operated the mechanism when in a fight. The latest kill he had performed was thanks to this secret, catching the man off guard and slicing half of his cheek and lips.
He strapped his hidden blade to his right wrist where he could maneuver it at ease.
One of his twins sword, was resting idly on his leather belt on his waist. Flawless weapon which had served him many times already.
He checked his little toys again and decided this pack would have to do it. After all he would be dealing with a woman, maybe significantly weaker, than him, but like his uncle long time ago said "Never judge the book by its cover and always expect the unexpected.". That was his rule.
He locked the door behind him, re-thinking his plan he had come with so far.

He had paid some golden coins for this women break in the tavern, where supposedly the NMA woman would be attending, and shout frantically about something of a men being harmed by town militia patrols. Sajjhe figured his target would have some authority with such and would not allow citizens to get harmed. They were placed in the town with the duty to defend and not harm.
The paid woman would guide her to an alley, where Sajjhe would place himself strategically on top of a house roof and aim a few arrows at the his target. If the arrows failed, he always had his flying knives pack. And even if that failed the only thing left to do, was to have a close up fight with the lass.
He encountered with the women again, and ordered to act according to the plan and stick to it.
The assassin abandoned the place, taking his place, hidden on top of the roof with his bow and arrows ready to attack.
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

"Just a moment, ma'am..."

The bolt clanked, the door opened and a tall, thin, white-haired bouncer emerged. Pagan nodded at him and walked along the red carpet towards open double doors to the poker room. She could hear cards splashing and pounds chinking from the tables. A shiver of anticipation went through her spine as she stopped at the door, sucking in the noises, smells and colors. Thet peculiar atmosphere was part of her personality. She loved the suspense and the condensed ambiance of fortune and adventure. She dug up her hipflask again and pulled a deep swig of the whiskey. Her grey eyes were twinkling under her brown eyebrows, and the mild smile that was rippling on the corners of her mouth made her appear very charming and pretty for anyone that might have been looking.

The room was full of women. And almost all of them were beautiful.

The men were mostly dressed in black and had white, fluffy lace frills on their brests and sleeves. The women wore night gowns, most of them with very deep necklines.

She couldn't see anybody familiar so she waved to a waitress. The girl curtsied and looked at her with a joyous smile.

"Ma'am?" Her voice was deep and pleasant.

"Do ye know if any MacK's will be coming over tonight?"

"Oh yes ma'am. But not before nine." She flashed Pagan a sunny smile, Pagan returned it to the lass and gave her a pound. The lass curtsied deep.

"Thank's a million, ma'am. If there's anything I can do fer ye just ask."

She disappeared between the tables.

Pagan looked out the window at the moon. About twenty minutes to nine. Enough to have a proper drink. She stepped into the tavern side and sat on a velvet couch next to the wall. The walls were paneled with mahogany and lit with heavy brass candelabrums. She ordered a large whiskey from a waiter and had another drink from her hipflask as she waited for it to arrive. The bar was almost full. The men were talking about gambling - in loud and heated tone. The women were mostly talking about men.

She managed to hold the whiskey up until it was over nine, then she paid and left to check the place out. Feeling a strange anticipation she walked along the tavern and the poker room.

Her eyes catched a glimpse of a girl she had never seen before. It was a tall and slender lass with a white dress and a red hair that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. The lass had been looking at Pagan but as their eyes met she turned half away from her and pretended like she hadn't noticed her at all. Her copper red hair was at shoulder length, ascending from her head in heavy waves. On her neck she had a pearl neckless (way too expensive for her to have purchased it herself, Pagan though) and on her right wrist she had a narrow golden bracelet. Her eyebrows were long, narrow and elegant. The mouth was as red as blood and slightly too full. She couldn't reach her eyes. Her dress was white silk, very tight on her waist and hips and Pagan couldn't understand how she could move at all.
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--The_call

She was standing in the middle of the road, waiting for the usual customers. Many of them were just drunks passing by, not knowing what to do to their money. Many of them were married, they didn't even spend a single penny with their wives but they would spend with a random "servant" girl. She wasn't complaining. After all she lived with the money from this tasks she did every day at the same time, at the same street corner. She looked down at her own cleavage and loosen up the corset slightly even more to see if would catch some man attention. A good view at her plump breasts would do the deal. The white dress she was carrying alongside with her fiery hair, served her many good nights. The men always loved a red haired women, and if she was wearing a white dress, would be as if a angel had fallen from the sky.

She leans back on the corner suggestively, waiting for some men get out of tavern but still no luck. How much longer should she have to wait to get some action going on, she thought. While thinking to herself, a young, good looking man, with a severe look approached her. By the fine clad he was wearing she could bet the man was no tramp or from low classes. This job wasn't as bad she found herself thinking. After all good looking handsome man require certain services.
"Well hello there ye handsome man..." She began to slowly fit her frame into his and slowly wrapping her arms around his neck, while twirling the small hairs populating his neck.
"Came for me services, aye? Ye'll be amazed with wut I can do with me lips." She thought he had come for this but, before she could do anything to make him in the mood, he had pushed her back and start explaining what he really had in mind.

She pouted since no handsome man would make her job easier. Old drunk people started to annoy her at the most, but the generous purse with many golden coins there made her smile and make her day! She took the purse and agreed to take the women she had to fetch to the place the man wanted. She didn't ask why but she could figure what would happen. Well she wasn't paid to think but to act. So she started to tighten up her corset and wrap around the necklace the man had given her. She couldn't appear to be a mere wench could she now? She gave some touches here and there to her red hair and wrap the bracelet around her slender wrist.
"Consider the job done."
The man quickly vanished from her sight. She would miss those blue eyes she thought as she walked to the tavern.
Before opening the door, she pulled up her most appalled face expression. She came in and her vision scanned quickly the tavern in search for the so called women, the man had the pleasure to explain to her.

Seeing her, she began her act. "HELP HELP, A MAN IS BEIN' BEATEN TE DEATH BY TOWN MILITIA! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP TIS POOR MAN!"

Pagan

The white fabric heightened her close to perfect figure almost indecently - the slight roundness of the belly, tall, slender thighs and soft curves on her hips. Her bosom was high and pointed under the silk, and Pagan didn't realize she was staring before the lass yelled out:

Quote:

"HELP HELP, A MAN IS BEIN' BEATEN TE DEATH BY TOWN MILITIA! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP TIS POOR MAN!"

Pagan's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Hadn't the lass just looked at her, then turned away for a second before she had started to scream? But there was no time to think about it now. Something was wrong, and as there were no other authorities present in the tavern, Pagan had to do something about it. She walked straight across the floor to the girl and grabbed her hand lighty:

"All right, lass, all right! Calm down, let's go have a look, eh?"

The girl led her outside of the tavern and a little down the street with hasty steps. She was taller than Pagan who had some difficulties in keeping up the pace.

They turned to an alley, and instinctively Pagan knew that she had made a mistake.
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--The_call

For a few brief minutes she thought her mask would fall down. The women had given her a mysterious look and was visible she suspected something was going on. But thank Jah everything turned out as planned. If not, she could bet her life would be at stake with the handsome stranger. The fierce look he had and his noticeable determination explained this man was a man not to be messed with.
The shouts and screams coming from her mouth eventually made the scenario look truthful enough. They both exited the heavy populated tavern and with her wrist firmly grasped, the girl led the victim to the dark alley. Soon the victim would be in the assassin's view sight, finishing the job without sweating much.
Getting closer to the meeting point, the girl quickly manages to get away from the other's tight grip.

She starts to run down far away from the alley, before she herself gets caught by some random strangers view, being the accomplice of the blue eyed man. Her life is already difficult as it is...No need to keep it even more by accepting good cash do lead a person and help the man with his mission.

Sajjhe

Patiently Sajjhe awaited for the girls arrival at the meeting point. He knew the colonel to be taken down was no apprentice when it came down to ambushes. Surely this was not her first one, but would be her last. Up in the roof of the house, Sajjhe glanced very attentive to his surroundings, pricking up his ears to catch a uncommon sound.
No sound of more than two person walking straight inside the alley. The wind didn't carry any out of ordinary aroma, putting Sajjhe at ease at the threat of him maybe fighting off a few soldiers along with the process to actually murder the girl.

His eyes were accustomed by the scarce overshadowed light coming from a window few steps bellow where he was standing. The light wasn't sufficient to get him notorious since he was clad with very dark clothes, making him "invisible" when his background was dark as well.
He alighted, feeling the texture and rigid materials composing the roof against his body. Quietly, he took a few arrows and thoroughly placed on his besta.

Its mechanisms were quite impressive. They launched the arrows at great speed and very difficultly the wind shifted their path. He locked the arrow with the security pin and silently waited for his prey.
Not much longer he had to wait. The two could be seen from where he was. His target was already finding this oddly suspecting by the reading from her facial expressions. Soon enough this all would be over, and Sajjhe could get the rest of the payment. Some new weapon toys would be good for torture purposes. The hidden informations would flow more naturally alongside with excruciating pain.

He carefully aims it for the girls head, following her with the tip of his arrow.
The other girl manages to get free from the grasp once they reach the spot Sajjhe had chosen to perform his murdering. Quickly he shoots the arrow, leaving just a faded whistling behind as the point of the arrow cuts through the wind towards to the girl's throat...
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

Suddenly the woman shook herself off of Pagan's hold - and that's when she reacted with lightning reflexes. She threw herself on the right side of the alley drawing her sword at the same time.

There was a slight swussssh in the air.

An arrow graced her shoulder ripping off a peace of fabric from her shirt. It came from the roof! Pagan though frantically as she landed on the street, now safely hidden from the sniper's view. The woman shreaked in a high-pitched tone and started running away.

Somebody opened a window from across the street and yelled: "Could ye keep it down there! Some people have to work in the morning..."

Pagan ignored the man. The arrow had come from the roof of a two-story abandoned warehouse to her right. She crouched towards the door, carefully to keep her out of the snipers view and kicked the rotten door open. The room was dark, but she could see the stairs that led to the upper floor.

Pagan rushed up the stairs with long strides. She had her sword on her hand.

Was the sniper still on the roof? Or had he/she ascended inside the buiding and was now stalking her in the upper floor?
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Sajjhe

Sajjhe cursed heavily at the sight of his arrow not killing the girl immediately. Who would have thought the girl had lightning speed reflexes? He quickly took another arrow, trying not to cause too much noise when closing the security pin. The click of his best was muffed by a man whom had decided to watch from his window what on earth was going on at this time.
The assassin lifted raised from the tiles of the roof and remained crouched, bringing his besta close to his face for a better aim. Alas she had successfully hidden herself from his vision area.
Where could she be, Sajjhe wondered as he continued to search for her figure in the engulfing shadows of the night. Determining his vision is now useless, he began to listen very quietly to the sounds of the street. The wind had ceased, the street became more quiet at the same time the wind stopped invading the place him and his target was.
Sajjhe detected a snap at a corner near the door of the building where he was at.

She had stepped on a branch and broken it, and hastily Sajjhe brought himself a tad more closer to the roof edge, pointing the arrow to the figure. But she was too fast to arrive at the door of the building. He had lost sight of her once more.
He sighed frustratingly, since his mission was getting longer than he had anticipated.
Sajjhe strapped his besta again on his back and retreated himself to the building's inside through an open window few steps away from him.
With a quick wrist move, Sajjhe had unsheathed his hidden wrist blade, hiding himself behind a building column, on the opposite side from the stairs.
He would have to be cautious with this woman. She was very experienced and definitely knew some of the tricks he would pull on her...Or maybe not.
He peeked over the column, just the necessary inches for him to have a glance over his surroundings.

Acutely, she climbed all the stairs with an enormous noise, giving again away her presence and coordinates.
Sajjhe closed his hand for a better wrist blade fight, letting him have even more strength in the up coming fight.
He had plotted another plan to take her down. Sajjhe would throw a pebble some inches away of the column to the right, and he would go around the column and strike her from behind sneakily.
Feeling her getting farther from his position, he took the pebble in his hand and threw it to the desirable area, preparing himself to go around and take her by surprise...
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

Pagan arrived to the top of the stairs and turned left. On her right there was an open door but she couldn't see anyone by it.

She heard a sudden ping from behind her and reacted in a blink of an eye. She threw herself against the wall and stared hard at the darkness.

She scanned the area, waiting patiently for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The sound had echoed from another open door to her left. A little bit farther from the door was a column that for some reason ringed Pagan's warning bell. The column was big enough for someone to hide behind it...

Pagan though about the problem for a moment. The sound could have been just a rat, or the assassin might be hiding either behind the door or the column. If she would check the door he could strike her from behind the column, or vice versa if she made a wrong decision.

Pagan made a quick decision. She would encounter the sniper by her own terms. Instead of going to the left to check either the column or the door she retreated to her right, towards the other open door. Stealthily she turned the corner and entered into a storage room. She positioned herself by the wall next to the doorway and prepared to swing her sword at anyone that would be coming through that door that was the only entrance to the room...
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Sajjhe

Once again, Sajjhe cursed deeply in his mind. The lass had not fallen into his trap. Instead she had chosen to take another rout, by going inside a room where only one door was the way in and out.
For a few moments Sajjhe thought wisely how to surprise her and finish off his mission.
From the gathered experience throughout the years, he knew the moment he stepped in that room, a sharp blade would pierce his flesh. Maybe...If somehow could make her attack without being him, he would counter strike her and surprise her with this sneaky attack.

Carefully, Sajjhe disposed himself from the warmth of his cloak. The color of it would be a brilliant distraction and due to his length, in the darkness this could pass by a real person.
He scanned the area around again, and found a tall shaft that belonged to a broom.
Sajjhe placed the cloak around the shaft, making it appear it was an actual person figure. If this somehow failed, he would have no other choice but try a close combat with the lass and finish once and for all this mission.

He adjusted his shoulder pads by tightening the leather chains on his back. With his wrist blade unsheathed, Sajjhe commenced walking towards the door, by making some sounds with his boats to let her know he was in fact going to the room.
The assassin leans his back right beside the door and quickly he launches the cloaked shaft inside the room to taunt her. When she swings her sword Sajjhe would waste any minute to plunge his wrist thirsty blade deeply in her flesh, watching with amusement the warm blood trickling down her pale skin...
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

Pagan heard the steps slowly coming closer. Thump!-Thump!-Thump!-Thump! There was no doubt about it now, the assassin was in the floor and was coming closer. He/she was very sure of himself, and Pagan cursed the bright idea that had made her rush into the building trying to get the guy. She should have tried to escape instead. But now it was too late to be sorry.

The footsteps stopped at the door, and Pagan pushed herself tighter against the wall, ready to strike at anything that came through the door.

Without a warning something flashed into the room. Instinctively Pagan swung her sword at the silhouette and felt how it hit something. Because of her position by the wall only the blade of her sword ever entered the sights of anyone that might have been watching in the corridor.
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Sajjhe

Sajjhe invades the room with the cloaked shaft and in a instant he feels her sword swing, chopping off a bit of wood. He knew instinctively she wouldn't be quick enough to swing yet again her sword when he barged in the room with the thirst of a killer.
With his temporary weapon, Sajjhe pressures the shaft against her sword brining it upwards and block any possible attack coming from that sword. He steps in the room fiercely and with determination, dropping the shaft after once he is in the room.
For the first time, he his close to his prey. Sensing her aroma, feeling the warmth emanating from her fragile body. His blue cold eyes were highly accustomed to the low presence of any source of light. She was in his field. Since very young, he dominated places with not much light, making them his strong point whenever he fought in such places.

He unsheathes his sword, resting idly on his leather belt. His sword and wrist blade demanded blood and he gladly would satisfy those twisted desires.
His eyes scan quickly herself, unlocking what are the visible weakness and strong points. One of them is her being a woman. Her physical power can't be compared to his. Being himself a man, he possesses more strength when it comes down to wrestle and clashing the sword against hers. However she has a strong point. She is short which means she has more dexterity to dodge attacks that require great strength.
This would be a fun fight. Maybe worthy to remember the moment as on his favorites murdering he had the pleasure and delight to perform.

He parts his legs a bit, positioning himself in an attacking position. He breathes in and out, preparing his body and mind for the upcoming fight. His mind his blank his muscles relaxed. No thought to make him lose his concentration or to snap him out the strange trance. His eyes do profound, serious than ever, turning the blue pale color into a dark grey one. He is now synced 100% with his assassin instincts. To hunt down his prey and perish her forever from this world, limb by limb.
Without any words or delays, Sajjhe strikes, launching his piercing sword in a diagonal way, attempting to slice her chest in every possible way.
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

In a fraction of a second Pagan realized she had hit a decoy. Instinctively she retreated deeper into the room as the assassin entered the room.

The man was dressed in some kind of fighting outfit, concealing most of his face but his most prominent feature was still clearly visible - his ice-cold blue eyes. From them Pagan could read that she would have to fight harder than ever in her life if she was to survive this.

Pagan retreated and examined the way the man moved as she did. She understood that the man was strong, agile and adept with sword and probably a dozen other kind of weapon too. If she was to stay alive, it was crucial to stay away from his attacks. That was her only strength against him - her agility and speed to dodge and avoid his attacks. After that it all came down to fitness. Would that be enough? Pagan knew she wasn't the fittest she could be. She had been too lazy, spending too much time in the taverns and not enough in the training grounds.

With heavy steps her assailant walked towards her. Very confident, trusting his strenght and technique.

How could Pagan fight this human killing machine?
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Sajjhe

The job was clear. Terminate her life. The only thing he could think of was to finish her life. The more he concentrated on that, the more dangerous he got and violent. Dangerous and violent never loosing his temper or getting impatient to when this would soon be finished.
She shifted to a defense position. An agile one, being able to dodge his brute attacks.
Sajjhe's breathing started to get heavier and heavier, till he suddenly hold as much oxygen he could gather and run to her with his sword a bit above his shoulder. The attack he was about to launch was a potent one. Would slice every inch from head to lower chest without mercy.
She could easily block his attack but the short blade he unsheathed would work as a counter attack for any upcoming defensive moves from her part.
The time of her end was close. And she was about to find out.
In a way he was curious to see her fighting skills... Would she a worth target to dispose off?
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

The assassin kept approaching. There was a window in the storage room that let the pale moonlight beam in and luminate the dirty floor. But Pagan didn't think about escaping. Besides, jumping from a two-story building would most likely get her killed or break her leg - and be killed soon after.

Only the survivor would walk out alive from this room. Would it be the assassin?

Her opponent took a few deep breaths, lifted his sword above his shoulder and rushed towards her. It would have been an easy hit to block, but Pagan had seen the short blade in his other hand. Instead of blocking she jumped flexibly to the side dodging the blow and they were circling each other in the room like before.
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--Raven_in_the_foregate

The Raven Feasts upon the sill

Awaiting food from freshly killed

Always doing Master's will

Naught for good and all for ill.

Pagan

As they were circling each other Pagan noticed that a raven had landed on the windowsill. It stared at the combatants with it's cold, black eyes as if it somehow knew there was going to be a feast for it later when the two humans would have ended their dance of death. Pagan felt a shiver go down her spine. Someone had walked over her grave...

She pushed it all back to her unconscious and concentrated on her opponent again. She had decided that the next time the assassin would attack she would try to divert him with a feint attack and them strike her sword into his neck. But he would have to do the first move.
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Sajjhe

It would be such a clean cut. Painful and fatal. However she jumped over avoiding the strong hit plus his dagger counter-attack passing just mere inches from her stomach.
Frustratingly, Sajjhe turned quickly to face her again to try again another surprising attack.
The only way to get her hit is only to get her by surprise or unleash a dozen of sword swing attacks, alongside with the sharp short blade of his on the other hand.
He parted his legs a bit again, positioning himself in an attack form. By the time he thought about plunging his sword straight in her heart and the other to slice her throat, a shadow from the window above them caught Sajjhe's attention. Was the first time he ever saw a raven standing so very still watching a combat or even listening to the swords impact.
Sajjhe turned back his attention to the lass in front of him raising his sword and preparing physically his body for another impact. This time a bit more brutal.

Pushing her to a column was a possibility. The sudden impact would make her off guard. Maybe droop her sword for an instant and he would take the chance to apply the fatal blow on her.
But...The unexpected had occur. A sudden arrow came straight from the window, smashing the glass into tiny pieces, falling hard from the high spot to the floor right beside them.
The arrow pierced the column next to the assassin and shortly after a fire glow illuminated whole the room.
Torches, Sajjhe figured and not from the population but from the town militia.
Angry shouts came from outside. His cover was blown up and now was in no condition to go through all the process.
Another arrow came through the window, this time landing inches away from Sajjhe's feet.
Now the problem was on how to get away from the building without going through the main gate or getting killed by the girl as he was distracted to not get any arrow stuck in his back.

The only plausible escape was from the same shattered window next to them. There was another building in the other end, and the gap between the both buildings weren't that great. With a little impulse from him, he would manage to reach safe and soundly the other end and make a run as fast as he could from the rooftops and avoid the mass without being discovered.
He glanced back at the girl furious for not being able to do his job today, but soon enough, without her expecting he would be lurking in the shadows, watching her breath while sleeping and then, end her miserable life with a fatal blow, leaving no clues of his passage. Nothing.
He sheathed with a promise to come back and finish his job.Sajjhe took balance from afar and launched himself out of the window, grasping the edge of the other building's roof and pulling himself back upwards.
He disappeared in the night, being unseen by the local troops and inhabitants.
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

--Dirk_regan

Captain Dirk Regan of the NMA was standing in the shadows in a shady back alley, waiting for his contact to appear. She was half an hour late already. Dirk grinned. Knowing Pagan she had probably popped into the Knot to have a drink or a few.

Another half hour went by and Dirk didn't feel like smiling anymore. Colonel Pagan was not exactly always reliable when it came to keeping schedules and had the tendency to just forget about it after a few rounds. Dirk cursed. It was a cold night, and he was not gonna wait all night long! If he would find her in a drunken stupor in the Knot again like last time he would... well, Dirk wasn't exactly sure yet, but he would definitely something!

Dirk made a quick decision to go check the Knot. The tavern was en route so it wasn't highly unlikely that the colonel had popped in there on her way... and stayed there.

On his way Dirk got almost bumped over by a pretty girl in a white dress running towards him. Dirk watched after her, whistled and grinned. Boy, was she something! His smile died instantly. Why was she running? Dirk pulled his sword and advanced in the night, feeling very chivalrous and ready to defend the maiden's honor.

After a block or two he heard noises from a dark alleyway to his right. He turned to check and there was about half a dozen town guards gathered to discuss with a local who was complaining about some hooligans in the storage building opposite to him.

"Ye gotta do something, officers", the man complained. "Always the same thing here, I should have never built me house in the tavern district, but the land was cheap..."

Dirk turned to face the second door window on the tall, two-story storage house. There was a big bird of some kind sitting on the windowsill and he could see some movement inside. Dirk's trained eye quickly identified the movement as two people fighting with swords.

"Officer!" Dirk barked at the man who was leading the patrol group.

"And who might ye be", the officer grunted with an unfriendly tone. Dirk seemed to grow inches as he spoke with proud and authoritative voice:

"I am captain Dirk Regan of the New Munster Army, and there are two people fighting in that building! I command ye to do something about it!"

"Like what?" asked the officer humbly, a lieutenant by the looks of it.

Dirk looked at the window again, then the soldiers. "I can see ye have a bow and arrows with ye, I suggest ye use it! Shoot against the window and tell them to come out unarmed and hands up!"

And so happened. The bowman shot another arrow because there was no response after the first one. Then Dirk saw a dark silhouette plunging like a tiger through the window and onto the roof of the house behind them. Dirk made a quick decision:

"Forget about him, there's no way we can catch that guy whoever it is. But there's one still in there! Quick, follow me!"

Lead by Dirk the soldiers rushed inside the building and up the stairs. Dirk was the first one to check the right room. And there, on a corner out of arrows' way, sat colonel Pagan calmly, sipping whiskey from her hipflask and waiting for the soldier to get in.

"Sorry fer the delay, Dirk", Pagan said as she recognized who was leading the group. "I got held up by someone I just couldn't shake off."

Pagan

"Any news on Zan? Good or bad?" asked Pagan as she was needling her shirt.

Dirk shook his head. "There's no change in the King's condition as far as I know."

Pagan frowned. The night had had an unexpected turn. "Whoever put the assassin on me must have known I was coming to get Thompson. It couldn't have been a retaliation - the attempt happened a mere hour after I killed him and I honestly don't think they have even found the corpse yet. Who was he? Why was he so important? And who in the NMA is the mole? There was a select few people who even knew of this operation."

"I know very little about Thompson", said Regan. "Just that he used to be a lieutenant in the NMA a few years back until he got dishonorably discharged. After that he turned to crime full time and his name has been popping up here and there since. Never enough evidence to get him charged in court though."

Dirk filled their glasses again. They were sitting in a sleezy hostel room in the docks.

Pagan chugged down half of her glass. "The girl, the assassin - this operation was planned very good. The sniper was a professional - high profile. Whoever hired him must have been willing to pay a dungload of money. Just to get me killed. Why?"

"Why don't we find the girl and squeeze it out of her."

Pagan shook her head. "No. I doubt she knows anything at all about the whole thing. Best keep a low profile fer a while and see what happens next."

There was a knock on the door. Knock - knock knock - knock! The NMA code, but Pagan and Dirk pulled out their swords just in case before opening the door.

It was a messenger. "This came to the HQ. It's addressed to Colonel Pagan MacKenzie."

"Who's it from?"

"It doesn't say. But there are words 'it ends' written on the envelope. I... I think it might be written with blood."

Pagan snatched the envelope, opened it and pulled out the letter. And sure enough, the whole message had been written with blood.

Quote:

You are the Pagan

You must go

You must set sail from Eire within three days

Or the talons strike

The raven feeds

All you know and love will be

no more

Pagan's heart skipped a pound or two as she read the letter. As a soldier and a politician she had gotten accustomed to threatening letters but the attempt on her life that had just occurred proved that this was to be taken seriously. Kadie! She was home in Imleach. She would have to travel back home immediately and have Oddman hide her the way she could never be found. Oddman could take care of Kadie and his own family, Pagan was sure of that much. Home in the MacKenzie Circus she could be prepared for any kinds of attempts on her life, if only she could take care of Kadie's safety first.

"I will have to travel back to Imleach tomorrow. General Connie is moving to Lios Mor, me and Oddman can hitch a ride that far and continue back to Imleach next day."

"Does that mean I have to come too?" An expression of pure horror spread on Dirk's face as he thought about his wife and fifteen weens back home in Imly. Pagan decided to save him.

"Nah, the Corcaigh regiment needs reinforcements now that the King has been poisoned and the poisoners are still out there. Ye stay here."

"As ye wish, colonel." Dirk attempted to fake disappointment.

The messenger left. Pagan and Dirk emptied the whiskey bottle in silence. Neither of them felt like talking.
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Sajjhe

Sajjhe run as fast as he could, jumping building from building ever so fast, in order to avoid the mad mass crowd of town militia. He could be a master of assassin but not even the master of them all could take them out alone. In the past he managed to take four or five guards but much more than that would be impossible to take them all out without suffering any injuries.
Finding his distance fairly safe, away from all those guards Sajjhe tries to catch his own breath, feeling his lungs burning intensively because of the mad jumping roof from roof.

He felt very frustrated due to the fact he couldn't just finish up his mission. If only the militia didn't show up, he would have killed her right there and then.
Sajjhe took a moment to think back at what the two cloaked figures had told him about his target. He recalls the two men talking about a certain, Kadence was it?
Yes Sajjhe was sure her name was Kadence. Someone she cared deeply and just like that, Sajjhe had found another way to meet the woman and finish her off right in front of someone she ever so loved.

Could this be any more sweeter than this? The only thing left to do was to discover what house she could be found.
He placed himself being his target for a while and debated wisely what step or steps she would do after their meeting. He figured he would like to travel as fast as he could to his place and keep safe the ones he most cared about. Their life would face extreme danger and he could bet her first priority was to get them to somewhere face where their lives wouldn't be threatened.
There was no time to waste. Sajjhe once more regained his fast running towards the Inn he was spending the night. He would need a more vast choice of weapons and of course, torturing tools for his own objective.
This night he would gallop fast from Cork to Imleach and set up his own amusing trap, to hunt the Sergent and finish this job, before he sets sail to accomplish another mission he had been asked to do so.
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

The next day Pagan went over to the headquarters of the Royal Corcaigh Regimet of Guards to give colonel Surfred her report. After she was done she returned to the hostel to pack. She and Dirk farewelled each other in front of the hostel and Pagan walked out of town where the army was getting the men rallied in. They would all get horses at their disposal on this trip. Pagan found Oddman there and explained the situation to him. Getting an army ready to march was not an easy task and would take a couple more hours, so Pagan went back to town and stopped by in a couple of taverns to chug down a few drinks. Pagan wasn't a fan of horses, and she needed to be properly drunk to have the courage to mount one of them. When she had accomplished this task she returned to the army that was now ready to head out. After she had been helped on her horse they were finally ready to leave towards Lios Mor.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro found himself marching alongside Pagan. Jerro was also in Col. Oddman's regiment on it's way to Imleach from Corcaigh. He had been cursing his bad luck in the festival's tournament when he spotted Pagan. He had heard what had happened to her and immediately thought of their brief escapade with Skunk Kid. Jerro knew from experience that she could handle herself, but he still worried nonetheless. After some negotiations, he jockeyed for a spot next to her so that they could talk.

Shortly after they began to march, Jerro came abreast with Pagan. "Hello Pagan, it's been awhile. I heard what happened, are ye alright?" After a brief pause, to lighten the air a bit, he said, "Why does it seem that whenever I lose a fight, someone tries to kill ye?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan flashed a sideways grin at Jerro. "I don't know, I guess it's me animal magnetism! And here I thought I would make a Dutchess one day - judging by me popularity it's not likely to happen anytime soon!"

Jerro was one of the few people in the NMA Pagan had trusted with the details of Operation Uilliam Thompson. After what had happened in Imleach a couple months back she had learned to trust the young soldier. Jerro was able to keep secrets and he knew some very unusual people too - and that could always come handy.

Pagan got serious. "I have a favour to ask of ye, Jerro. There has already been one attempt on me life, and something tells me it's not gonna be the last. And now they have threatened me family too. When we get back home Oddman will take Kadie and put her somewhere safe. No doubt I would be safe in Oddman's mansion too, but that would not be an answer, I can't hide indefinitely. And I can't put a whole army in the Circus either - we need them to act to find out who and what's behind it all. But I could certainly do with some sort of bodyguard until it's all over. So what do ye say? Unfortunately I can't promise all will be all right in the end, it might as well pan out like the Skunk Kid case. But at least we both have experience on those kinds of situations."
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Sajjhe

Sajjhe had traveled throughout all the night, barely stopping for anything. The sooner he got to Cork the more time he would have to find the Kadence lass and play around with his plan.
In the past he had been told there was a shortcut that saved a day travel by riding through a very dense forest. People didn't opted to take that path since many of them didn't have any sense of direction or whatsoever. Not to mention there were some hungry wolves and other animal species that weren't not kind at all to humans.
For Sajjhe that wouldn't be a problem. He killed humans after all. Animals weren't be difficult. Before he brought his killing techniques and inflict them in persons, many nights and days his uncle would drag him out for a little hunt to feel how a blade responds when it slices some meat portion. Raider used to say that.

He spurred his horse even more, dodging the trees and jumping through bumps and holes along the hide. In no time he would be in Cork, probably a hour before the sun rose up from the horizon.
And has predicted, he reached to the town's gates before the morning rise. The hooves clacked on the stones of the towns pavement. There were a few soldiers searching in the travelers bag before entering the town. Security check by town militia.
Sajjhe kept cool has he approached the gate more and more, thinking on what excuse he could come up and explain the weaponry he possessed in his bags, strapped idly on the horse's rump.
Goo' day! Army checkin' the travelers again eh? Am not too surprised. Rumor of war brewing. Sajjhe said as he dismounted his horse willingly and pulling up a very humors merchant kind of guy.

Orders. Show what's in your bag. A guard not very pleased instructed Sajjhe to open the bag, grabbing hold to his spear.
Here mate! I brought them fresh for army. I even have the letter of lieutenant Pagan...
Lieutenant Pagan?! Both guards said at the same time surprised. Please, go ahead! I hope those helps the army in any way! They stepped away from gate and let Sajjhe pass to the town.
Now where to find that Kadence...Might try a local pub. He tied up his horse to a near tree and entered the first bar he could check.
MacKenzie Circus... He murmured beneath his breath finding the name oddly familiar.
Isn't her last name MacKenzie? Sajjhe was almost certain her name was MacKenzie and so he stepped inside the tavern in search for some answers...
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked at Pagan with a surprised expression. "That bad, huh? Well I suppose I could always submit myself to helpin a friend. And I know it's not much, but I could get Shamus to watch over yer family, ye said they'd be at Col. Oddmans, right?" Jerro waited for her answer, then said, "Do ye want me to get as much info on the assassin as I can? I'm sure somethin will turn up. Just tell me all ye know on the fellow." Jerro rode in silence as he waited to hear her answer.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"I'm afraid I don't know much about him at all. He was disguised and had some sort of peculiar battle armor on, I've never seen anything like that in me life. And he's no amateur - top professional, so he won't work fer nickels and dimes. But I did see his eyes - deep blue eyes with pearcing gaze. I would recognize those eyes anywhere should I bump into him somewhere."

The army arrived in Lios Mor about ten o'clock in the evening. The next day they would depart the army and continue to Imleach in Oddman's regiment and be back home tomorrow evening. After they had turned in their horses they went to a tavern and inn where Pagan ordered a room with a bathtub. She turned to Jerro and said:

"Okay, it is absolutely imperative fer me to get absolutely hammered tonight so I can't even speak as fast as humanly possible because it has been such a stressful day and I have so much worries in me mind. I need to go to me room to refresh meself first, wash up a little bit, but wouldn't it be a nice surprise fer me if I found me some company down here when I come down because I'd rather not do it alone." Without waiting for Jerro's reply Pagan turned around and wiggled her fingers over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs, yelling to stifle all possible objections: "Later, Jerro! Later, later, later! Be back in no time, no time at all!"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro tried to protest in between Pagan's words, but couldn't get a word in edgewise. After Pagan disappeared, Jerro chuckled and shook his head, a fine bodyguard he was. Not even a couple hours into the job and she had already ditched him. Well chances are the unknown assassin wouldn't fight an entire army. Jerro decided to head to the stables to check up on his horse. There were stablehands, but most of them were unmotivated lads who were just waiting for a better break. Besides, he really liked horses. Riding them was exhilarating and caring for them gave him time to think.

The horse Jerro recieved was a small stallion, just over 14 hands tall. He was a blue roan with an almost pure white muzzle. He was small, but spirited, sort of like Jerro himself. Jerro snuck a few carrots out from the kitchen and went to the stall where his horse was. The horse looked like it had just been moved there and left. Jerro came up slowly. "Hey boy, how are ye?" Jerro asked the stallion. Jerro opened the stall and went in. The horse whinnied when Jerro approached him. Jerro patted his muzzle and said, "Time for a check-up." The horse snorted indignantly which caused Jerro to laugh.

After he had finished checking for any damage, Jerro treated the horse to a carrot, leaving the other for later. Jerro grabbed the brush and began to groom him when a thought occurred to him. "I don't even know yer name. I'll have to ask someone later." Jerro began to get lost in thought, by the time he had finished grooming the horse, inspect and clean his tack, and give the horse his treat, a bit of time would have passed. Jerro would probably have time for a couple drinks before he turned in.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Sajjhe

Ge' outta here! An ale drinker shoved a closed fist into a drunk man, who didn't stop causing a mess in the tavern.
Blood spilled from his nose to ground, making the man fall flat on the ground in deep agony. Sajjhe watched with interest the struggle inside the tavern from afar next to the door avoiding himself to get into yet another killing spree.
Mugs were broken, tables were turned, drops of blood here and there and now a two full gang of people helping out the fighters. Ones for the ale drinking man, other in favor of the drunk man. Comrades fighting for their interests. Sajjhe folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the brawl to stop. Thats when a man, Sajjhe presumed to be the bartender, stepped in the fight putting an end to the drunk fight.
He was no where close to have features of attraction, being ugly the only word that could describe him. Sajjhe could notice his teeth were clenching hard and he possessed a very serious expression on his eyes.

The two troublemakers were kicked out of the tavern in a blink by the man. The bartender had turned around to face the fighting crowd and let out a loud grunt to the guests.
They all stopped from picking mugs to smack on each others heads, and resumed to their drinking habits like nothing. It made Sajjhe think of the man as some sort of intelligent leader, that only a word was needed for others to follow. This man certainly had respect from others and they saw him as their "leader" in the tavern.
The bartender resumed his bar-tending tasks, filling up, cleaning up used mugs of the guests.
Maybe the answers for Sajjhe's questions would be answered by this man. He approached the bar and asked for the man a mug of ale thinking on a way to engage casual conversation and eventually lead him to the questions he needed to ask.
Mug of ale. The bartender filled up the mug and gave out to Sajjhe, turning his back on him as soon he had attend him.

On his left there was a man drinking ale just like Sajjhe, and this one was examining him from close. Sajjhe never liked the feeling of being watch. Never tolerated and never will.
Sajjhe turned to face the man, pulling a rather annoyed and impatient look at the man.
Something wrong? Why don't you just paint a picture? Lasts longer.
The man smiled and rested the base of the mug on top of the bar.
No point trying to get information from him. He doesn't speak. Only grunts.
Blast. Sajjhe thought has he hidden up his frustration by taking a sip from the mug.
But... The man continued. I can help you. I know much about this town. Nothing escapes from my fingers.
A way out was provided. Sajjhe looked from his mug up to the man before speaking.
I was looking for Kadence but haven't seen her around. Sajjhe decided to take the chance by asking something risky. It would be bad if she was right next to him and caused suspicions. I'm a long time friend of hers. Sajjhe decided to clear that up for him.
Ah, Kadence is away. I'm afraid you won't see her so soon. But...Pagan will arrive soon. They both live here.

Sajjhe's eyes lit up with a twinkle, seeing yet another chance to kill off the girl and collect his prize.
Ah yes, I know they both live here. However I forgot the room number. Again, Sajjhe decided to play like he knew the place well.
It's number 25 mate. From some informants, she will arrive tomorrow. The man lifted his mug and cheered at Sajjhe.
Cheers. They clashed the mugs lightly into each other and drink peacefully for now.
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

Pagan washed up quickly, changed her shirt and cleaned her black, much worn boots. Then she put on her scabbard belt, adjusted it well and checked her sword before sliding it in the scabbard. She blew off the light from the lantern, went outside and locked the door behind her. The corridor was empty, dark and quiet. She could hear laughter from the tavern downstairs. Pagan took a nip of whiskey from her hipflask and thought gloomily about the assassin and the death threat in the letter. Well, who gives a damn about those! The letter had said three days, and she had only used one so far.

The noices from downstairs pulled her like a magnet. Cursing softly she started striding towards the stairs. Life's so fun when ye don't have a spine, she thought merrily - and then she bumped hard into a dark, heavy figure who had opened a door and was staggering out to the corridor just as she was going past it.

"Bloody hell!" growled a husky voice, she could smell the scent of whiskey, then a grey movement that warned Pagan of danger. She didn't have the time to pull her head all the way from the punch. A hard fist struck her temple with a bang. Pagan swayed, bumped into a door and regained her balance.

"Look where ye're going, floozy!"

Pagan hit as hard as she could, right in the middle of the growling voice, and a stern pain on her knuckles told her she had hit hard. The man twirled around and fell crashing to the floor.

Appalled shouts echoed in Pagan's ears. She slipped aside to hide in a niche in the wall, breathing heavily. A group of people stood around the figure that was lying on the floor.

"That's Callaghan", a voice said. "Drunk as a monkey."

"What do we do with him?"

"Kick the jerk out of the window?"

"Don't tempt me! Let's help him to his room instead."

Pagan watched as they helped the unconscious man back to his room and left. She licked the injured knuckles on her right hand, swiped her shirt clean automatically and went downstairs.

The tavern was small and full of people. Pagan squinted her eyes at the bright light. The customers laid investigative looks at her before they turned back to their drinks and conversations. Pagan scanned the room for familiar faces.
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Jerro_oconnor

After a good half an hour or so, Jerro had just about finished cleaning his tack. He hung his saddle back up and started to leave, when the horse nudged him in the back. He stood there, confused for a second, when he remembered the last carrot in his pocket. "Want this, do ye?" He asked, waving the carrot in front of the horse, who followed it greedily with his hungry eyes. Jerro laughed again, Hahaha! Yer such a glutton." He gave the horse the carrot anyway and patted his muzzle in fairwell.

As Jerro left the stall, he noticed a small group of stable boys huddled around a pouch. Jerro assumed it was tobacco, judging from the papers the were carrying. Normally, Jerro would have left them alone, but if they set any of the straw on fire, they could hurt someone or the horses. Not to mention delay the march home. They couldn't afford any of this. "Hey!" Jerro called over to the boys. "Go do that somewhere else! We don't need ye to set the stable on fire." The boys looked up at him, then all but scrambled out of the stable. They were probably worried he'd take whatever was in the pouch. Jerro began to hum to himself as he moved to his room. Pagan would probably be well on her way to drunk by now, so he decided he didn't need to rush.

In the hall above the stairs, he noticed several people dragging an unconscious man into his room. He watched distractedly as they moved his bulk until he could slide by. once in his room, he removed his uniform and splashed some water from the basin over his face and arms to get the smell of horse and oil off of him. The water was cold and probably a couple of hours old, but it looked clean and did the job. Satisfied, he put some more comfortable clothes on and went to the main room, still humming.

Once there, he looked over to Pagan. He noticed that she had several fresh looking bruises and realized that the unconscious man wasn't that way because of drink. He silently thanked Jah that she hadn't gotten herself kicked out. He decided that a young man would probably ruin Pagan's chances for company, so he walked over to a group of men from Oddman's company and began to mingle, ordering a tankard of ale along the way.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan looked aroung but couldn't see a sign of Jerro. Disappointed, she went over to the bar and ordered a glass and a whole bottle of whiskey to go with her since she had no intention to run between the table and the bar. When she turned around she spotted Jerro, in a group of lads, talking about whatever lads talked about when there was no female company present. No doubt something indecent and offensive. Pagan didn't want to join their fun in that and instead looked around in the room. She spotted a lonely lass sitting in a corner and approached her:

"Mind if I joined ye? I'm just traveling through town, I don't know many people here."

The lass seemed happy to have someone to chat with, so Pagan sat next to her.

The lass drank beer the same pace as Pagan chugged down her whiskey, and about an hour or so later there was only a quarter of whiskey left in the bottle and Pagan was hopelessly drunk.

Pagan was just explaining the lass: "*hips* Ye know, what I wash shaying wash—and there’sh plenty *hips* of timesh when I think *hips* thish *hips* ish true—that if everyone got behind thish, the whole world would be that much shmarter becaushe, shee, the *hips* problem ish, people *hips* don’t undershtand nothing and that’sh why I’m right about thish thing", when she saw the lass' eyes widen. Almost without moving her lips she said while sipping her beer:

"Please be quiet and don't turn around, Pagan. A gentleman called Callaghan just arrived in the room. He's drunk and dangerous."

Pagan attempted to fix her eyes on the lass and said in a loud voice:

"Why can't eye turn around *hips* and shpeak up! I'm practically WHISHPERING ALREADY!"

"Because the bruise in his jaw matches the on yer knuckles like a twin. He's circling the room and looking fer someone. Please put yer hand away from the table."

Pagan swayed to and fro on her chair for a moment before exclaiming so that the whole tavern fixed their eyes on them, mostly amused: "DANGSHEROUSH!!? Pfffftttt!!!!" Pagan waved her indes finger in front of the lass' face. "*hips* I wash in the war! Did I tell ye about that time when the 300 poundsh trooper *hips* got... I caught eyeballing me?! I did thish", Pagan said, seized the lass by the lapels, pulled her close and breathed whiskey fumes on her face.

The poor lass didn't know which made her more nervous, Callaghan approaching their table with a mean look on his face or Pagan's belligerent reenactment, so she just said: "I'm sorry but I must leave now. Gotta wake up early in the morning", pulled herself off of Pagan's grasp and hurried out of the tavern.

Pagan looked after her, trying to figure out what she had done wrong this time, when a low and growling voice said from somewhere above her:

"Have ye injured yerself, little lady?"
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Jerro_oconnor

After hearing Pagan's outburst, Jerro turned to see what was the matter. When he saw the previously drunken man make a beeline towards her, he sighed, he had started ordering watered down drinks early. He wasn't as drunk as his compatriots who had tried to match him, or Pagan, but he still had a pleasant buzz. He drained his cup, chances were it would be his last. He excused himself from the group, who started cracking jokes at his expense, and went to mediate. It would likely turn into a brawl anyway, but he had to try.

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?" As soon as he said it he regretted it, those weren't the best choice of words to say to a violently drunk person.

"Beat it shorty, I'm talkin to the little lady here."

"I see that." Jerro said, "But that 'little lady' happens to be my commanding officer, so since she is somewhat incapacitated, ye should talk to me." Jerro had an almost unnoticable slur, and he tripped a bit on the longer words, but nonetheless it seemed impressive sounding to him.

But it was not nearly as impressive as his booze addled brain made him think it was. "I don't care, I have business wit her an not ye, so beat it!" He turned and put his full attention back on Pagan. "So have ye?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Callaghan was a big man - he had to weigh at least seventy pounds more than Jerro and about twice as much as Pagan. That fact and the whiskey made him very confident in his ability to beat the living Christos out of any man or woman presently in the tavern. Unfortunately the whiskey had similar effect on Pagan. She threw a sarcastic smirk at Callaghan.

"Aye, I think I bumped into something."

"Yuh", said Callaghan, "something." The tone of his voice silenced the tavern. A bunch of men by the bar leaned in closer to each other, perhaps planning a joint action against that belligerent bully that everyone hated. Pagan felt a cold rage filling her up, as it sometimes did when she had had a few too many, especially when she met people who reminded her of her father, and Callaghan was like a replication of him.

"What are ye, a *hips* parrot? Go home and lose some pounds, fat boy!" she shouted loud and clear so that the whole tavern could hear.

Callaghan's lips distorted, revealing his white, strong teeth. His arms bent with brute strength. He took a short step forward and pulled his fist back, getting ready to smash Pagan's face in.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro inwardly slapped his forehead as he saw what happened. He knew that this was the most likely outcome, but that didn't make it any better. He grabbed the man's wrist as he swung, and pulled back. His own drunken momentum made him stumble towards Jerro, who tripped him. He stumbled and fell heavily onto the table that Pagan had been sitting at, breaking the table's legs off and knocking the numerous mugs off. Luckily, this bar had metal mugs, so he wouldn't have to deal with broken glass as well as left over whiskey and beer.

Jerro turned to address the growing crowd, trying to prevent a full on brawl. "Don't worry fellows, just a... Just a minor disagreement. We should be finished in a moment. And I'll pay for any damage that I cause." Hopefully they wouldn't be kicked out. He turned back to the man on the ground, who was trying to get up, but kept slipping on the liquor.

He stepped between Pagan and the man to prevent either one from attacking the other, the big man could get hurt. "Now, are ye two ready to try to be civil?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Callaghan

Callaghan tried desperately to get back on his feet. The spectators stood without making a sound, then a woman's voice said something in a hysterical tone, but nobody reacted.

Callaghan stood up and furiously kicked the remnants of the table out of his way. There was a maniacal glee in his eyes. He came on to Jerro like a raging bull, aiming his punches at his torso.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro dodged the first couple punches and then ducked under another punch easily. Being far smaller than an opponent had its advantages, though they may not be obvious. He quickly jabbed his opponent thrice in the gut before he tried to get Jerro in a bear hug. Jerro ducked under this too, but before he could counter, he slipped on the beer that had been spilled. He knocked his head hard against the ground.

Callaghan roared out half in victory and half in bloodlust as he tried to slam his boot in Jerro's face. Jerro, dazed as he was, managed to roll out of the way before the blow connected. Callaghan kept trying to crush Jerro underfoot as Jerro kept rolling across the floor, leaving a trail of booze in his wake. Eventually, Jerro ran out of floor and Callaghan thought that he was trapped again.

As Callaghan raised his boot for one final blow, Jerro rolled again, but this time onto his feet. Callaghan's foot slammed the ground where Jerro's chest had been just moments ago. Jerro took the opportunity and grabbed his leg, one hand at the knee and one on the ankle, and wrenched up with what strength he could muster. It was just enough to knock the larger man off balance and send him to the ground again.

Jerro backed off a couple feet and muttered to himself, "I'll take that as a no." Then he prepared himself for Callaghan's next charge.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Callaghan

Callaghan pulled himself up from the floor, already breathing heavily. He mustered all his strenght into another crushing attack. He pressed Jerro against the wall and pounded heavy hits on him with both hands.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro wasn't fast enough to dodge Callaghan's charge. He was lifted bodily into the wall and was being pummelled into it by a barrage of heavy punches. Jerro had managed to worm his arms into a blocking gesture, so his arms were taking the bulk of the onslaught instead of his gut. This meant that, while his arms would be sore later, he wouldn't be coughing up blood, or having it spurt from less pleasant places.

Jerro quickly took stock of the situation. He was at least an inch off the ground, being held by Callaghan's mass. His arms and shoulders, having taken most of the damage, were very sore by now, but they didn't feel broken and he could still move them fairly well. He didn't appear to have much pain elsewhere, so he decided to act.

Bracing his back against the wall, he lifted his legs off the ground and wrapped them around Callaghan's trunk of a torso. Then, he wrapped one one arm around the back of Callaghan's head and cupped his head, digging his fingers into the hollow point under his jaw, and wrapped his other arm around under one arm and dug the fingers of that hand into the spot where the neck met the shoulder on the other side of his body, a spot where he could almost reach under the collarbone. Muscle generally didn't form around these areas, leaving them mostly tender.

Jerro knew from experience, that these spots were very painful, but generally impractical in an actual fight. The body naturally turned the head in a way to try and trap the fingers or dislodge them. Also, he never actually used the move for more that a few seconds, and was curious to see what would happen if this would continue for a long period of time. Jerro hung off of Callaghan, digging deeper into the skin and waiting for an opening to escape.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

When Jerro had sent Callaghan crashing the table Pagan had managed to save the whiskey bottle that still had a quarter of the stuff left and, not wanting to risk the precious liquid, had raised the bottle to her lips and emptied it in one long swig as Jerro and Callaghan continued fighting.

She probably shouldn't have done it.

That amount of raw indiluted whiskey consumed in such speed and efficiency hit Pagan's brain like a missile, sending her straight to the moon. It sent her weaving, bobbing, swaying, pitching, yawing and finally to the full-tilt reel and the grand stagger through the floor. The whiskey guided her way, Pagan was the ship, alcohol was her sail and the whole damn world her sea - or at least the eight-feet safety zone respectful spectators afforded her.

In the middle of he sailing she managed to momentarily regain her balance and stood swaying behind Callaghan and Jerro in the middle of their wrestle against the wall. Her eyes rolled wildly on their sockets as she struggled to comprehend the sight before her - two, four, six, many combatants twirling wildly round and round. Without even thinking about it, she smashed the empty bottle onto Callaghan's head, making him loose his grip of Jerro once and for all.

Then the momentum took her again, she lost her balance and was reversing with accelerating speed until she crashed on a table sending glasses flying through the air, somersaulted over it, fell to the other side hitting a chair, tripping it over and finally landing on the floor where she passed out cold.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro felt Callaghan go limp and just managed to get free before he was pinned again. Jerro looked curiously at him, had he done that? Then he looked over at Pagan just in time to see her dive. Jerro groaned as he looked over the damage, there was gonna be hell to pay. how has she survived this long? He thought idly to himself. He also thought about reneging his previous agreement, but that was just the ale talking. Jerro was and is a lot of things, but he was a man of his words, and he would never leave a person in need.

He dreaded the talk that he needed to have with the owner. The beer had gone from slick to sticky, and, although the mugs were metal, the bottles were glass. They were just lucky there weren't candles anywhere. "Could someone help him to his room... err, again?" Jerro asked the still attending crowd. Already they were murmuring to each other, but at least there were no more fights. He looked down at Callaghan, who had gone from unconscious to a drunken sleep, snoring loudly. He'd probably be fine, but angry when he woke up.

Jerro suddenly felt very tired, being beaten tended to do that to people, and the alcohol in his system didn't help. He still needed to talk to the owner. He half stumbled, half walked to the bartender, who immediately put one hand under the counter, where there would no doubt be a cudgel, a sword or even a crossbow for all Jerro knew. Jerro came to a stop a safe distance away.

"Are ye the owner?" Jerro asked wearily.

"Ye-es." The bartender replied warily.

"Could ye please let us keep our rooms? I promise to be no further trouble, and I meant when I said I'll pay ye back."

The bartender slowly took his hand off of the concealed weapon and thought about it. Normally, they'd be out so fast their heads would have spun, but they were army, and you can't mess with the army without repercussions somewhere. After a long thought, the bartender said, "Fine, ye can stay. Just mind yer pints and quarts next time.

Jerro was instantly relieved, that wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. He mumbled agreement and that he'd pay in the morning, but it came out as gibberish. He then walked over to Pagan. People were as hesitant to move her as they were with Callaghan, and for good reason! He carefully picked her up and carried her to her room. He placed her gently on the bed, and stood there, trying to figure out how he would lock the door from the outside. Finally, he gave up, trudged to his room, locked the door and fell onto his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the bed.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Raven_in_the_foregate

Pagan packing trouble stacking world wracking
Sword singing doom bringing daggers flinging soon
Raven wresting, dark ones testing, assassin questing....

Pagan wrote:

Pagan

The next morning Pagan woke up in a nightmare. Afterwards she couldn't remember what it had been about, only a dark and ominous raven. After quickly subduing the rising hangover with a couple of healthy nips from her hipflask she tried to remember last night. She couldn't remember anything past the point where she had had a nice conversation with that lass, she had already forgotten her name, but judging by the fact she had waken up in her bed she had at least managed to show some moderation and restraint this time. Satisfied with the knowledge she had her drinking under control she went downstairs to have a breakfast. After it she performed her habitual practice program. Ever since the Laighean war she had practiced constantly to maintain her fencing skills.

A while later it was time for Oddman's retinue to continue their way to home, Imleach. Pagan noticed from the corner of her eye that Jerro looked miserable - obviously he hadn't been able to show the same restraint and moderation as Pagan. Luckily Pagan was very tolerant and understanding officer in these kinds of things and wouldn't even give the poor lad hard time over it. Besides, by the looks of it it seemed like half the retinue had had a few over their limits based on the fact they couldn't be found anywhere, so the entourage back was considerably smaller in size it was supposed to be. Some people just don't have any sense of responsibility, Pagan thought, inwardly shaking her head.

When they were on the road Pagan steered her horse abreast to Jerro and grinned: "Hangover?"

Without waiting for an answer she got serious and continued: "In a few hours we will be back in Imleach and we'd best figure out what to do when we get there. Getting Kadie out of the harms way must be the first priority, but then what? We can't just be sitting idly waiting fer someone to try to kill me. My only lead is Uilliam Thompson, who unfortunately is dead and can't tell us anything. But he was mixed up in something - something big, and he was important. So important that someone is willing to pay huge money just to get me killed. I know he used to be a lieutenant with the NMA in Imleach, so I could try asking in the headquarters if they know anything more about him. Ye don't suppose ye know anyone from the... ummm... underworld that might shed further light on the matter?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stared at Pagan for a moment, resisting the urge to tear her head off while keeping his own face carefully blank. He wondered how she could be so chipper, she had drank enough to poison a small whale and knocked herself a good one falling down last night, from what Jerro saw. Hesitantly, he said, "Well, I don't, but I know someone who might. Now what ye told me, ye know nothing except that he has strange armor and piercing blue eyes. Nothing else ye may remember, like strange weapons or tics? Even an accent could help if he talked. I need to know everything!" He concentrated on moving his horse in a straight line as he listened to Pagan's answer.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan frowned as she was trying to remember the happenings of that night.

"Well, he had a sword in one hand but something else too - some kind of blade in his left hand. There was something odd about it, like it was growing out of his hand or something. But I don't know, maybe I saw wrong, maybe it was just an ordinary dagger. It all happened very fast and it was dark up there."

Suddenly Pagan's eyes widened as she remembered something:

"Oh! Oh! I received this letter after the attempt! I don't know if it's from the assassin or somebody else, but it is written with blood, and kinda creepy. What do ye make out of it?"

Pagan dug the letter from her saddlebag and handed it over to Jerro.

Quote:

You are the Pagan

You must go

You must set sail from Eire within three days

Or the talons strike

The raven feeds

All you know and love will be

no more

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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked at the letter curiously. He read it several times, even using some tricks to find hidden meanings. Finally, he said, "Clever use of your name, for one. And I think that it's odd how he left a space in between the last two lines, have ye tried holding it up to a candle yet? I heard if ye write in lemon juice, or some fruit anyway, the writing becomes invisible until put up to flame. Otherwise, I can't see anything other than he hates ye. I've tried lookin at the first word, every other word, every third word, even every last word, but I can't get any hidden meanin. Try the candle thing, then if ye still find nothin give it to me. I'm sure Lucky'll know someone who can make more sense of this."

He handed the letter back and continued, "As for the other thing, I think I have an idea. Have ye heard of wrist blades? Usually, there's one blade cut in half from tip down the blade. Instead of a handle, there's usually a bracelet or gauntlets or somethin. This let's the blade fold into itself, and keeps ye from lookin suspicious holdin a knife. Unless they cut the harness, ye can't drop it like ye can a dagger. Now, what I've heard, there is somethin holdin the blades open so the points run down yer arm. Then, once ye loose whatever's holdin it, they spring shut like shears."

He paused for a second to let the thoughts re-organize themselves and make sure he didn't miss anything. "That's how ye can tell someone uses them, the sleeves are usually cut when the blades appear. Unless they buy new shirts daily. They'll have stitches or slits running up the arm. But if ye say it looks like the blade "grew" from his arms, that's another problem. It means his blade pops out instead of shears shut. That means that, not only are his sleeves probably firmly intact, yer dealin with someone with weapons far beyond what we are Used to dealing with."

He walked in silence as his words solemly hung in the air. Then he said, "It also means he can probably use both hands equally well."
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Hates me?" Pagan repeated bitterly. "Ain't it nice to be the popular one. What did I ever do to him, whoever he is? Or she." Pagan paused for a moment before she rushed to add: "Ooohh!!! That's very clever idea about the candle flame and lemon juice! I hadn't even thought about that!"

Thankfully Pagan took the letter back and listened in silence as Jerro talked. Jerro was certainly an expert about weapons knowledge and knew way more about the subject than she did, and she appreciated his insight, but what he had told her didn't really reveal more information about the assassin than she already knew - that he was elite, a top professional. Probably not even Irishman.

The retinue arrived gaiting at the great gate in the Imleach wall. A guard stood there sweating in his heavy garments under the warm April sun. When they had returned the horses to the staples and unpacked, Pagan exchanged some words with Oddman and hurried towards the MacKenzie Circus, waving at Jerro to follow her.

In the tavern there was a group of customers having conversations with tankards of ale in front of them. Grunt was behind the bar and Pagan headed straight towards him.

Pagan had developed a talent in interpreting Grunt's grunts and after a few stern questions she gathered that Kadie had done one of her disappearing acts again and had been missing for a few days now. For once Pagan was happy to hear about it - she knew from experience that if she couldn't find Kadie, nobody else could either and she was safe, or as safe as could be hoped, whereever she was. Another thing Pagan heard was that somebody had been there yesterday asking questions about Kadie and her.

"A man? With ice-cold, piercing blue eyes?"

Grunt grunted and nodded.

"Where did he go?"

Grunt shrugged. He hadn't paid attention as usual. Pagan cursed.

Grunt was circling from around the bar with two tankards of ale he was carrying to a couple of customers in a corner table. Pagan's mouth felt dry as a parchment. She stopped Grunt and snatched the tankards, pouring their contents down her throat one after another. It didn't take her the whole minute. Pagan belched enjoyably and said:

"Much better! Pour them customers *belch* another pints on the house, and give Jerro here whatever he wants as well. He will be staying as our guest fer a few days, free of charge. The food and drink will be free to him too", Pagan stressed. "And when ye're all good and done, fetch me a candle."
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Jerro_oconnor

"Thank ye Pagan, ye really didn't need to do this." Before anyone could say anything, he continued, "But since ye ask, could I have a glass of water? I just want somethin quick. I need to call on a few people soon."

He sat around for a minute as Grunt got him some water. He said his thanks, to which Grunt grunted something which Jerro would try to figure out later. He waved goodbye to Pagan and walked walked out of the tavern.

He walked towards the part of town where he would find Lucky. Once they argued agreed on a price, Jerro moved on to find Shamus. He explained the situation, and Shamus quickly agreed to help. Jerro walked back to the tavern, considering asking for more help, but decided against it. The kind of help he could find was too expensive for him at the moment. He figured that by this time, Pagan should have made some leeway on the note. He walked back into the tavern, not entirely sure what to expect.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Sajjhe

Sajjhe covered the hole with the dirt he had shoveled. The man who had provided information for Sajjhe could very well let his enemies know where he actually was and blow up his surprise factor.
He was inside the dense woods, covering up decently the whole fitting area of his victim with the dirt, making sure he left no clues that could lead nosy people into the crime scene.
Sajjhe was always cautious when it came down to his assassinations. Thats why everyone influent in power and wealthy looked for him, because of his experience and professionalism. Whenever he got engulfed in dangerous missions, everything would have to be perfect. If not, his family could inherit potential security problems.
Carrying this side tracked mission at night was not easy. Many clues could be detected when morning threatened to burst out in the skies and Sajjhe's work would all be in vain.

He would have to later dispose of the shovel in the lake, disposing fully of any suspected crime location.
Sajjhe was 100% sure he had successfully hidden all the tracks and other options. Nothing would point to him he had made yet another assassination out in the woods.
A few meters from his actual standing place, there was a small lake and Sajjhe took the chance to throw the shovel with all his strength to the middle of the lake.
Once that task was done he would to retreat to the Inn he was lodged now, half way from his target's tavern.
The minute he turned his back to get out of the woods, an odd sound reached his ears...It sounded like...An arrow sound.
The only thing Sajjhe was able to do, was dodge his torso from the arrows destination, striking the arrow in his shoulder.
How could Sajjhe be so left out of guard!? He was no apprentice but this time he slacked.

He fell to his knees, trying to control the pain by not releasing any yells or pain cries loudly.
Three armed man ran from behind the trees with loaded bows right into Sajjhe's direction. Sajjhe knew how to recognize defeat and resistance would be futile. Plus he had an injured shoulder that didn't let him do any sort of attacks to them.
Sajjhe raised his good arm in a sign that he had given up. One of the three man, approached Sajjhe making sure Sajjhe was the one they were after.
Its him.
After that moment, Sajjhe lost his senses, getting knocked down cold. Crimson blood poured from Sajjhe's back of the head. All the men left the place, dragging Sajjhe with them.
_________________
I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine!

Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Pagan

Grunt came back from the storage room and shook his head. They were all out of candles. Pagan sighed. "Well go buy some!" she commanded. "I'll cover fer ye while ye're gone."

Pagan went over behind the bar to wait for Jerro to come back from whereever he had went. As he returned before Grunt Pagan said to him: "All right then. Grunt is out buying the candles, and knowing Grunt it might take him the whole damn week. So let's go over to the NMA headquarters to see if we can get any more information about Uilliam Thompson while we can. Let's go see captain Heber Kelly - Thompson used to serve under him."

Pagan circled around the bar and noticed how there was still a lot of customers around, drinking their ales like they had no worries in the world. Pagan pulled her lungs full of air and said: "All right, this tavern is going to close in a matter of minutes so drink up and get the hell out of here! Get out, get out, GET OUT!!!"

And then some people wondered why the MacKenzie Circus wasn't the most favourite joint in Imleach these days. But the tavern emptied in a matter of minutes.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked around at the now empty bar. He was surprised at how quickly it had emptied. This led him to believe that this wasn't the first time that this had happened, which didn't surprise him. He looked at Pagan and said, "It's a shame about those candles, but I suppose that we'll have to make do. Lead the way." He fell in behind Pagan as she walked to Capt. Kelly.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan and Jerro walked across the town square towards the administrative barrack. The stairs were cracked by heavy boots and the hallway smelled of oil, weapons, food and sweat - a common smell to all military barracks in the world. She found a door that said "Adjutant - lieutenant Liam Daly" and knocked.

"Come in!"

Pagan opened the door. The room was elongated and split in two with a desk. The walls were covered with bookshelves and file cabinets, and a corporal and three crew office assistants were sweating over crew rosters and subscriptions.

A short, bald-headed man looked at them grumpily before he recognized Pagan and perked up.

"Is captain Kelly available?"

The lieutenant turned around on his chair. "Hey, Lynch, show colonel MacKenzie and her companion to captain Kelly's office."

One of the privates put the pen away and emerged from behind the desk. Pagan nodded to the lieutenant and followed the soldier down the corridor, around the corner and along another corridor. Finally he stopped and pointed at a door.

The sign on the door said "Company A - Captain H. Kelly".

The soldier left them, and Pagan turned towards Jerro and asked mysteriously: "Ready?" Then she knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence, then it came:

"COME IN!!!"

The roar trembled the door, and Pagan grinned and winked at Jerro. She opened the door and looked at the man that was sitting behind the desk. One look at his square, stone-hard face, narrow crack of a mouth and black, lightning eyes told them that captain Kelly was not a man anyone wanted to mess around with.

Kelly stood up and stretched out a big, hairy hand. They shook hands and Pagan said: "This is private Jerro O'Connor - I've assigned him to my... umm... security consultant."

Kelly and Pagan knew each other a bit and Kelly knew that Pagan wasn't too uptight about military ranks and generally appreciated a more laid-back approach so he dug up a bottle of whiskey from his drawer, handed it over to Pagan and nodded towards two uncomfortable wooden chairs. Pagan sat down, removed the cork with her teeth and scanned the room for glasses.

"I only break them", Kelly said.

Pagan lifted the bottle in her mouth and chugged down a long swig before offering the bottle to Jerro.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro accepted the bottle and took a small sip before handing it back to Pagan. Jerro wasn't sure what to make of Capt. Kelly yet, but he had a feeling that they'd be seeing a lot more of each other before this was over. He wasn't sure how to start, while Heber didn't seem like he was too into military protocol, he didn't know where the line was drawn. Besides, this was Pagan's story to tell. He tried to make himself more comfortable while he waited to see how this played out.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan's throat felt sore and irritated as it had been for two days now. It had started in Corcaigh that night after the assassination attempt when she had opened the envelope containing the threat letter. When she had broken the seal there had been a sudden puff of red powder and an irritation in the back of her throat, and it hadn't gotten any better since then. She had't taken any notice to it when it happened and quickly forgot it afterwards, but now it all came back to her. Pagan felt thirsty all the time (even thirstier than normally) but no amount of whiskey or ale seemed to subdue that thirst at all. Maybe she was coming down with a cold? Pagan hadn't been sick a day in her life, and she reckoned it was because she drank lots and lots of whiskey every day - the key to long, healthy and happy life as her da had taught her. But aging takes a toll out of everyone, she figured and took another swig before handing the bottle back to Kelly, who grabbed it, wiped the mouth clean and followed Pagan's example. Then he fixed his big eyes on her and grunted:

"Well, what can I do fer ye today, colonel?"

"What can ye tell me about a former lieutenant called Uilliam Thompson?"

Kelly frowned. He was one of the people who knew what had happened in Corcaigh, so he had been prepared for this question:

"Uilliam Thompson was an officer in this company no more than two years ago. He was ranked a lieutenant and he also worked as an assistant under the cashier of NMA Imleach HQ. Two years ago the Field Master had our accounts audited and some... illegibilities came into light." Kelly rolled the word in his mouth and literally spat it out. "Changes had been made into the payrolls and a total of 13 000 pounds was missing. Charges were made against Thompson, but he walked away with dishonorable discharge from the NMA because of the lousy supervision of the cashier. He was a captain, nowadays a sergeant in An Caiseal regiment."

Pagan's eyes were fixed on the whiskey bottle. Kelly noticed it and handed the bottle back to her. Pagan took an appreciative swill as the captain continued:

"I knew Thompson. He was a total scumbag and a bastard and I hated him from the bottom of me heart. He cheated with cards in the mess and got beat up by another officer because of it. Two weeks later that officer was found dead under his horse two miles south of Imleach. The horse had broken it's leg and it had apparently fallen on him breaking his neck, but I'm sure it was Thompson's revenge. Of course we couldn't find any evidence against him and the whole case had to be dismissed as an accident."

Kelly aimed at a brass spittoon and squirted.

Ping! said the spittoon.

"I'm only telling ye this to show what kind of character Thompson was", he continued, "and to congratulate ye on what ye did to him in Corcaigh! But unfortunately I have no knowledge whatsoever about what he has been up to after his discharge."

Pagan took another swill and looked at Jerro. Jerro was a smart lad and could possibly think of something she couldn't. "Well, Jerro? Do ye have anything to ask the captain?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro thought for a second. He was curious as to why Pagan hadn't told the whole story, if the Captain was someone that she could trust, why not let him help? But it wasn't up to Jerro who they let in or not, so he would keep quiet on that account. However, they still would need help finding the assassin.

"Actually, I do have one question. Have ye seen any questionable people lately? I mean anyone recently, he could have arrived yesterday or he could arrive tomorrow, we don't know. The only thing we know about him is that he has piercing blue eyes. If ye could tell us if ye have seen him, or when ye do, that would help us greatly."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Heber_kelly

Kelly glared at Jerro. "I don't know anyone like that as far as I know, but as far as questionable people go... perhaps. As ye no doubt know, Imleach is a wonderful town fer soldiers on vacation. But recently it has become a little bit too wonderful! Whole fleets of big wagons have started to camp on the road between Imleach and Lios Mor, taverns and cathouses on wheels! They are foreigners, mostly from Holland as far as I can tell, and there is nothing we can do about them. They put the girls on display and slosh the bottles and the whole horny and thisty crew runs to them! All right - I'm no prude and I have no problems allowing the soldiers to have a drink now and a then, but I don't bloody hell want to hear that they have been skinned down to their underwear the next morning! And I like even less about the fact that when the barracks have recovered from the hangover, there's nothing left about the caravans except a big pile of empty bottles! Well, weeks go by and everyone forgets the whole deal. And when the girls show up again, the soldiers stream in the camp again and get skimmed all over again! All right, this might not sound like a big deal to ye two but I can assure ye that it's a hell of a bother to me. Those entrepeneurs are on a free land and nobody seems to have any authority to drive them the hell out of the county! And if they had, what could be done about it? Nothing can ever be proved! I've personally visited one such camp in an attempt to reveal something, but the cards were real, the whiskey strong and everything was perfectly all right, but it's clear to me that the soldiers were drunk as monkeys, marked cards were hidden and so was the watered-down whiskey! This has evolved into a disciplinary problem. Fer the last year we've had more disciplinary breaches than the five year period before. And to top it off we've had three court martial cases. I wish somebody would do something to catch the scoundrels and drive them the hell out of An Mumhain!"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stood for a second with his mouth open. Ye mean we have gypsies here?" While Jerro knew he had been out of the loop for a while, he didn't think he was that far out of it. "I've heard the rest of the world is lousy with them, when did we get them?" He groaned loudly. Ye think they'd have enough luck feeding off of the rest of the world that they wouldn't need to come here."

He realized that, while this was a useful bit of information, this didn't completely answer his question. Then another thought came to him.

"Are they here now, when did they come in?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan took another swig of whiskey. Kelly stared at Jerro for a few seconds. "I don't think they are gypsies, at least not the ordinary kind", he said with a heavy voice. "We have our own gypsies here in Eire and while they can sometimes cause problems too, we are used to them and can deal with them. This group sailed in to Lios Mor a couple of months ago, and me sources say the core group came from Holland. They've been recruiting some locals too to their ranks after that. But I'm afraid that's not all. Those people are selling weapons to bandits and highwaymen and encouraging them to rob and revolt."

"Are ye sure about that?" Pagan asked.

"I am sure, but I can't prove anything. But I got my sources and I know when something is going on. I've heard rumors that some people and organizations that have remained dormant fer a while have now activated to 'avenge old enemies'. And there is a new group based in An Caiseal that calls itself the 'Infinity' - set to wreak havoc and cause harm in An Mumhain. And all those people are getting financial help from somewhere. And the poisoning of the king - it is all connected."

"So ye think it's just because of the money, Captain?"

"Just call me Heber."

"All right. I'm Pagan."

"No, I don't think so at all. There are some kind of political motivations behind it all, I'm sure of it. I just can't imagine what. But it's something big. Huge even."

"About the women", Pagan pondered, "what are they like?"

"There are all kinds from old half-pound wenches to stunning twenty-pound courtisans."

"Do ye have any idea where they are recruited from?"

"No."

"Is there several groups or just one big?"

"One big I think."

"Do they have armed guards?"

"At least half a dozen."

"How many wagons?"

"Three or four."

Pagan took another swig of whiskey and hiccuped. Outside sun was starting to set. Pagan realized that she had drunk more than was customary for her by this time of day - because of that blasted irritation on the back of her throat that just wouldn't go away. She explained Heber the assassination attempt that had been made against her in Corcaigh and asked him to keep his eyes and ears open for any information about the assassin and let her her know immediately he heard something. Heber promised to do so.

Pagan stood up on her slightly unsteady feet. "See ya, Heber."

As they walked out to the dimming evening she asked Jerro: "Well, what do ye think?"
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Jerro_oconnor

"Well, I think he was right about the gypsies, regular gypsies are usually entire families and don't let in outsiders. Plus, they'll be fine with just takin yer money, they don't sell weapons on the side. But I'm gettin off the point here." He paused to think. Then he continued, "As to what Heber said about those secret societies, suppose this Uilliam fellow was a part of one of these with an important job. I don't think they'd be too pleased with having him rubbed off and sent someone after ye? We might be able to learn more from this band we heard about, if they are connected. If we can find them, we could get some answers."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

The Viscomte d'Argent exited the building with a look of stifled distaste etched upon his face. Here in the hinterlands there was simply no hint of civilization. Still, there was nothing for it. He had needed some wine to wash away the blood of these damned Irish that had flowed so freely today...

He espied his reason for being here, and silently took a place across the way in the shadows to observe...

Pagan

Pagan pondered about Jerro's words and nodded. "Makes sense. But I didn't see any caravan camp on our way here, so I guess we have to find them in another way. I reckon the people who are behind this split up and live in Imleach, Lios Mor and Corcaigh when they are not out there on the road - and I bet the people of the 'underground society' know a lot more about them than the NMA. But, first things first, I bet Grunt has bought the candles already."

Pagan and Jerro arrived back in the MacKenzie Circus, and the familiar chiming of the bells above the door greeted Pagan as she entered. Grunt was in his place behind the bar, and there was a pile of candles in front of him.

"Put the others away, we don't want to torch the place. I only need one candle for what I'm about to do next. Leave that big one on the table and light it for me, please."

Skillfully Grunt lighted the candle with a flint and steel while Pagan dug up the piece of paper from her pocket. She held it next to the flame, carefully not to burn the whole paper. The empty line got scorched black, but no hidden message was revealed from under it.

Pagan handed the paper over to Jerro, disappointed. "Well, that's fer that. Ye can try to find out what ye can make of it. Keep it if ye like. Not like I want to frame it and hang it on the wall or anything."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro frowned as he took the letter. "Well, so that proves that there was no secret message, would have been queer to send one to someone ye were gonna kill. But see how that darkened anyway? Unless ye held it too close to the flame, there had to be somethin there. But if not words then what? Surely he didn't blank out an entire line for no reason." He gingerly he flipped it over, and checked the back, which was blank.

He gently folded it and asked, "So what is our next move? Should we check out those camps? Or is there somethin else ye want to check?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Nah", Pagan said, "I suppose there won't be any camps to find - not now. The Dutch people or whatever they are are hiding somewhere, either in Imleach or somewhere close by. I'm not sure if there's much else we can do now, except wait. And anyway, it's Grunt's night off so I will have to stand behind the bar tonight."

Pagan yawned. "Dinner will be served at eight. In the meantime I think I'm going up to me room to take a bath and possibly a little nap. Make sure somebody wakes me up fer the dinner, I don't want to eat it cold!"

Pagan climbed the stairs up to the room she shared with Kadie - when she was around, that is. It was a small and simple room with a tiny window, but the bed looked comfortable and the zinc tub tempting. She tossed her bag on the bed, stripped her clothes and sat in the tub. From outside she could hear wagonwheels turning on the street. It was a sedative sound and Pagan felt very drowsy.
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--Viscomte_dargent

Impatience. It was always the bane of his existence. he just hated waiting. Really. When would that servant he had handsomely paid to place poisoned bath salts in the Pagan's tub report the job complete. This would be the third and final element of the Poison....

He hated waiting. A Lot.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro was too excited to sleep. He was too wired to sit around so he decided to spend a little energy. It would be too soon to see if Lucky turned up anything, so he decided to walk and think about the situation. He still found the missing line strange, but there was nothing he could do about it without knowing more. He supposed that when Lucky found him, he could ask him about the camps. He could already feel his coinpurse get lighter. Which brought him back to the mysterious assassin he had heard about. Surely if he had seen him he would be able to think this through better. He began filing through his mind, comparing what he had heard about the assassin with the names and details of other assassins.

Jerro eventually found himself back at the Tavern about an hour or two before dinner. He was exasperated, the assassin just didn't match up with any other he knew. One problem was that generally tales twisted most of the details, giving the large majority of them cold, cruel, dark eyes (even if this wasn't true). With time left to spare, he decided that he would waste time another way, one he had not done in a while. He would climb to the roof of the building.

After getting to the top, he was disgusted with how poorly he performed. He had almost fallen twice and it took him roughly 10 minutes just to reach the top. He made a note to practice more until he was back to his norm. While the MacKenzie Circus didn't boast the highest point in town, it was still an impressive view nonetheless. Up high, things seemed much clearer to Jerro. He braced himself against a fall and laid down to think more about the situation, instead, he found himself dozing.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

When Pagan climbed down the stairs she was not feeling well. A general feeling of nausea and dizziness had taken over her and she’d rather just lie down but stubbornly didn’t allow herself that luxury. It was her turn to be the bartender and by Jah she would do it! But she was definitely going down with something, there was no denying it now. Should she perhaps see a healer or a doctor? She heard her father’s stern voice many years from the past answering: Nonsense! If whiskey won’t cure it, the disease will kill ye fer sure and there ain’t nuttin’ any doctor or healer on this earth can do fer ye then! Daddy Seamus was probably right. She would just need to drink more whiskey to beat this thing, whatever it was.

She couldn’t see the sight of Jerro when she entered the dining room and frowned. What good was a bodyguard that was never around? He would have to eat his stew cold when he’d show up.

Pagan sat on the table and let Grunt cater for her but soon found out she didn’t have any appetite. Just the thought of food made her want to throw up, and when she finally pushed the plate away she had barely touched the food, merely poking it around. Oh well, at least the whiskey still went down so she wasn’t in a mortal danger yet.

Pagan enjoyed being the bartender. To her a bartender had always been a godlike figure, more powerful than any Duke or King. A bartender held the keys to Paradise on earth, and all too often excercised that power too, regulating or even heartlessly denying Pagan her well-earned access there. But as a bartender Pagan could enforce that unlimited power herself, all the while having unlimited access to the Paradise at the same time. To her it was the ultimate power trip. She would choose being bartender over being Queen of any country in the world anytime.

But not only did Pagan enjoy her job behind the bar, she was also very popular among the drunkards who frequented the place for several reasons. One of those reasons was that Pagan never threw anyone out unless they were being belligerent. Sleeping on or under the table or throwing up on the bar were understandable sins in Pagan’s eyes and she didn’t have the heart to throw out a fellow drunkard into the cold night who only wanted was a warm place to sleep for a while. All too often Pagan herself had been thrown out of taverns for the same reason and she knew how cruel and unusual punishment it could be for another human being.

Another reason was that Pagan drank from her own stock and was regularly more drunk than her customers, which meant she couldn’t or wasn’t bothered count the change very well. And it was not unheard of that Pagan would pass out behind the bar, in which case all the drinks were free if Kadie or Grunt weren’t around.

Incidentally the MacKenzie Circus was a place that attracted some of the heaviest drinkers in town and didn’t make very much money either. The Circus was also popular among the NMA soldiers who knew and liked Colonel Pagan and also didn’t have much money. Pagan hoped that during the night she would hear more about the camps on a grassroot level than she could ever find out from the other officers in the NMA.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro started awake, almost falling of the roof. He noticed how late it was and berated himself for falling asleep. It looked like it wasn't too late though, so he quickly climbed back down in half the time it took him to get up. Falling the last 10 feet helped. He slowly stood up and patted himself down, reminding himself again to get back into practice.

He walked in on Pagan eating. Or he assumed she was supposed to be eating, but she mostly seemed to be drinking. Her drinking was not out of the ordinary, far from it, but Jerro knew from experience she could eat like a trooper.

He pulled up a seat across from her and asked, "Hey, are ye feelin okay? I remember ye told me that ye don't get sick, hell of a time to start now." He idly looked around, trying to find where the stew was without bothering her. Climbing, and falling, had given him an appetite, as did just about everything else.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Yeah, I'm all right", said Pagan with a green face. "Just not hungry today so ye can have my bowl too. I'd best get behind the bar and start serving the customers." Pagan pushed the bowl of stew across the table towards Jerro, stood up and took her position behind the bar as more and more customers started to wander in.

By midnight Pagan was fully sloshed and having an incoherent conversation with a few NMA soldiers who were sitting by the bar, also drunk.

"We don't get to have a lot of fun anymore", said a skinny corporal. "In the old days we could raise hell in town whenever on vacation, but now there's bloody militia everywhere as far as the eye can see. And when simple and graceful souls feel pity fer us and put taverns and cathouses on wheels, the bloody officers start chasing them!"

"W-why?" Pagan mumbled in her glass.

"Well that's bloody obvious", said another soldier. "The girls and the booze are not part of the paycheck."

"Nonsense!" growled the corporal. "Of course we have to pay fer it, and pay heavily, but hell, if we didn't want to pay fer it, we wouldn't, would we? Of course they are playing a scam on us! We know it, and that's the whole point! Hell yeah we prefer it that way! What business is it to others how we spend our own money anyway?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro shook his head in amazement. That was the one thing he could never figure out. If they think they're robbing you, then realize it's a scam, your called a crook and they call the guard, but if you smile and tell them your stealing from them, they laugh along and bring more money. He fidgeted in his seat by the bar, Pagan's condition, although mostly hidden by alcohol, didn't seem to be getting any better. The missing line was really starting to bother him, something about it rubbed him wrong. He pulled out the letter and stared at it, even holding it up to the light to try and see through the dark patch. Still nothing new though. Dissatisfied, he folded the letter back up and put it away. He contented himself with the fact that Lucky should be around by tomorrow, and that they might learn something. He was tired, but would wait until Pagan was safely in her bed, if she could get there on her own, before turning in himself.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Well, old chap, can you *hips* tell me ish there shuch *hips* a camp shomewhere right now?" asked Pagan, adopting a comical English accent for some incomprehensible reason.

"Not that I know of, no", said the corporal. "Why are ye talking funny?"

Pagan lifted a finger to her lips and winked. "SHHH! That in-finformation ish fer need to *hips* know bashish only! Where do theshe people come from *hips* anyway?"

The corporal shrugged. "They are foreigners mostly, based on the language they talk to each other with - it's French or Italian or Spanish or something - I don't know. And anyway - they come out less and less these days anymore. Been weeks since there was one last time." The corporal frowned suspiciously, suddenly remembering Pagan was a colonel. "Why do ye wanna know?"

"No reashon", Pagan mumbled and opened another bottle. She didn't have much time anymore - soon she would have to close the place and run the customers home - those that still could walk - while she still could.

"I re-hemember Neasha", spluttered one especially intoxicated soldier. "She had yellow hair and fancy clothesh and she shang sho pretty too..."

The conversation deteriorated to incomprehensible incoherent drunk talk from there. The only real bit of information that had been gathered here tonight was that the camps were out there less and less often, so there was no easy way to find the conspirators.

It was time to close the tavern. Pagan drove the people out. There was already a group of militia waiting outside armed with shillelaghs, because the outside of the Circus was infamous of it's drunken brawls this time of night.

Pagan sucked on her hipflask as she staggered towards the stairs. It was empty. Time to get to bed - if she could reach that far. "G'night, Jerro. D-hont drink too mussh, we have to wake up early!" she slurred as she was approaching the stairs. The stairs were always a challenge this time of night.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stood up and began to walk behind Pagan, mostly to catch her should she fall. "Actually, I'm goin to bed too. I need my beauty sleep if we're going to find out anythin." He made sure that she safely made it to her room, then snuck back downstairs. After a quick check to make sure that everything was locked, he grabbed a bowl, what was left of the stew and the end of the bread and ate ravenously. He had been concentrating all his money on saving up to buy some new property that he had rarely eaten anything more than bread. After he finished, he washed his bowl and spoon and went up to his room, where he was quickly asleep.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The next morning was bad for Pagan.

She woke up feeling terribly ill. The first thing that came up to her mind was the hangover! It finally caught me! But after fumling after and finally finding her reserve flask from under her pillow and raising it to her lips... it all came straight back up. And violently too. She was hugging the slop bucket good and well. She had heard that this sometimes happened to amateur drunks, but never to Pagan. She tried to have more whiskey, but it all just kept coming back up, over and over again, until the 18-oz. flask was empty. She couldn't keep anything in.

And as if that wasn't enough, then hit the diarrhea, and just as violently as the vomiting. Pagan barely had the time to lower her pants and get on the bucket.

When she was done, she walked to the mirror with faint feet. What she saw in it gave her a shock. Her face was all grey and swollen, with large black bags hanging from under her eyes. She was pouring sweat. She looked like a corpse already.

The room stenched of human secretions. She would have to go outside to empty the slop bucket - or at least have Grunt do it for her - and she would, but she had to lie down for five minutes first. Just five minutes, she would be up and about in...

Pagan fell into a raving nightmare.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro woke up slowly. He stretched as he got out of bed and realized that he had fallen asleep in his clothes. He quickly got changed. As he made to go downstairs, he heard an unusual noise coming from Pagan's room. It sounded like thrashing and moaning. She could be in danger! He rushed into the room to find her violently shaking on the bed. It looked like she were having a nightmare. That's when he noticed the rancid smell. He looked over to the bucket beside her bed and instantly regretted it.

Jerro was torn with what to do. She seemed in pain, but it was supposed to be harmful to wake a person in a dream. It was said to even kill them! Eventually, though, Jerro came to the conclusion that she might die if he didn't wake her anyway. He firmly took her shoulders and began to vigorously shake her, calling her name and yelling for her to wake up.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan was dreaming of Kadie tending her wound when she had been almost cut in half during the Laighean war down in Lios Mor. But the voice she heard belonged to another one - could it be... no, it was Kadie after all!

Then the dream brutally ended and she woke up in terrible pain and violent shaking. Jerro was standing above her, shaking her and trying to make her wake up. He didn't have to shake her - Pagan was shaking all over as it was.

"Good mornin', Jerro", she croaked. "Sorry about the smell, but I'm not feeling well this morning. Could ye please ask Grunt to empty the bucket fer me, I will be down in a second. I just need to... lie down fer... five more minutes."
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Jerro_oconnor

"Are ye sure ye'll be fine?" Jerro asked. "I mean, ye were thrashing about so much, and ye don't seem all that well now. Maybe we should get ye to a doctor?" He looked over at the bucket again, which wasn't all that pleasant to look at the second time around.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"No! No doctors!" said Pagan stubbornly and raised halfway up on her bed. "I think I've just eaten something unsuitable, or perhaps drank water by mistake. I don't have a recollection of doing so, but it's possible if someone dared me and I was really really drunk. I will be up in a moment, I just need to lie down fer a few minutes more."

Pagan sunk back on her bed groaning feebly.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro felt uncomfortable. This didn't seem right, after all, he had drank water yesterday and he felt fine. Still, if Pagan didn't want to go to a doctor, they wouldn't go. If she got much worse, though, he might have to call a doctor here.

"Okay then, but I'll be back up in five if ye aren't down." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left.

He went down and saw Grunt. "Good morning Grunt. Er... I think Pagan is sick, her bucket is full. I'd do it myself, but I don't know what ye do with the bucket afterwards." Jerro looked around, wondering what to do next as Grunt disappeared upstairs.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan fell back into a restless slumber, filled with hazy nightmares and short periods of delirious consciousness. Later she remembered glimpses of people coming and going, like Grunt and Jerro, maybe others too. She didn't remember what she had said to them but she sent them off each time.

When Pagan finally came to the darkness had started to fall outside already. She was feeling better, if only just a little bit. She took a bath in her room and changed her clothes. She stared her reflection in the mirror with horror. Her looks hadn't improved since morning, it was still like a walking dead staring back at her. Then she checked her sword, adjusted the scabbard on her belt and locked the door behind her. Downstairs the tavern was already half filled, and she had two large glasses of whiskey by the bar. She could hold on to them this time.

Pagan kept her eye on two freshly bathed, freshly shaved traders who were pouring down whiskey as if their life depended on getting drunk as fast as they could. They pressed their heads against each other, talked quietly and laughed anticipatingly. Pagan kept an eye on them discreetly. Once they had both emptied half a bottle they stood up. Pagan followed them and gave Jerro a sign to come with her.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro caught Pagan's gesture and began to move toward her. He had seen her keep her eye on two trader-types and figured she wanted to follow them. Jerro didn't trust them. Unless they were planning on staying in town for a while, he would expect them to still have some indication of their time on the road. But it looked as if they each were scrubbed down until they were in danger of taking the skin off. This meant that they'd probably be meeting someone important, or who they thought was important.

Still, he wanted to know why Pagan was keeping an eye on them. "These two?" He asked, pointing them out discreetly. "What makes them so special?" He looked over at Pagan again, who looked like a banshee with a bad hair day. He hoped that they wouldn't have to follow them for long. But they were already on the move, so any argument Jerro would have brought up was moot.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"These guys are definitely looking fer some forbidden fun, and the fun they are looking fer just might give us another lead on the conspirators", Pagan explained. "I know ye know some people from the underworld too, but still no point in passing this opportunity to gain extra information."

The traders entered the 'amusement block' of Imleach. A few hundred yards ahead the town was dark and dead, but in these three or four streets there was life, light and noise. Pagan and Jerro followed those two traders like their shadows. They were staggering uncontrollably yet determinedly until they reached a dark facade that had a dense garden in front of it. Pagan could smell the flowers.

The traders looked up and down the street and Pagan retreated with lightning speed into the shadows, pulling Jerro with her. She heard the men knocking. She peeked at the house. A golden triangle of light fell upon the street and vanished again.

Pagan considered her options. That would be as good a place to start as any. She grabbed Jerro's arm and started walking back towards the Circus.

"Jerro", she said. "I have an idea, but I would need yer help. It's up to ye if ye wanna do it or not, but at least hear me out. That is a house that some men visit fer... well, entertainment. As a woman I couldn't visit a place like that without drawing too much attention to meself, but ye could. Ye could be fer example a lad looking fer his fiancee that has vanished and ye have heard she's been seen working in that house, or something. Make up a better story if ye want, and try to fish some additional information. What do ye say?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro thought for a second, "I suppose I'll have to. I couldn't rub the fiancee story. They'll turn me away in a second. I have an idea though. I'll need to get a few things first though. Will ye be okay at the Circus by yerself?" He already knew what she'd say, but he hoped she said no. She was beginning to look worse, which he hadn't thought was possible.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Sure I will, Jerro. But first, I have something fer ye - please come with me."

Pagan led Jerro to her room in the MacKenzie Circus and opened a chest in the corner. She reached inside the chest and dug up five large pouches, folded shut with strings, and layed them on the bed.

"There's 200 pounds - fifty in each pouch. That's fer the expenses, like paying fer information or stuff like that. I don't want ye to use yer own money on this one. I think 200 should be more than enough - bring back what ye don't need." Pagan smiled at Jerro and added: "I trust ye, so no need to ask fer receits or anything."

OOC: From this point forward Pagan's segment of the story will take a little diversion to (ORP) A Toast to Endings thread as Pagan gets a visit from a courier pigeon while Jerro continues his investigations in this thread (I can play the part of all kinds of NPC's here if needed).
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked over the pouches and did a quick mental calculation. If there were 50 pounds in each pouch, and five pouches, that'd be 250 pounds, not 200. Jerro brought this to Pagan's attention and gave one of the bags back, having the 200 pounds she originally thought she gave him. He paid his thanks and left without giving Pagan the chance to argue.

First stop was Shamus, who was still looking for Kadie. Jerro explained new situation to him. Shamus, still slightly mollified at not being able to find a little girl, agreed to keeping half an eye on Pagan. Then Jerro decided to go shopping.

Jerro wanted to slightly change his character a little. A good trick to a scam was to be someone else so that you don't get in trouble, and Jerro knew what personality he wanted. First thing he bought was some heeled boots. This was important, not only would it give him a couple of extra inches, it would make him seem like he was sore on his height or look self important. Then he bought a small dirk, mostly for show than anything else. This almost wiped him out, leaving him with only 20 pounds left. He placed this in his coinpurse, giving him a total of 183 pounds.

He moved over into an alley near the marketplace to finish his look. He put on the boots. He pulled his pants higher, pulled his shirt down more and tightened his belt, making his clothes tighter and making it look like he was trying to show off his muscles, which were small but well toned. He placed the dirk near in his belt casually but near his pouch. He then rolled up his sleeves halfway to his shoulder, placed his hat further down the front of his head than was normal and began to walk. This wasn't the first time that he had to wear heeled boots so he was fairly comfortable. He began to swagger down the street, putting his whole body into the act of moving forward.

He picked up the trail that he had followed the two traders down and began to swagger down to the building he saw the men go into, occasionally nodding to the random passerby. Eventually, he sauntered up to the door the two traders disappeared into. Still radiating confidence, he knocked on the door and leaned against the door jamb, waiting for someone to answer, placing the other on his belt near his coinpurse.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle was sitting at the table by herself, painting her fingernails with bright red colour. All her other lasses were upstairs, entertaining the customers, and mammy was sleeping in her room at the back of the house. Síle didn’t mind having a little break from the work, but she would have preferred if she’d had one or two of her lasses to keep her company. Síle got bored easily and didn’t like being alone.

A knock on the door woke her up from her daydreaming. Another customer? Síle sighed – she had a long working night behind her and had hoped that nobody would come anymore. Síle’s shift would end in one hour and she didn’t feel inspired anymore. At least let it be somebody young and reasonably clean and sober, she thought as she walked to the door and opened it.

The golden triangle of light illuminated the man standing at the door. By the way he was carrying himself and clothed Síle categorized the man to be an intolerable jerk, but at least he was young, clean and seemed reasonably sober too. Síle just hoped he wouldn’t be the violent type – based on his attitude he just might be.

”Yes?” Síle said. ”Would ye like to come in, sir?”

Jerro_oconnor

"Don't mind if I do." Jerro said as he walked into the room. Jerro looked around the room and put on an expression of disinterest and tried to look unimpressed. "I was feeling bored and had heard this place was good for a laugh... and maybe a little information too." Jerro added in an almost offhanded manner. "Now I know what ye usually do here, but is there anythin else ye do for fun?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle retreated from the doorway and moved out of the way as the young man entered the little salon. The lightning was dim and neither the dark tapestries, plush coatings over the sofa and couches nor heavy curtains at doors lightened up the mood.

Síle suppressed a smile as she listened the young man talking. Obviously this was his first time in a place like this and he was feeling shy and uncertain of what would happen next. But Síle knew better not to show her amusement.

"Well I don't know, what did ye have in mind, hun?"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro thought for second. He didn't want to actually have her perform the service, enjoyable though that may be. If he came off as naive or something else, then that was fine by him. What he really needed was information, and the best way to do that would be in a more relaxed environment... not the bedroom. "I don't know, I was sort of hoping that you'd have some other... um... activities, set up for those who wanted to spend there money in another way. Like cards or something. Of course we could just talk." Jerro began to let his tough act slip, as if the new situation were making him open up a little.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle relaxed the moment the young man uttered the last words. A talker! Seems she had misjudged him at first, the lad wasn't a jerk at all but a shy and lonely guy who just wanted to act tough, coming to a place like this. Síle was relieved, she had a long shift behind her and she was kinda tired. She hadn't had a talker in a long while, that would be a nice change and a good way to end the night. After all, hadn't she hoped for some company only a minute ago?

Síle smiled at the lad and batted her eyelids. "I'm afraid I don't know any card games, but I'm a very good listener fer anything ye have in yer heart. Come, let's go to me room upstairs. Don't worry, I don't bite... unless ye want me to, that is."

Halfway towards the stairs Síle stopped and turned her head. "Ye still have to pay fer me time", she warned. Síle climbed the stairs and led the lad to her small but tidy room.

"Would ye like some herbal tea... ummm... what's yer name?"

Jerro_oconnor

"Roderick" Jerro said, not missing a beat. "and some tea sounds lovely." He began to follow her upstairs. "I don't even remember the last time I've had a good tea. Men aren't supposed to drink tea, ye know. It's always beer and the like. I don't have much head for drink, it gives me such a headache." He paused at the top of the stairs. "Er... I suppose I should ask ye, how much is yer time?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

"Ye can call me Síle, Roderick", Síle said as she set the table for two and went to light the fire under the teapot. "And it is 20 pounds per hour, but me shift ends after an hour. I'm not gonna chase ye out if ye wanna stay but after that it will be double as much."

The tea boiled and Síle filled the cups and looked at Roderick intently. "Well, Roderick", she said, "anything specific on yer mind ye wish to talk to me about?"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro paused, he didn't want to bring up anything yet, that would look suspicious. He would probably have to start some small talk with her before coming into anything heavy. Instead he sat removed his hat and the boots, placing them neatly in a corner of the room. "I hope ye don't mind if I take my boots off, I... Oh, Er..." He did his best to look abashed. He couldn't actually blush on command, but he could come close. "Well, to be honest, I didn't even want to be in here." He said quickly as he sat down on the bed and began to rub his foot. "But some of the guys were beginning to look at me strangely, ye know how it is. If they don't see ye with a woman then somethings wrong with ye." Then he added, as if to himself, "Those boots kill my feet, how do they walk on those spikes?"

He looked up to Síle, "I wasn't expecting that ye would be glad to just talk, I'm not even prepared for that... But I've got plenty of money for a couple hours. Any sooner and they wouldn't believe I even did anything, which I suppose I'm not. I wish I could find a new line of work." He hoped that light conversation would follow.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

By golly, he was a nice lad! And so innocent! The way he so casually mentioned that he had 'enough money fer a couple more hours' made Síle think that he had to be rich too. Perhaps he would be the type that she could make fall for her, marry her and take her out of this life? It was rare, but sometimes it happened and some of the girls shared this same dream with Síle.

"Hold on, Roderick", Síle said, getting up from her seat. "I can rub yer feet fer ye, I'm very good at it." Without waiting to hear any complaints Síle knelt before Roderick and started working on his feet firmly and skillfully. "Aye, I know what ye mean about finding a new line of work, Rod. Ye know I was gonna be a singer." Síle sighed softly and shrugged it off. "But that's how it goes in life I guess - ye can't always get what ye want."

Jerro_oconnor

"Yeah! Me too!" Jerro said excitedly. "I wanted to be a bard, or a minstrel, not that I could tell ye the difference. I have a decent voice, and a good memory." Jerro didn't complain about the foot rub, it really did feel good.

"But as it is, I was forced to work for some small time thug. He really has no imagination, and isn't even good at the game. He doesn't pay us enough, and I'm pretty sure he owes more people than owe him." Jerro didn't like the way she quickly offered to rub his feet, so he added, "It took me years to get this much as it is." He looked at her curiously. "If ye don't mind me asking, why did ye decide to do... this?" He gestured vaguely around the room.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle listened to Roderick's story and sighed again. "Ye know, Rod, with some minor key differences yer story could as well be mine. Some guy I met in a tavern, told me how beautifully I could sing, said that I could make a fortune with me voice if I went with him. A real rich guy he was, a gentleman type, some kind of nobleman even. A foreigner. So I went with him. But instead of the fortunes I got..." Síle waved her hand about the room, "this!"

Jerro_oconnor

I know what ye mean, Jerro said. "Someone comes up to me during a show and says he likes my voice and that he'll fund me as I travel across the world. Sounded good at the time, until I found out he wanted me to do a few "favors" for him. Now I'm stuck here in a job I don't like and can't get out of."

Jerro and Síle spend the better part of two hours talking to each other, sharing their hopes, dreams and complaints. Jerro mixes in the truth every now and then to make himself seem more credible. He solemly wishes that he could have met her under different circumstances. He decides that it was long enough. "I thought the beginning of this job was bad enough, it's even affectin my friends. The few I have that know the real me, anyway. I have a friend who is pretty important in the guard and the NMA. I met her before this whole tough guy business. She's just doin her job, ye know, but someone up high decides that he doesn't like her or somethin. He sends an assassin to kill her, bug she lives. Sends this message threat'nin her and her family too. I don't even know who this guy is, but I wish I did. She says that the guy he sent had cold, blue eyes and a fancy wristblade." Jerro sighed forlornly. "I don't even know what I'd do if I find him, I just want the killin to stop... Why do people have to be like this?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

The talk about killings, assassinations and death threats made Síle suddenly withdraw. She was afraid she had already said too much. She thought about the caravan camps, the rough times she had had to endure before she accepted her fate and everything had changed easier for her, the ruthless men behind it all and... she was almost too scared to even think about him!

"Best if we talk about something nicer, Rod. It is too dangerous to even be talking about that movement... fer the both of us!"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro let the hope appear in his voice. "Ye mean ye know! That's great! Ye could tell me something or point me to someone who does know..." Then Jerro spoke quietly and disheartenedly. "But yer right, it's too dangerous, I'd hate to drag ye into this mess. Ye are a kind person, I'm sorry that things turned out as they did. No one should have to go through this." He looked around as if confused. "Um... how much time has passed?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle bit her lip, desperation and horror flickering in her eyes.

"I would so love to help ye and yer friend, Rod, ye know that! But... but it could cost me me life!"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro was shocked, he didn't want to kill anyone! "No, I understand. If it means yer life then I wouldn't want ye to say anything." Indecision wracked him for a minute. He finally decided that it might be best to part ways on his terms. "Actually, I have a confession to make."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle bit her lip harder, tears streaming on her cheeks. She so would have wanted to help this young man and his friend, but how could she? She was a coward, coward, coward!

"Y-yes, Rod? W-what is it?"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro smiled sadly. "That's just it, I'm not really Rodrick. My name is actually Jerro O'Connor. I didn't tell ye because I was lookin into dangerous people, and a name could be a powerful thing. I couldn't be sure which side ye were on, if ye even knew anythin. Most of what I told ye is true, but I did change some details and left some out. Now that I know ye better, I can tell ye wouldn't be in with them if didn't have to. The last thing I want is to cause another death."

Jerro began to gather up his belongings. "I don't expect ye to give it, Síle, but I beg for yer forgiveness." He began to tie his boots as he awaited Síle's reaction.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle threw a quick glance at the window. "All I can give ye is a name", she said quietly and suddenly. "Viscomte d'Argent. He's the one who collects the girls. d'Argent - he..." a shiver went through Síle, "d'Argent is... is... a murderer."

Jerro_oconnor

"Thank ye. I know how much this means to ye. I'm sorry I did what I did, it was hurtful and deceitful and I hope never to do it again." Jerro meant every word he said. He might have done this thing in the past, but he had learned to regret it and wished never to do it on a kind person again.

Before he knew what he was doing, he impulsively brought her into a warm embrace, like one does with a troubled sister. "I know that it is a hard thing that ye do, and I wish we had met under better circumstances." He released her and untied the dirk still in his belt. It was small, but very well made. And sharp. "Please, I know what kind of danger I put ye in. Please take it." He held it out to her, his hand carefully on the blade so she could get it without cutting herself.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

Síle took the dirk and held on to Jerro's embrace tight. More than ever she now looked like the lost country girl she had once been.

"Ye know ye can stay if ye like. Fer tonight. Fer free."

Jerro_oconnor

Indecision wracked Jerro's brain. This woman had risked her life to give Jerro the information, even after he had lied to her. It would be the least he could do to make sure that she was safe. But he needed to get the information out yesterday. Finally, he decided to compromise. "I'll tell ye what, I'll come back for ye after I give my friend the name. I need to get a few things, then I'll be back. Are ye gonna stay here or do ye have a place to go?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Sile

"Nah, I have a little shack to call me own not too far from here", said Síle. "The bosses rewarded me fer playing nicely so far, so I can have some privacy and stuff of me own. That's how they operate - play nicely and they reward ye, cause trouble and ye find yerself in a trouble deep." Síle gave Jerro the instructions to her house. "I'll be waiting up fer ye there, Jerro."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded and went to the door. "Alright. I'll meet ye there. Be safe, and if ye get in trouble, run. Only use that blade if ye must." He ran to the door. Not even bothering to keep up the façade that he had entered with. "wait for me there, I'll be there as soon as possible." With that, he left.

He practically flew to the Circus, where he would try to catch Pagan. Luckily, he found there. "Am I glad to see ye, I..." He stopped as he saw Pagan's face. It still looked clammy and grey, but now she looked worried and scared as well. "What's wrong?" He asked, fearing the worst.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan awoke from a nightmare as Jerro arrived. She realized she had been napping at the table, and she had no idea how much time had passed. All she knew was she was feeling worse. Way worse. She suffered from enormous abnominal pain and fought against the urge to throw up on the table.

"Jerro, I..."

Pagan was sliding down on her chair, scrabbling powerlessly for something to hold on - then she dropped on the floor with a thump and just lied there still, without making a sound.
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Jerro_oconnor

Without pausing to think, Jerro raced over to Pagan. He was about to attempt to wake her when the letter caught his eye. He skimmed it quickly, and one word stuck out to him. Antidote! Then the king was poisoned. Two things came into Jerro's mind then, the first was that things were more complicated than he had originally thought, and the second was that it seemed odd that Pagan, a person who had never been sick once in her entire life were to fall ill at the same time as the king. He thought that maybe this Viscomte D'Argent was attacking high profile targets.

It was then that Jerro tried to wake Pagan, but she hung limp no matter what Jerro tried. surely if they brought the king an antidote, then they should have some more. He thought. While he may not know a lot about the current political situation, he at least knew that the king would be at the capital. That was what they were for, weren't they? He picked up Pagan, who was distressingly light, and rushed off to the nearest watch-house, where he was able to procure a cart and an escort. He rushed through the gates of the city, praying that they would be in time.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent stood in the shadows of the room, beside himself with fury.

The slut had given up his name.

He had been her benefactor. Five times her normal wages

The slut had given up his name

Who knew what mayhem would now ensure. There would be no living with Grimthorn and the Red Duke after this.

The slut had given up his name.

d'Argent waited til she was alone and slid out behind her.

"You should never have uttered my name. There is a price for that, and it comes with a foot of Flemish steel."

d'Argent slide the stiletto slowly into her neck and up into her brain.

The slut would never again mention his name.

It was well.

Pagan

When Pagan woke up, she was in a cart. A cart tied to a horse, and they were going somewhere. Pagan tried to get up, but collapsed down on her face all over again. There were two men on the drover's seat... the other man... was it Jerro?

"Corc", Pagan croaked, "we gotta go to... Corc... the capital... the King... is in danger... and so... am..."

Pagan collapsed down again. She was lying very comfortably, she was very warm. This was the way to die. To be dead. Softly and very warmly. She didn't want to live. She had tried, a little bit above the surface, but up there it had been all pain. She wanted down, to the warmth, to the shelter, down to the death. But she was floating irrisistably back up, first slowly, then faster and faster, until she could see the shining surface above her and she was screaming soundlessly: No! No!
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked into the back of the cart, he thought that he had heard Pagan, but that could have been an illusion. They were already well on the way to Corcaigh, but it had taken them two days traveling to reach Imleach from Cork, but they weren't in a hurry then. He figured that, with plenty of rough riding, they might be able to get there in a day, maybe less if they were lucky.

He looked around the cart, along with the drover, they had two escorts riding alongside them. He didn't know either of them, but they both knew Pagan well enough to volunteer. Jerro realized that he had been left out in the dark too long, the first thing he would do once he knew that Pagan was safe was demand some answers.

"Hang in there." He muttered to Pagan. Then he turned back to the front and proceeded to pester the drover to go faster.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The light shrunk into a tiny spot that blinded her, burned her eyes that she was incapable of shutting.

The spot turned into a shining ball.

Like a moon.

Was it a moon?

Go away! I don't want to live!

A strange voice was rumbling in her ears.

"Hang in there."

I don't want to hang in there, anywhere! Why are they making me?
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked back again, Pagan wasn't looking good. Earlier she had at least moved. Now, other than the occasional groan, she didn't move or make a sound. It seemed like she wasn't even fighting anymore.

"How's she doing back there?" Asked the lad in front and to the left of the cart.

"Not well at all." Jerro answered back. The young soldier looked about to say something else, but turned away with a distressed look. Do ye think she'll live? the unasked question echoed around them anyway, as if he had shouted the question into a vast cavern. Jerro found a rag back in the cart, soaked it with slighty cool water from a canteen they had brought, and placed it on Pagan's forehead. He wasn't sure if it would do anything for her, but at least it was something.

Jerro felt guilty for letting this happen to her, she had trusted her protection to him. He should have seen it coming, but never thought that they would pay for an assassin if they were gonna poison her anyway. He doubted that it was the same person, while he may be skilled with poisons, he doubted he would have gone from public assault to secretive poisoning. Jerro tried to tell himself that it was impossible to protect her from poison short of eating everything she ate, and that she could have been poisoned before they met on the road. These thoughts didn't help though, he still felt guilty.

"Ye've got to live, if not for me, if not for these lads risking their lives for ye, then think of yer friends, yer family, think of Kadie. Where would they be without ye?" Jerro wasn't even sure if Pagan could hear him. "Everythin will be fine, ye'll be cured and then we can get the bastard who did this to ye." He wasn't sure whether he was trying to reassure Pagan or himself. He wasn't sure of a lot of things.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Suddenly she had surfaced all the way up. Flames of pain were licking her body all over. A man's face. So that man had awoken her.

Damn ye! Why did ye wake me up?

She fell back down to the darkness, to the soft, peaceful blackness that embraced her and soothed the pain. Some specks of light were dancing all around her in the darkness, oval flecks, faces - familiar faces! And voices... familiar voices!

Everyone gathered around her and talked to her; the past surrounded her, looked at her, talked to her, it came and it went, was born and died in short flashes, but always came back, each time in a new and more correct order. Pagan let them come. She knew she was going to die. Now the past wast flickering as a string in her eyes. She could see those faces ahead of her - faces from the time before the war, when she was nothing more than a wild and free tavern wench and small time corn farmer in Imleach. She gave in to them, to the men, to the women, to all those memories while thunder was roaming somewhere far away and a gentle and soothing spring rain fell upon her...
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Jerro_oconnor

The walls of Corcaigh were within sight. Pagan had stirred once during the ride, which worried Jerro. She was still breathing, but he didn't know how long it would last. He cared for her to the best of his ability, which basically boiled down to changing the rag when it got too warm and making sure she was still breathing. He was amazed, had it only been a few days since he had been here for the fair?

He urged the drover to speed up again, and looked around. The ride to Cork had been surprisingly uneventful, they had not needed to stop and were not attacked, both of these being minor blessings in themselves even if the circumstances weren't pressing. He felt himself fidgeting as they neared the gates, he hoped they weren't too late.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dirk_regan

Captain Dirk Regan was just on his tour to inspect the guards at the gate as he saw a cart approaching like the Nameless One himself was chasing after it. What's this then? Dirk though curiously and decided that it was worth it to stick around to see what the commotion was about.

"All right", he said to the guard self-consciously, "I'll handle this one."

Dirk took a stance in front of the gate and waited as the cart approached. There appeared to be two men sitting on the drover's seat, and one of them hcarried a NMA uniform. That didn't necessarily mean they were legit though, Dirk knew and pulled a stern look on his face as the cart pulled by him.

"Hold it, hold it", he said with his best authoritative voice (just a short while ago Dirk had only been a lieutenant and he was still enjoying his promotion and taking everything out of it). "What seems to be the rush, gentlemen?"

Jerro_oconnor

"Private Jerro O'Connor of the NMA reporting." He said in a harried voice, snapping off a smart salute. They might be in a hurry, but bypassing procedure could get them into deeper trouble. "Col. Pagan Mckenzie here has been poisoned, and I have reason to believe the antidote is at the palace. I also have information that the king or anyone close to the king must hear." Jerro began to fidget again, remembering the letter say that there was a point when the antidote would stop working.

Just then, one of the escorts spoke up, "Please hurry sir, can't ye see she's dying?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dirk_regan

"Colonel P...!"

Dirk took a one good look at the cargo and turned as white as a sheet. Just a few months ago Dirk had been in a deep trouble, for he was a gambling man and had been in a bad spot with his debtors, so bad he had been forced to take some money from a known criminal just to survive through it, and Pagan had somehow found out. But instead of turning him in, Pagan had discreetly destroyed the evidence, and instead of being dishonorably discharged from the NMA Lieutenant Dirk Regan was now Captain Dirk Regan, and he would have gladly died for Colonel Pagan.

"The King is dead, don't ye know?" he blurted out and continued, "please follow me to the Palace!" Dirk took the reigns and literally ran in front of the horse to the Corcaigh Palace. Rapidly he cleared through all the formalities, and soon all the Palace knew - Pagan had been poisoned! She was in a cart in the Palace yard, and she was dying!

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro sat there in shocked silence as he was herded towards the palace. The king was dead? He never knew him personally, but it was still a shock to hear that. That meant that they were too late. Another person that Jerro couldn't save. The ride to the palace passed by as a blur, he vaguely remembered Dirk shouting out to get everyone out of the way. Jerro stared blankly ahead the whole way there.

Once at the palace, though, he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned to look, nobody was there. He knew who it was, though. He realized that it would do nobody any good to sit here in a fog, so he pulled himself together. He gently picked up Pagan, and asked for directions to where he needed to go. Then, he ran to where they told him to go.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Oddman

The news traveled faster than Jerro, that he was on his way with Pagan. And that she had been poisoned. Oddman hurriedly grabbed one of the antidote vials and ran to meet them. Their paths met on the landing in the stairwell one floor down from the kings chambers.

"I have one of the antidote vials. hold her steady so I can give it to her."

He took out the vial of blue liquid from his pocket and unstopped it with his teeth. Then he carefully poured the contents down her throught so she would not choke on it.

Seeing that Jerro was exausted from the long trip and carrying Pagan up the stairs Oddman took her from him and carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom a guardsman directed them to and laid her gently on the bed.

He then turned to Jerro and said.

"Thank you very much for all you've done for my sister inlaw. I owe you a great deal for your efforts too save her. Now we wait and see if she received the antidote in time."

Jerro_oconnor

"No, ye owe me nothin." Jerro said. "How could I sit there when someone needed me? I'm sure ye would've done the same for me an mine." Jerro reached to grab the letter when he realized that, in his haste, he had left it on the table at the Mackenzie Circus. "But while we wait, I have some information that ye need to know." All he really wanted was to take a quick rest, but he couldn't do that in good conscience when there were things that still needed to be done.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan's big eyes opened and stared straight at Oddman. For a moment she couldn't recall who he was, then she remembered and recognizion changed the expression on her face.

"Oddman..."

Pagan's hand - the blue stints under her fingernails starting to fade away as the antidote worked it's magic - grabbed his arm.

"Oddman, Zan! Has Zan taken his medicine? If he hasn't we must force it down his throat, it might already be too late! Don't let the poisoners win!"
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Oddman

Oddman was greatly relieved when Pagan opened her eyes and recognized him. But the expression on his changed quickly reflecting the grief he was still feeling from Zanditin's so recent death.

"Zan is dead! He refused to take the antidote and earlier he had made Alys promise not to let anyone force a treatment on him against his will. It was his choice. For my own part, my vows and commitments would not let me go against that."

He hugged Pagan and and held her for a while then said.

" The Cowards that Poisoned you and and took Zan from us will be hunted down, and they will feel the full wrath of Jah."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stood around awkwardly during the exchange. Finally, though, he spoke up. "Speaking of cowards, I believe I found one of their names. I'm not sure if he is actually part of this or not, but does the name Viscomte d'Argente mean anything to either of you?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

When she heard the news about Zan's passing away Pagan released herself from Oddman's embrace and stood up from the bed, but her feet were still weak and usteady so she slumped sitting into a sofa. She felt uncontrollable craving for whiskey. The news had shocked her deeply.

"Zan... dead?" She had a hard time understanding the meaning of those words. Zan, the man who had imported the axe program in Ireland, the man who had fought side by side in the war and, most importantly, the man who had had the habbit of pulling his kilt on the flagpole of Imleach on numerous occasions, the man who had joked and laughed and drank with her all those times in the taverns... dead.

Then Jerro spoke and Pagan forced herself to concentrate on his words. "No, never heard of him. Who is he?"
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Jerro_oconnor

"I don't know, it was the name that was dropped at the place ye had me visit." Then Jerro remembered Síle, he would have to write to her to get her here. "She said he was a murderer, and that he might have something to do with all this." He looked over at Pagan and Oddman, then looked down at his feet sheepishly. "I wish I could have found out more."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"It's all right, Jerro, ye did good", Pagan said. "We have a name now, and that is a lead."

Pagan had hard time keeping her eyes open. She desperately needed a drink, she was starving and she was dead tired, and she knew she wouldn't be strong enough to make it back to Imleach in a couple of days. At the moment she was too weak to even stand on her two feet. Besides, there would be a funeral for Zan, and she would have to attend to that.

"Anything else?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro shook his head, "No, nothing else that wasn't in the letter ye got. I would like to know what's going on here." He looked over at Pagan and Oddman again, noticing how tired they both looked. "But I suppose that that can wait until later. What do we do now?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan yawned. "Well I don't know about ye guys, but I'm just about to fall asleep here. And I'm pretty sure I'm not fit to travel fer a couple of days, and then there will of course be the funeral of the King. Do ye want to go back to Imleach without me, Jerro? Because ye can if ye like. I think I will be safe here, or as safe as I can be anywhere at the moment."
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Oddman

Oddman was deep in thought for a moment then he said.

"The name Viscompte d'Argente has appeared in a few reports of incedents and groups possibly involved in criminal activity in recent years. But nothing solid has ever been linked to him. But right now the two of you need to get sleep I will stay here and watch over Pagan."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded his head wearily. "Yeah, that sounds good right about now. I think I'll do that." He was pointed to a nearby room with a bed and went there. He quickly fell into a deep sleep... And into a nightmare.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

As soon as Pagan had been left alone she dragged herself back to her bed, slumped in it and instantly fell into a deep slumber...
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Pagan

Pagan was on her feet on the second day and dragging herself around the Palace. Her slender, hardened body was recuperating with amazing speed, her strenght was coming back and the swolling on her face was coming down as she was regaining her normal colour.
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--Viscomte_dargent

It was time to go hunting again. Someone out there was mentioning his name once more.

d'Argent sneered down at the forever silent informant and wiped the stiletto clean.

Now to find that odd little man

time to go hunting again

Jerro_oconnor

The next day was uneventful, but Jerro was to shaken to even notice if the pope had been caught gambling in Corcaigh. Jerro was still haunted by his dream, he could still remember it vividly...

It was that fateful night years ago, the night that had brought Jerro clean. He was making the deal again, when things went wrong. A fight ensued, which Jerro could remember down to the last droplet of blood that painted the streets. Then, as if time had slowed, he saw the crossbow bolt fly across the street and land in his friend's gut. The crossbow bolt that had ended his life. The rest passed by in a blur of speed until several hours later when they had hidden in the woods. Jerro had held Barabbas, both comforting him in his final hour and pleading with him to find a healer. But it wasn't Barabbas anymore, instead he had found Síle in his arms, eyes glazed over and breath void in the eternal slumber. Jerro began to cry out...

And woke up, sweating and breathing heavily. He was sure what his dream meant, he had unwittingly killed Síle in his quest for information. He sat in bed for several minutes, shocked at what had happened. Then, he stood up, got dressed, and started his day anew.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

King Zanditin's funeral would be held today.

Deep within Pagan's baby blue, round eyes there was something hard, cold and deadly. She was thirsty for vengeance, a compensation for her pain and fear. And Zanditin. This time it was personal. All she had was a name. Viscomte d'Argent. d'Argent would find out he had been messing with the wrong lass. But how could she find him?

The face of the King of Arms of the Corcaigh Palace was clouded by heavy sorrow on this day of mourning. Zan's passing had touched deeply everyone who had known him.

"When do ye leave and what do ye need?"

"Within a couple of days. And I will need weapons. I have me sword with me, but I will be needing a shield and a bow or a crossbow. But fer Jah's sake don't try to offer me a 5-foot tall longbow or heavy crossbow."

"All right", the King of Arms sighed. "Come back later before ye travel. I should have something fer ye by then."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro walked around the town in the hours before the funeral. He was all too aware of the change in mood since his last visit. Before, the city was bright, colorful and exuberant in the joyous displays of the fair. Now, the whole city was in mourning over the loss of the king; a grey, somber atmosphere. Many shops were even closed for the day. Jerro felt his already low spirits drop a few notches as he browsed through the few shops that were still open. After killing several hours, he walked back to his temporary room with new formal clothes for the funeral.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The funeral was a beautiful but heavy spectacle, and it was followed by a traditional Irish wake, a grand feast with overabundance of food and drink. Pagan drank herself to a stupor that night but no matter how much she drank she just couldn't shut the lights out, couldn't pass out when that was all she really wanted to do. Long after everyone else had gone to sleep she staggered about the Palace corridors, yelling and throwing things and keeping people up for hours until the miserable Court servants finally managed to get her to her room and to sleep by dawn.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro planned to leave after the funeral. He still planned to, even if he hadn't been able to get much sleep. He wanted to check on Síle, even though he knew she was dead. There was also Lucky and Shamus to deal with back home. Jerro shuddered when he thought of what might happen should they try to meet with Jerro at the same. First, he had to check with Pagan to see if she wanted to leave too. He waited until he was sure that she was awake, then found her in one of the hallways.

"Hey Pagan. Are ye feelin any better? I was goin to ride out for home today. Are ye comin, or do ye still have business here?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan had woken up at noon, and after couple of quick eye-openers, a hot bath and a sturdy breakfast at the dining hall she felt human enough to start planning for the day. She stumbled into Jerro in one of the hallways.

"In fact I was just looking fer ye", she answered. "I think it would be best to leave today, aye. I just have to get a few... things from the King of Arms. And I think I can borrow us both horses from the staples. It'll still be a two-day trip I guess but I will have some stuff that will be easier to carry if we travel on horseback. Do ye need anything? Like weapons, I mean?"
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Jerro_oconnor

"No, I got everything I need. I just need to tell the lads who escorted us that we're leavin. I'm sure they want to get back home too. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they'll need to bring the cart back too, so ye could ride in the back there again if ye want, save ye the trouble of findin a horse." He paused to think for a second. "Or if ye have enough stuff we could stick it in the cart and borrow one horse. One of us can sit with the drover."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan slapped her forehead. "Ah, daft ol' Pagan! What was I thinking, of course ye didn't carry me on yer shoulders! And no, one horse and a cart is all we need - I don't intend to bring the whole armoury, just something I'd rather not walk with fer two whole days under the spring sun. I've done it before during wartime, but I'm afraid I've let meself go a little bit after that, and it was no picnic even then. Wait fer me in the yard, I will be out in half an hour!"

That said, Pagan marched away. When she exited the Palace through the main door closer to an hour later, she was dressed in a full-plate body armor and carrying a shield, a crossbow and crossbow bolts on her back, completed with her usual sword on her hip. In addition to that she had tucked half a dozen daggers, dirks and knifes in her boots, belt and strapped a couple to her inner thighs under her trousers, just in case. Seeing Jerro and the escort with a cart she marched at them, flashed them a wide grin and twirled around like a mannequin.

"What do ye like? They say this is the hottest new look this season - Pagan-hunting season. I figured if we're gonna make a ride through the open country with a bunch of assassins on me case, I'd best be well-prepared."
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Jerro_oconnor

"Well, ye can certainly make a man feel underdressed!" Jerro joked. He had only brought his staff, it suited his purposes well enough. Besides, he was broke after everything that had happened and couldn't afford anything else. "What was that ye said about not bringin the whole armory?" Jerro could understand her concern though, having an assassin breathing down your neck couldn't be fun. Realistically speaking, though, Jerro figured that she wouldn't even use half of the stuff. Unless she started throwing her weapons. Jerro remembered Callaghan from the inn that they had stopped at last time they made the trip home. He smiled at his own private thoughts of Pagan throwing her sword at him, and it striking his head hilt-first. His smile quickly faded when he realized that they would probably have to stop at that inn on this trip.

"All joking aside, are we ready to go?" He said, driving the thought from his mind. "Would ye prefer the drover seat or the cart?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"I'm happy any which way ye prefer", Pagan said, but added quickly before Jerro could answer, "but if it's all the same to ye too, I'll take the cart. Maybe best if we don't give the assassins a clear view to have shots at me, wouldn't ye agree?" Besides, she thought but left unsaid, with a shield as a pillow she could have a very nice ride, just napping most of the time.

The trip to Lios Mor was uneventful, as was their stay there. When they arrived at Imleach the next day the sun had already started to set. The red sunlight emphasized the dark shadows on her oval face and created a reddish shine in her round, blue eyes. She was on a dangerous mood. She hadn't slept at all last night - she was cutting back on the whiskey a little bit and because of that the ghosts had haunted her until the sun had driven the night away.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro didn't argue about the cart, but he didn't think protection was the first thing on Pagan's mind when she had chosen.

After returning home, and returning the cart and horses, they said goodbye to their escorts and made a beeline to the Mackenzie Circus. There, Jerro's worst fear came true. Both Lucky and Shamus were sitting at tables as far apart as possible, shooting daggers at each other. They both knew each other from reputation, although Shamus had messed up one of Lucky's larger operations. From the looks of things, they had both been here for a while. Once Jerro and Pagan entered, they shifted their glares at Jerro.

"Um... could ye excuse me for a second, I think I have some business that needs to be taken care of, and it could take a while." He motioned for both Shamus and Lucky to meet him at a separate table. They both stood up quickly, raced each other to the table, got there at the same time, then hesitantly sat down on opposite sides of the table.

"Ok, so I know that ye two don't get along, but I need ye to work together on this. Can ye handle that?" They both glared at each other again before muttering their consent. "Good, now that we got that settled, Shamus, ye go first." Lucky opened his mouth to complain, but Jerro silenced him with a Look.

"Fine by me." Shamus said, "It shouldn't take take too long. I just needed to ask how I can look after people I can't find." Lucky scoffed at this, but Jerro shot him another Look. "I still haven't found this Kadie person, I'm beginning to doubt she exists, and Pagan disappears within several hours of ye askin me to watch her."

"Kadie does exist, or at least Pagan assures me she does." Jerro answered him, "And as for Pagan's disappearance, she was poisoned and the only cure was in Cork, so we had to rush her there."

"But why didn't ye ask me? I could have gone in yer stead."

"And in that time she could have died, it was that serious. I would have told ye if I could, but I had no time to."

Shamus mulled this over for a second, before nodding and saying, "Alright, I'm satisfied. That was it." He stood up to leave but Jerro stopped him.

"No, if yer gonna be workin together, ye gotta learn to at least stand each other." He waved Lucky to start talking.

Shamus grumbled a little, but otherwise sat down without a fight. "First off, I don't have any information on yer assassin, ye didn't give me enough to work with. Second, word is that yer bein hunted too. I don't know by who, but aparrently someone has been tryin to get to ye. The strange thing is, I don't know how he's lookin, I don't know where he's lookin, I don't even know the guy who gave me the information. Some guy came up to me and said, "Jerro's bein hunted" and ran off before I could even see his face. Strangest thing."

Jerro took all this in. This meant that Viscomte was looking for him, and that there was someone who knew this. The only question was, who was this person, and how much more did he know? "Thank ye, I didn't know someone was after me, but I might know his name... look up Viscomte d'Argente for me, will ye?" Lucky agreed without asking for a price, a sign that worried Jerro. "Is that everythin? ... Good! Ye can both leave now if ye want, thank ye for the help, just stay safe." He watched as Lucky and Shamus both ran for the door, neither wanting to have his back to the other. Once they left, Jerro laid his head down on the table and thought about everything.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

When they got in the MacKenzie Circus Pagan made a beeline towards the bar and poured herself a large tankard of ale. She resisted the temptation to pour it down in one, because she had concluded that when her life was under this serious threat it was probably a good idea to watch her drinking a little bit. The effort was made easier by the fact that the beer was as warm as if it was England. How long it had been since Grunt had brought this keg from the cellar? Yesterday? And it still wasn't empty, far from it. Business really was slow these days. She would have to do something about it one of these days.

She listened intently as Shamus and Lucky spoke their peace and then ran off like the whole ERA army was after them. She slammed the empty kegger to the table and said:

"Well, I'm off to me room to take off these garments. We survived the trip and I don't want to be walking around Imleach like it was a parade or something. Grunt!" she bellowed. "Prepare me and Jerro something to eat while yer at it, okay?"

Pagan went upstairs and undressed the plate-mail armor, putting it in the coffin with her other shield, the one she had just borrowed, the crossbow with it's bolts and most of her blades. She might need them before this all was over. She left on her sword (everyone in Imleach was pretty used to seeing her walking around with that thing) and one knife strapped on the inside of her thigh and another one tucked in her boot. That should be enough protection here in the middle of civilization.

Pagan went back downstairs where Grunt had laid out bowls of stew and keggers of beer for them. For a while Pagan just concentrated on the food. When she was finished she pushed the empty bowl and kegger away, had a nip from her hipflask and frowned. She was getting annoyed.

"Well, what do we now? I haven't seen or heard anything suspicious other than what yer friends just told me and I hate fumbling in the dark like this. Should we go back to the HQ and ask if they've heard anything new? No way", she turned down her own idea, "what the hell could they find out in those barracks anyway?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro brought his head up when Grunt brought them the food. He ate slowly, still thinking about everything that he had learned so far. He was still eating when Pagam had asked her question. He waited until she finished talking before speaking up himself. "I've given it some thought, and I figure the best way to learn something new would be to try and lure this guy into a trap. I'm sure ye've heard what we were talkin about a little while ago, he wants both of us now. I'm sure both of us walkin the street would be too tempting an offer to pass up. Besides, I have a promise to keep." He kept quiet on how he was sure that the person who had made him promise was dead.

"So I'll be goin out with or without ye in a minute anyway, I just think that; one, it'd be safer and two, we might be able to catch this gut while we're out there. If ye do come though, then ye can tell me just what is goin on. I want..." He stopped, for at that moment he noticed something that he probably should have noticed a while ago. A carrier pigeon had flown in.

He wasn't sure how long it had been in there for, but it had to have been here for a while. He crossed the room and carefully took the letter from its leg. He took a cursory glance at the letter as he went back to the table, but handed it to Pagan still unrolled. "I believe this is for ye?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan rolled open the letter and read it.

Pagan lass,

Hold on, I'm coming as soon as I can get there. Finding a boat across the channel is harder than you might think. There are no boats thence from Sussex, on the South side of the kingdom. I have to travel North to a port.

I pray your friend Jerro is trustworthy enough to care for you ... you will need someone. Arch-deacon Brightpoint would not have made it without me when he was poisoned.

I worry for you, and will pray to Jah that you make it to Corcaigh in time.

Jerro, if you get this in Pagan's stead, know that she's told me of you. I don't know your backstory together, but Pagan is my best friend. We grew up together in Imleach. Since she trusts you, so do I. Take care of her. If she has been targeted, there has got to be a reason. I am arriving with aid from England as soon as Jah wills it.

Be well, my friends,
~ Destini MacKenzie
Attache to Count Faheud of Sussex, England

After having read it, Pagan rolled it back, wrapped it up again and tucked it inside her shirt.

"Yeah, okay, Jerro, I guess I could do with some fresh air anyway. I can answer this letter later. GRUNT!!!"

Grunt emerged from the kitchen, staring them with his beedy eyes in a way that would have caused great distress to anyone who didn't know he was essentially harmless.

"Take this bird into the birdcage, Grunt. Do not eat it nor make it into a dinner, breakfast, supper or any other kind of meal, ye hear me? It is not ours, and it is not food."

Grunt grunted, came forth and grabbed the bird by it's legs.

"And don't forget to feed it, it looks hungry!" Pagan shouted at Grunt's back before it disappeared into the kitchen.

Pagan stood up, walked at the door, opened it and looked at Jerro. "Lead the way, soldier. Where are we going?"
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Jerro_oconnor

We're going to Síles house. Síle is the lass who I got the name out of. She was frightened for her life after telling me. She gave me her address So that I could protect her. What with ye gettin poisoned, I couldn't meet with her. I... Uh... I actually think that she's... dead." Jerro felt uncomfortable saying the words out loud. He hoped she wouldn't ask any further into it. "But I could be wrong, and I hope I am, so I'm goin to check on her, make sure she's safe. Anyway, like I was sayin before the letter caught my attention, I know there is a lot ye haven't been telling me, and I wanna know just what's goin on!"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan and Jerro walked the streets of Imleach in silence for a while. Jerro seemed very anxious to get to that Síle lass' house, and Pagan didn't know what to say really.

The cottage was located in a dim hole on the bad side of town. The curtains were closed and lights were out. Pagan couldn't see any movement anywhere.

"Well, Jerro", she finally broke the silence, "I doubt I really know much more about it than ye do, and I'd reckoned ye had figured out the parts I hadn't told ye by yerself by now. The King is dead, poisoned, and now somebody is trying to kill me too. I have no idea who or why. All I have is a name - Viscomte d'Argent. Who is he? The blue-eyed assassin? And then there's the story about some Dutch folks selling weapons to all kinds of troublemakers in Ireland and instigating them to create chaos fer reasons unknown to me. And that's pretty much it."
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Jerro_oconnor

"No, I don't think he's the assassin. Why poison ye and then try to kill ye? Then again, why poison ye and hire an assassin to kill ye? It doesn't make any sense." He knocked on the door and continued to talk as he waited for an answer. "Who is this 'Destini' person ye've been messaging, where is she? Surely ye wouldn't use a carrier pigeon if she were only a few towns over."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"I don't know", Pagan shrugged. "Maybe they hate me so much they want to kill me twice? Or maybe they just want to make sure the deed gets done properly. Desti is a very old friend of mine - she travelled to England a few months back, before we met. She met some English guy at the wedding - Allan something, I think he was a deacon - and I guess he just swooped the feet from under her, because the next thing ye know they were both on a boat to England. Desti knows a whole lot more about this poisonin' business I suppose - and based on her letter they are both on their way back here now."

Jerro's knocking on the door made it open couple of inches. Nothing else happened. Warm breeze of interior air was flowing through the crack. Pagan's nostrils started to shiver. She recognized the smell of rotting flesh. She pushed the door open with her left hand while her right hand squeezed the handle of her sword.

The door opened wide. She snuck inside. In the half darkness she couldn't spot the lass at first. She was lying by the wall between a sofa and a dining table. The table cloth had slumped on the floor. One corner of the cloth was squeezed in her right hand. Her left hand layed limp on the floor, it looked morbidly grey against the dark, dim pool of dried blood. Pagan stretched herself and listened. She could hear buzzing. She leaned back. A swarm of flies flushed off from their meal. Now Pagan could see the wound clearly - something sharp had been pushed through her brain from under her jaw, much the same way Skunk Kid had killed Marv.

The flies were buzzing stubbornly all over her. An ingratiating taste of copper rose to her mouth. She stretched herself quickly. The sword was shaking on her hand.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro followed Pagan a half second behind her, and saw the body several seconds afterwards. At first, his eyes slid right over the body, refusing to look at it, at her. Then the smell hit him. As soon as the smell of petrification hit him, his eyes landed right on Síles body. He began to reel, catching himself on the wall. He began to heave, but after a minute, he was able to catch control of himself.

He had met death many times before, death defined his life. He wouldn't be the man he was today if it weren't for death, but this one really bothered him. Not only was it someone he had known, and begun to care for, and not only was she counting on him to stay safe, but whoever had killed her had left her body to rot out in her own home. That just wasn't right.

After he mostly regained his composure, he said a little shakily, "It looks like d'Argente found out she had told me his name, but how did he find out, we were alone." he went to move Síle's body, but stopped midway. The state the body was in, it would probably fall apart if he touched it. This set off another round of gagging.

"We... We have to... Tell someone about... This." He said in between rounds of gagging.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Aye", said Pagan. "We'll tell the night guard, they'll take care of her and contact her folks." If she has any, Pagan thought but left unsaid. Poor Jerro was in enough distress already. He had known the girl, perhaps intimately. "Come on, let's go out", she said gently. "There's nothing we can do fer her anymore. I'll make sure she'll get a decent burial."

Pagan went outside and practically pulled Jerro with her. The cool night air was heavenly after the smell of putrid flesh. After a couple of blocks they bumped into a militia patrol. Pagan explained them what had happened and gave them the instructions to Síle's cottage. After they had left Pagan decided that Jerro needed some more walking to get over the shock. A block or two later Pagan suddenly stopped and grabbed Jerro by the arm.

"Look at that!" she said, pointing towards a tavern. The sign said 'Luvafair'. There was light in the windows and music coming from inside. "The Luvafair has been abandoned fer years! It used to be NNGO joint, or so I've heard - I wasn't even old enough to go to taverns when it was last operational! Nobody told me it has a new owner now!" Pagan frowned. "Let's go check it out, eh?"
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--Viscomte_dargent

He watched as the two he had been following stumbled, gagging out of the shambling building in which he had left a calling card.

These Irish really were not acutely afflicted with intellect...

Hadn't they just burned their fallen King?

d'Argent actually hoped the oriental paralysis poison had dulled the pain, or that King truly had a horrific end.

the Viscomte had nothing personal against any of these people. It was just good business.

And you could not match the entertainment value of puppets and fools, whatever the Red Duke said...

Jerro_oconnor

The hairs on the back of Jerro's neck kept bristling, but he put it down as shock of what might of happened. He somewhat selfishly hoped that it didn't mean he would be haunted by another ghost. He was entirely sure what to expect. The name gave him the impression that it was another type of place like the kind that he had visited several days ago, but surely they wouldn't advertise it as such? Perhaps it was just a clever name. Nevertheless, Pagan was already walking through the door, and Jerro would rather not be alone in the streets at night. Especially after what he had seen.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Immediately after Pagan had set foot inside the tavern she got the feeling that something was not quite right about the place. There was a lot of staff, the bartender and several waiters, all men, and something about their eyes and the way they carried themselves fitted poorly behind the bar.

Pagan marched to the bardesk and ordered a whiskey. The bartender, like the waiters, had that same coldness in his eyes and the same rugged and hard look in his features Pagan associated with men who lived outside the lawful society. The bartender poured her the whiskey and said: "Here you are, ma'am..."

He definitely had a thick foreign accent, but since Pagan wasn't educated nor well-travelled she couldn't place it. Was it French? Italian? ... Dutch?

The main door opened behind her. Pagan turned her head to see the customer who had just walked in...
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--Viscomte_dargent

He walked into the tavern which recently had opened to little fanfare.

He did not like fanfare--the customers who would come here for meetings and such were not the type that wanted ... attention.

Had to do something about the name though.

A whole conversation passed between himself and the bartender with no more than a meaningful look at two customers by the bartender, a raised eyebrow and cold stare from himself, and a muttered "Excellency." as he passed beyond the bar and into the back rooms.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro was beginning to feel truly creeped out. He had seen livelier cemeteries than this place. In taverns, there was always something, animated conversation, boisterous laughter, unsubtle bar songs, even fights, that proved that people were enjoying themselves. Here, there were shifty eyes, muttered conversations and untrusting glances at the other patrons. Jerro thought from Pagan's optimism, it might have been... not as reeking of underworld activity.

Another person came in behind Jerro and Pagan, and the uncomfortable feeling Jerro had increased. When he sat down and began talking, Jerro tried to listen in, but couldn't here a what was being said. He returned to his drink, sitting quietly in the disquieting gloom. one time, a chill ran down his spine as the man looked over at them, but otherwise nothing happened. He watched as the man walked into the back rooms, maybe he worked here? Jerro wanted to ask Pagan what she thought of him, but the waiters were too close and showing an unhealthy amount of interest in them. Instead, he sat there, growing more and more edgy, nursing his drink.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The man that had just entered came over to the bar and had a few words with the bartender. He was dressed in expensive looking clothes, a black cloak and a purple vest.

Pagan checked him out from the corner of her eye. He had an aura of nobility about him, but something else too - something dark and disturbing. After he had finished his conversation with the bartender he turned and walked to the back rooms. Pagan's palms moistened.

Could it be possible he was Viscomte d'Argent?

Pagan waved a waiter at them. "Who was that man that just went to the back room?"

The waiter didn't even glance at that direction. "I do not know, ma'am."

He was about to leave.

Pagan grabbed him by the arm. "Think again", she said quietly.

The waiter stared at her. A strange expression formed around his mouth.

"As I said... I do not know."

Pagan let him go. She tossed back her whiskey and slammed the glass loudly at the table. The bartender turned and threw a quick glance at her, then turned back to cleaning his glasses.

Pagan supported her other boot heel to the brass bar and ordered another whiskey. She had had enough of this hide and seek game. She emptied her glass and waved at the bartender again.

"Was that Viscomte d'Argent ye were just talking to?"

The bartender looked scared. "Too bad, ma'am. I do not know anyone by that name."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro listened in as Pagan interrogated the bartender. From his reaction, that man probably was Viscomte d'Argente. Jerro couldn't help but remember the fear in Síles eyes when she had said that name. Jerro loomed towards the other patrons in the bar, they seemed to be growing more hostile. Much longer and they may have to fight there way out.

"Pagan, I think it's time we leave." Jerro said. "I'm sure this gentleman would have nothing to do with D'Argente even if he knew who that was." The bartender looked slightly relieved, but that expression was quickly replaced by something else. Jerro pulled Pagan aside. "D'Argente is a murderer." He whispered to Pagan, "Remember Síle, the person who gave me the name." He strained to make his voice calm as he continued in a hushed voice. "Look what happened to her. D'Argente instills fear in those who work under him, and will kill of any loose threads that he may see. The threat of death does wonders to keep a man's mouth shut. We won't get anything else out of him unless ye torture it out of him, and that's not something ye should do, no matter for what. His reaction was plain enough to me, that was our man. That means he's followin us, waitin to kill us too."

He looked around at the hostile glares surrounding them, he wasn't sure how many of them were working under d'Argente. "Now, we can stay here and press the man for more information, and probably find ourselves on the wrong end od a mob, or we can walk out of here while we still can and find a spot to confront d'Argente under our own terms. The choice is yers, I'll do whatever ye think we should do." He grabbed his drink and poured the rest down his throat as he waited for Pagan's answer.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan thought about it for a while, then nodded. "I think ye're right, Jerro - I've seen enough. Let's leave." Pagan stood up and turned towards the door. A waiter quickly stepped next to her. Another one emerged behind Jerro.

"Not so fast, friends. You just came in, and the night is still young. What's the rush?"

Pagan stood still. A third man had joined the crowd that was blocking their way to the exit, and they all stood so close to them it would have been almost impossible to draw her sword.

Pagan relaxed, ready for desperate action. It just struck her they had walked straight into the lion's den.

"Well, friends?" one of the waiters smiled. "How about we take another drink? It's on the house."

Pagan didn't answer. She took a note that the few real customers of the tavern were retreating towards the door. Soon there would be only her, Jerro and the staff. Her nerves tensed. She took a deep and calm breath.

Then she felt a sting on her back, and from the expression of Jerro's face she gathered he felt it too. One of the waiters said in a quiet voice: "That's about six inches of cold steel aimed straight at your spines, so I wouldn't make any sudden movements if I were you."

"Do you understand?" said another waiter in a tense voice. "You anxiously wanted to meet Viscomte d'Argent, so let's go meet him. Right?"
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Jerro_oconnor

"None of this is necessary, had ye said we'd meet him, we'd have gladly walked ourselves." Jerro said with a sardonic smile. Why was everyone like this? Put a knife in their hands and tell them to bring someone somewhere, the first thing he'll do is threaten them. Jerro's staff was still on his back, but with the knife there, he couldn't reach for it fast enough. He could probably disarm the waiter fast enough to avoid getting stabbed, but there was Pagan to think about, and the other waiters too. By now, all the customers had left, leaving only d'Argente's men.

"I can't help but notice the knives are still there. Oh well, if ye still think they're necessary, then lead the way." He quietly followed as he and Pagan were guided into the back room.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

A hand was fumbling at her scabbard belt and drew the sword out. She saw that the same was done to Jerro's staff. Pagan let it happen - she knew what would happen if someone was to push the dagger forward. And having three men and at least two daggers behind their backs there was nothing else to do than go with them. Over her shoulder she saw about half a dozen men going towards the door. One started blowing out the lanterns. The moon outside told her it was one hour after midnight.

They went through the back door, walked down a corridor and arrived at a robust oak door.

"Stop", said the bartender.

One of the waiters opened the door. They pushed Pagan and Jerro inside. They followed, and a click told her they had bolted the door behind them.
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--Viscomte_dargent

"Thank you, bartender, for the update. The prey can wait until later. I have more important things to do. The head of the clan must die first."

He walked past the bartender without another word as there was business to conduct and they prey could wait....

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked around, searching for d'Argente, but he wasn't in there. All there was were casks of various ales (presumably) and crates of food (again presumably). All in all, it looked like a storeroom that any tavern might have. Albeit one that had two people locked inside it.

After a minute of searching, he said to Pagan, "Ye know, I don't think he's here. In that case time to get out of here." He started to search again, but this time for an exit. He muttered to himself as he looked around. "Let's see... No windows... Door firmly locked... If it was just a lock I could probably pick it, but that bolt... Who puts a bolt on a storeroom anyway, any person could walk right up and unlock it. Stupid is what that is." He looked over at Pagan and spoke up, "I don't see any obvious ways to get out, can ye think of somethin?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Raven_in_the_foregate

fly! Fly! fly to Grimthorn

Seek him out

deliver message

MacKenzie must not return to Eire.

Fly Fly Fly for d'Argent

Master needs message managed

Pagan

Pagan looked around in the storeroom and frowned. "The only thing I can think of is wait until somebody comes to feed us... or kill us. But who knows if they are going to bother with any of that at all? They might just let us here to rot. That would be the least amount of trouble fer them, if the plan is to get rid of us."

Before Pagan had time to say anything else they heard the click again as somebody opened the bolt outside.
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Pagan

The door opened, and three men were standing behind it - the bartender and two waiters.

"What is the meaning of this?" Pagan snapped. "I demand that ye release us immediately! Don't ye realize who I am?"

The bartender smiled. "Must we knock you unconscious before we frisk you, MacKenzie? The decision is yours."

Pagan had no choice. She was on the verge of breaking of shame and humiliation by the fact she had allowed herself to be lead into a trap like this. She aimed a massive kick towards the bartender and threw herself at one of the waiters. At that moment she didn't think about even the scary knife.

The boot hit the bartender to his thigh. The man dodged with unfathomable speed, and Pagan saw a dagger shining in his hand, so fast she completely froze. One of the waiters - the one that was now standing next to her - hit her behind the ear. There was a sparkling flash and Pagan rammed sideways. She mustered her strength and hit the waiter holding a dagger to his face with her elbow. She heard a half- repressed groan, then a dagger moved on the bartender's hand. Pagan could see the hilt coming. It hit her right above her right eye with a thudding sound. She felt a slack spreading to her body and fought desperately to keep her consciousness. Then it was like like some restraint would have snapped, and a gentle darkness took her in it's bosom.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stood, awestruck at what had just happened. He went to move, but the skirmash was over before he even had a chance to figure out what was going on. Jerro soon found himself under the attention of three, very angry men with knives. He slowly put his hands up in surrender as the staff sorted themselves out. He doubted that any attack on his part would have any effect now that they were on guard.

"Do we have to do to ye what we did to yer friend?" The bartender asked.

Jerro hesitated, trying to figure a way out of this. If he attacked now, he wasn't sure what the outcome would be. As off reading Jerro's mind, one of the waiters took his knife and placed the point on Pagan's unprotected neck. This decided it. Jerro shook his head and allowed them to search him. They thoroughly checked him, uncovering and confiscating the rest of his money and a roll of lockpicking tools that he kept in his boot. While one waiter checked Jerro, the other checked Pagan. Jerro wasn't in a position to see what they found, but Jerro could tell from the look on his face that it probably wasn't in any usual hiding spot.

Afterwards, they pushed Jerro roughly into a pile of crates and walked out of the door, threatening them as they left and promising them a chance to see d'Argente. Jerro didn't like the way he had said that last part. After they closed and bolted the door, Jerro picked himself up and brushed himself off. Then he propped Pagan up to be more comfortable and sat on a crate, waiting for her to wake up.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

A few minutes later Pagan moaned, blinked her eyes and slowly managed to focus her eyes. She had been stripped down to her underskirt. A flow of curse words fell through her lips. She turned her head and saw Jerro sitting on a crate.

"Hello Jerro... did I miss anything important?"

Pagan checked herself out.

"They found the letter - no doubt d'Argent now knows Desti and that Allan character are on their way back to Eire."

Pagan's eyes widened as she realized something.

"They missed one of the knives! One that I've strapped on me thigh, high up. Fortunately the guy who frisked me is either very shy, morbidly chivalrous or not into girls at all."
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--Viscomte_dargent

Argent felt odd as what passed for a smile in his life drifted across his face. Anyone around him--say that cowering guard--would only perceive a sneer...

The letter was informative and bold. Only an idiot would send so much information to uncertain ends. Only the very Heir to the Throne of a Kingdom of Idiots would have sent it to a drunkard.

This was both more-easy than he could have hoped and more complicated than he liked.

It was all good though.

He was one Raven's flight away from two less problems.

He would need to deal with the problems here, though.

"You." he barked at the guard. "Inform me when it awakens from the slumber provided by your clumsy associates. If there are any more clumsy actions, the perpetrator will enjoy Emperor Geng's 'Death of a Thousand Cuts.' I am clear, oui?"

Jerro_oconnor

"Nah, ye didn't miss much, they searched us and I lost my money and picks." Jerro said. "That's good, Now we have one knife against at least four knives, a sword, a staff, and who knows what else." Jerro said. He shrugged, "It's a start I suppose." Jerro sat patiently. If there was one thing he knew, it was patience. Ususally, he could sit so long that it became uncomfortable for other people.

Jerro thought about what he knew. Someone was out to get the people in power in Ireland. Pagan's clanmate was on her way from England, so that meant that this was a more far reaching problem than he had originally thought. Now someone was out to get (and got) Pagan and himself, was it because they were in the way, somehow? Apparently they were using a rare poison of some sort, with an equally rare cure. Was this person trying to revolt against leaders across the world? Were they planning to replace the monarchs with Viscomte or were there more people waiting to take charge? There were too many questions that Jerro had and too few answers.

In the middle of Jerro's musings, he heard the bolt come free again. He waited in anticipation, unsure of what might come through this time, and what they might do.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"I have thought about the blue-eyed assassin", Pagan said. "I think they got mad at him fer failing the business they had paid so generously fer him to perform. I think they might have been wanting their money back. That would explain why we never encounterer him in..."

Pagan shut her mouth as she heard someone removing the bolt again. The door opened, and in came the bartender, two waiters... and someone they both had met before.
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--Callaghan

Callaghan came in and stared at those two people in front of him. Where had he seen them before?

Now he remembered!

And Pagan - when she turned her head she was staring straight at a face she would never forget - it was the face of a bully they had beaten in Lios Mor - Callaghan!

Callaghan threw his head backwards and rumbled in laughter. His thick, shapeless lips grimaced so that drool was bubbling in the corners of his mouth.

"I'll be damned, it looks like the destiny has decided to give me a rematch!" he laughed viciously. "And this time I am sober - very sober! Right on, lads, tie them up. Let's have a little interrogation here."

"Are ye sure, Callaghan?" asked the bartender nervously. "d'Argent said..."

"Who cares what he said", growled Callaghan. He was jealous and bummed to d'Argent by the fact he instilled more fear in people than Callaghan - even though Callaghan in his mind was way more frightening d'Argent ever could. It was time to show that to the lads right now! "I'm in charge here at least as much as he is - if not more! Now tie them up!"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro groaned loudly after Callaghan walked in. Out of everyone in the world, literally everyone, it had to be him. Why Jah? I've been good! Jerro yelled silently. Is this about the picks? I've never used them on another's locks. I haven't harmed anyone without reason. Why me?" Aloud, he said, "Ah, it's ye. Blamin the beer? Ye remember we were drunk too." Jerro knew he shouldn't goad him, but that was one of Jerro's problems. When confronted, he began to talk a lot. It was a defense he used when confronted by people demanding their money back, eventually they'd become too confused, angry or embarrassed to argue about the money.

That defense didn't help much when he was threatened, but it did still make him angry. Jerro continued, "I doubt it's Jah that gave ye yer "rematch", after all, we don't have anything and ye do. And even after that ye still want to tie us up. Yer men here are braver than ye, they searched us without tyin us up." He carefully omitted the part about Pagan's hidden knife and her having to be knocked out.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent heard a disturbance again. Would no one rid him of these troublesome idiots?

It was time to intervene as likely Callaghan was up to some morbidly stupid antic.

d'Argent entered the chamber to see the molting dolt slavering over it, and leering at the man therein. The bartender of the Luvafair stood slavering in horror, knowing that nothing good would come of this.

"You. Callaghan. Get out or die. You, bartender, if anyone comes in here without my personal approval, you shall find out what it is like to feel your skin slowly removed with an iron file.

Now then. Jerro. Pagan. You belong to me until I elect otherwise. Know this. Spend the few moments of peace left to you for deciding how to convince me that you should be yet making that annoying breathing sound.

Are we clear?"

Pagan

Callaghan grumbled, but elected to get out of the room all the same. One of these days he would show this foreigner though...

Pagan's eyes were fixed on d'Argent. Life flashed deep within them, the muscles on her torso tensed, and her neck was struggling hard.

The gob of spit hit d'Argent in the middle of his face.
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Jerro_oconnor

The gob of spit flew through the air and landed with a wet sound on d'Argent's face. A shocked silence fell as everything stopped. It was almost like Jah himself was holding his breath to see the outcome. Then a noise broke through, one Jerro couldn't place at first. Them he realized what it was. He was laughing. He was laughing loudly and hard. After all, he couldn't have said it any better himself.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent sighed, wiping the best part of the Pagan off his cheek.

"Really? That is the best you have? Should you not have thrown that dagger the guards did not find yet is visible to me under your tunic?

Explain to me, prey, why I waste even a second here instead of having you properly harvested and thus eliminate one more threat to the plans of the Red Duke?"

Take your time...."

He waited to see if the ravages of intelligence might arrive upon the souls before him..."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro's laughter abruptly stopped. D'Argente was on to watch out for. While Callaghan was a bull, charging the opposition with shear brute force, d'Argente was a snake. He would slither into power, and putting fear into anyone who may oppose, meaning everyone. Then he would poison or torture those who stood in his way. Jerro could see that, although Callaghan boasted equal power, Viscomte was the true master here. Jerro was interested in what he had to say though, Red Duke? Was that Viscomte, or was there someone that he bowed to? Jerro would be surprised, but he could believe that. D'Argente's color would be black as death.

"I suppose that since my friend has already answered in her way, it's my turn. Why would we ever join ye? What possible bit of information would we have that would suit yer purposes when we're still trying to find all the pieces to this puzzle ourselves." Jerro stared deeply into Viscomtes dark, souless eyes. "No, it's obvious to me that ye already find us less appealing than somethin ye may find ground under yer boot. Ye have no need of us. Ye treat yer own men like dirt, why would we expect any better?" Jerro found his tone becoming more vehement as the deaths this man had caused became fresh in his mind. "No, yer way is to kill anyone who may stand in yer way. Ye would not spare us, ye would slit our throats as we spilled our own guts to ye. Ye have nothin we would ever want, and we have nothin ye would need. Why don't ye slither on back to whatever hellpit ye were spawned from! I'm sure ye could find plenty to do there!"

Jerro held d'Argente's gaze, daring him to speak differently.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

"You seem to have made a gross assumption, child."

d'Argent sneered at the hapless flotsam before him

"I do not require you, nor do I have use for you.

You blundered into MY domain.

That said you raise a fine point.

What worth have you in this world?

Perhaps you will find more in the next.

Good day."

d'Argent left the room and smiled as the guards locked the doors behind him.

"Do not feed them, heed them, or aid them. If I do not hear otherwise from abroad within the week, you will get a chance to bury them.

No loss, really."

d'Argent had more important matters to deal with.

Starting with lunch...

Pagan

When Pagan and Jerro had been left alone in the storage room Pagan got up and dressed. When she was ready she walked to the racks, untapped one of the casks and let the stream of refreshing liquid flow in her mouth for a while before closing it again.

"Well the good news is there's plenty of ale here so we won't die of dehydration or starve to death if we have to stay here fer a longer stretch. We might even have a little party here if we wish. Fer yer sake I hope there is conserving food on those crates - and that we can get them open. While it is possible to survive on beer alone, beer diet is a pretty harcore thing, ye might not like that", Pagan grinned at Jerro.

Pagan walked at one of the crates and took the knife out of it's hiding place. She slipped it under the lid and wringed the crate open. "Ye're in luck, Jerro - there seems to a crate full of dried meat here. I hope ye like the stuff - personally the idea of a beer diet starts to sound more and more appealing by the minute. Like eating a bottom of a shoe."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro began to smile, when a bitter thought struck him. "Wait, they expect us to die soon, judging by how they're talking. But there's all this food around us. Don't ye find that suspicious." He swallowed heavily before finishing. "I think the food may be poisoned. It's too late for the beer, we both drank some out there and ye just drank some here. They must have let ye keep the knife so we could damn ourselves!"

Jerro thought for a minute. "We should hold off on eating, which brings us back to escape. I think I may have a plan."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Well, if that's the case, then it's back to the beer fast", Pagan shrugged. "Me da did it once - he figured he could save some money if he didn't spend it on food. Two gallons a day is all a person needs to survive, and it will go straight to yer head because ye're always hungry. After two months he had to call it quits though because he had turned all grey and his teeth had started to loosen and waggle. Although", Pagan let her eyes scan the room, "I don't think they are going to give us two months here. I'd say we're lucky if we get a whole week. So if ye have a plan, let's hear it out."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro was silent, being both fascinated and slightly disturbed at the story. "Umm... yes, well... the way I see it is, if I've got Callaghan down right, his pride's been wounded twice, once by us at the inn and once by d'Argente just now. The only way he thinks he can fix this is by disobeying d'Argente and pounding us. He'll probably wait a few days, until we're weakened by drink, poison or lack of food. Then, all we have to do is overpower him, get him to open the door if he doesn't leave it open and run like the devil was chasing us. Now, if he's actually too afraid of d'Argente to go against him, then this won't work. But in any case, I think he's either too dumb or too stubborn to be properly afraid. Worse comes to worse, we can wait until Shamus realizes we're missing and come looking for us."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

"Beggin yer pardon sir, but I think ye may have somewhat missed the value inherent in my proposition," offered the dirty man--with the air of someone announcing the Duke has forgiven taxes this year.

d'Argent remained fairly underwhelmed with this gnat on the backside of an idiot's festering donkey.

"So tell me, aside from the inherent value of tossing you into a well with some soap and a lot of lead weights, what can you say that will make your idea prove either helpful or semi-sentient?"

The man looked blankly a moment but then shrugged it off with a vacant grin, "Ahh Viscomte always havin yer little jokes.... What I am sayin is that we might move them prisoners to the pit behind the old jailhouse--long abandoned. No one would look for them there and I would not be blocked from my best ale and stores.

It is not as though your purse will be substantially aided by a menu sans content, is it?"

The Viscomte paced. Sadly the dolt had a point. He needed decent income here for arranging accidents, paying for information, and supplying cousin Anto with arms.

Damn. Nothing for it.

"Very well. You may carry out your plan. But hear me. If One.Single.Thing.Goes.Amiss.. You will pace ten times around the Oak tree out back with your entrails nailed to it.

Now Go. And leave the door open so some air gets in here."

d'Argent looked back down at his papers, dismissing all but the odor of his untidy visitor.

--Callaghan

Callaghan overheard the bartender discussing about moving the prisoners into the pit and walked over to them. "I'm coming with ye on this one."

The bartender and waiters looked at Callaghan hesitatingly. Nobody really liked the man, Callaghan was viewed as an intolerable and arrogant jerk by everyone. But on the other hand, he was in charge of transporting the girls and the weapons to Chonnacht. And he was Anto's man, he was with the NNGO, hand-picked by Anto and sent to An Mumhain to work with d'Argent on this business, thus he was essentially untouchable. Reluctantly they nodded.

A wide, ugly grin spread on Callaghan's face. There was two dominant traits that defined Callaghan's character. One was his sadism, the other was his deep and irrational hatred of women, so deep it was hard to understand even for those who knew Callaghan closely. Thus he was well-suited to his business that was essentially slave trading with women.

The fact that Pagan had knocked him out twice that night burned like a poison in his throat. He needed to show that floozy, he needed to make her pay. It was his right to do so. He didn't care about the lad all that much, because Callaghan had managed to convince himself he would have beaten that boy into a bloody pulp should Pagan had not intervened. But now it was a payback time. He would rough her up a bit before tossing them into the pit.

Oh yes he would.

Pagan

Pagan put the knife back to it's hiding place and walked to the casks to have another chug of the magnificently invigorating barley shake. It was really a good quality beer, so she might as well take an advantage of it while she still could. When she was finished, she tapped the cask, belched vocally and said:

"All right, I get the plan. Wait fer Callaghan, overpower him, run like devil. Are ye sure it will work though? I mean, what if he's not alone? Or..."

Pagan got interrupted by the bolt clicking again. Was it Callaghan already? Or had d'Argent changed his mind about letting them rot here - were they coming to kill them? Pagan threw a puzzled look at Jerro.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro threw a panicked glance at the door. It was too soon, he didn't think Callaghan would react this fast. Jerro nodded at Pagan, this would be their one chance to escape. They were all sober now, and Jerro knew Callaghan's fighting style. He just had to make sure he wasn't caught in another bear-hug. He was pretty sure he could wrest any weapon away as long as they didn't actually have any skill. Slashing wildly was one thing, actual swordplay was another. He prepared himself for whatever was coming through the door.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Callaghan

Callaghan looked at his companions before opening the door. The bartender was holding his dagger, the two waiters had only ropes on their hands. Callaghan didn't carry any weapon - he relied on his massive fists and stature would put enough fear of Jah on the prisoners to convince them about the futility of all resistance.

"So is the plan clear?" Callaghan confirmed. "Ye two tie up the prisoners, both hands and legs, while me and Dirk", Callaghan nodded towards the bartender, "make sure they don't get any stupid ideas. Then we... interrogate a bit, before we drag them out the back door and put them in the cart there. Questions?"

Everyone shook their heads, so Callaghan opened the door.

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent heard the bartender and that enormous thug Callaghan planning in the hallway.

Surely they would not screw up this small mission? Aside from the lack of motivated brain cells, they ought to be able to put down a couple prisoners.

For one thing the poisons should be affecting the drunk and her toy about now...

Pagan

Pagan turned towards the door and saw the four thugs standing behind it. It was time to act! But she felt funny, weak - like all strength had been sucked out of her muscles, her reactions considerably slowed...
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro tensed, ready to spring when the door opened. He jumped forward, and...

Fell flat on his face. For some reason, one of his legs stayed glued to the floor. He turned his head to stare accusingly at it, but when he did the room didn't stop moving. He looked to the door, but something didn't add up, he counted three doors and twelve people, maybe more or less. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He was too tired to figure it out now, maybe if he rested a little bit...
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Callaghan

Callaghan turned to look at Dirk the bartender with a puzzled look as Pagan and Jerro slumped on the floor. "What's this then? Have they been drinking too much of the house beer or what?"

Dirk shook his head. "No, this is something I put in their drinks when they first came in. The original plan was to wait and let them enjoy their night until the stuff started kicking in, but that was not to be. This is a bit different cocktail than what we gave to the King. If I would have given them a lethal dose, they would be dead by now for not being able to breath, but I gave them just a little bit. Even though it may cause drowsiness and disorientation in some individuals, the main symptom is losing their ability to control their muscles. They will still remain conscious and able to talk, know and feel anything that's happening or what's being done to them. The effect of this poison will wear off in 6-10 hours, but in the meantime they will be as helpless as little babies..."

Callaghan threw his head back and roared in laughter. "Excellent! Seems like we won't be needing those ropes after all then!"

Callaghan took his belt off, rolled it around his fist and came closer. Pagan's slender body was trembling and waving as Callaghan's fist pounded her, sometimes in her face, sometimes in her gut. Repressed moans were falling through her lips, and purple bruises appeared on the surface of her trembling muscles.

Callaghan breathed heavily when he had finished. She looked at Pagan's face with interested expression. "Well, Mrs. MacKenzie. Would ye like me to stop?"

"Get sodded...!" Pagan croaked.

This time Callaghan continued until Pagan's head was laying helplessly on the side. Her eyes had sunk deep in their sockets.

"Amazing!" Callaghan mumbled. "I've never met anyone quite as tough before. Dirk, get some life on to her. But be careful, I don't want her to die. Not yet."

It took a few minutes before Pagan regained her consciousness. Her eyes were blurry. Her nervous system was so stagnated that the pain was now monotonous pounding, unmelodious, lifeless echo of her heartbeats.

"Do ye hear me, MacKenzie?" said Callaghan.

A flash of life appeared in Pagan's bloodshot eyes. She managed to nod.

"Say that ye are a worthless tramp and a floozy. Say it, or I will beat ye to death!"

Pagan's lips were moving. Callaghan leaned in closer to hear what she had to say. "Come... closer... Callaghan... come... closer... so I can... bite... yer ear off!"

So merciless was Pagan's basic nature, even towards herself.

Callaghan looked up, surprised, almost afraid. "All right lads, take them to the carts! But don't ye think I've done with ye just yet, McKenzie... I will break ye in the end. I can break anyone."

--Viscomte_dargent

As the bloodied prisoners were led off, d'Argent slipped out of his office and fell in behind Callaghan.

"Idiot. Was I not explicitly clear in mentioning what I expected done?

I do not recall authorizing you to waste time and energy playing with your food.

I suggest you embrace the simplicity of your orders to the letter, or I will be writing cousin Anto to send me a new thug.

Any questions?"

He waited, sword drawn, for the words to drift slowly in through the very very thick skull.

--Callaghan

Callaghan stared at the sword, swallowed hard and grinned nervously. "Sure, sure, m'sjieu Argente, I hear ye. Loud and clear. Don't sweat it, is all right. We all friends here. We cool. Put the butterknife away now, please."

Twit, he thought. When Anto is done with this loser, I'll feed that blade to him... handle first!

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent watched a different set of ideas drifting through a face amazed to be holding even one.

He was relieved that he would not need this grave-filler for much longer.

Perhaps it was time for element number 3 for him.

"Not to worry. I'll ensure Dirk provides you w glass of our best scotch on the house for your.....restraint."

d'Argent went back about his business, he could deal with hamheads and trespassers later.

Pagan

As Pagan slowly regained her consciousness the first thing she sensed was a rhythmic, jerking movement that got pain waving through her mangled body. She couldn't open her eyes. She let the minutes pass by as she slowly concentrated in studying her own body. Especially her chest and stomach were hurting. Was that because of broken ribs? She breathed in slowly and probingly couple of times. It hurt, but she couldn't feel the characteristic stinging of broken ribs. Internal injuries? Possibly. Time would tell.

Her head felt numb, cold and as if it had been torn off from the rest of her body. A concussion? She opened her eyes. The light stung her brain like a blade. She closed her eyes again and waited until a sudden attack of nausea went away.

Light!

Her brain cleared. She squinted her eyes and looked at it cautiously. It was moonlight, coming from a window above her. Then the rest of her senses woke up. She could hear hoofs knocking.

She was in a cart.

The heavy fog that had filled her brain started to clear away, and she started perceiving her surroundings. She was lying in a small, covered wagon - on the floor curled up like a cat. She could sense somebody else lying there too, but couldn't see who it was. She was lying in a position where she could only see one of the windows. Her neck hurt too much to turn around at the moment. From the window she could see clouds drifting by and some treetops. She lay in that position a while and looked at the clouds. From the position of the moon she deduced that sun would start to come up soon, and that they were heading south. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. That turned her thoughts on new rails. Why hadn't Callaghan killed them? Where were they going to take them?

She knew the answer, and there was no alternative but to accept it as a fact: They were going to take them to a secure location where they would torture them to death.

Pagan clenched her teeth. Her jaw was aching and her eyes flooded with tears of pain. Bitterness was stuck in her throat like a ball as she imagined what was coming to them. Did they have any hope?

She pushed aside the panic and the fear. Her fists were numb, but she tried to move them until the pain forced her to clench her teeth. It took her excruciating five minutes to realize she was unable to move her hands or legs.

Pagan sunk in dull hopelessness. Every now and then she watched the clouds passing by. She started to imagine. A few minutes later she was mumbling random words in a fever slumber - meaningless sentences.

She was sure she was going to die.
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--Shamus

Thankfully, the cart was going slow enough for him to follow. The dark made it hazardous to travel too fast, and if not for that fact Shamus might not be able to catch up. There were only two of them, and he briefly considered taking them out now, but decided against it. From the looks of the two, they were either drugged or dead. He couldn't carry them back by himself, and taking the cart back would attract to much attention.

He had watched them go in, but not out, of the tavern. He grew worried, and almost charged in before he had seen them dragged out. He had been horrified at Pagan's newly aquired bruises, but couldn't charge all five of them. He briefly considered it, but decided against it, opting to follow Jerro and Pagan. Three of the men returned to the building as two of them carted the two unconscious bodies out. So far, Shamus had been able to follow them, but he couldn't tell where they were going. He followed behind like a shadow, waiting to see their destination.

--Callaghan

Callaghan was much too thick-headed to feel any fear of consequences apart from immediate threat, like someone holding a sword on his throat. And too stubborn to back off when he had gotten something in his mind. As soon as d'Argent had released him he was as self-confident as ever. After all, he was with the NNGO, and nobody messes with the NNGO! Herr Viscompte Argente could huff and gruff as much as he liked, but he wouldn't dare making Anto mad!

Callaghan fetched his horse from the staples and went after the cart. He reached it just as they were arriving at the gates of that old abandoned prison few miles south of Imleach.

The prison wasn't abandoned anymore. Now it was Callaghan's domain. This is where the new girls were 'broken in', this is where Callaghan did his 'bending' and 'turning', as he liked to call it. He drove his horse next to the two men right as they had stopped the cart and jumped off their seat, pulled the reins and descended from the back of the animal. "Well hello there. A small change of plans. The pit can wait a bit later. Take them to the Chamber."

"But d'Argent said..."

Callaghan smiled, winked and patted the man on the cheek condescendingly: "Well, Mr. Viscompte Argente ain't here, and what Mr. Viscompte Argento doesn't know, can't hurt him either, eh? Take them to the Chamber."

Reluctantly those two miserable thugs grabbed Pagan and Jerro and carried them inside the facility. They walked through several corridors before finally arriving to a chamber which led little doubt about it's purpose based on the numerous torture devices on it's walls. A fire was burning in a large oven. Callaghan grabbed a branding iron and put it in the oven. Pagan and Jerro were placed on two large stone beds in the middle of the chamber.

"I guess ye are a tough nut to crack, MacKenzie. It will be interesting to see just how tough. I have a reputation as a man who tames people comparatively efficiently. I have a lot of experience and good tools here."

Callaghan got quiet and hesitated a bit. "Puck", he said, "bring in our newest employee."

Pagan

Pagan perked her ears. Callaghan's babbling had woken her from her pain and exhaustion. So this is where the girls came from! She heard the door slamming and lied down with her eyes shut. She had no idea what they were about to show her.

The man called Puck returned. On his heels dragged a woman - a young woman, naked except some shreads that were left of her trousers. Her hair was hanging in a wild mess on her back. Her eyes were big and stared blankly from her narrow, pale face. Pagan stared. What were those markings? They looked like... bitemarks! Pagan chilled with horror.

"Good evenin', Sadb", said Callaghan.

"Good evenin', sir." Her voice was calm and monotonous. Only her lips moved.

"Are we treating ye well?"

"Very well, sir."

"And what are ye waiting fer now, Sadb?"

"The trip, sir."

"With the wagons?"

"Yes, sir."

"In that case we won't be bothering ye any more, Sadb. Good night. Take her back, Puck."

"Good night, sir."

The girl turned like a machine. She vanguished in the dark.

Callaghan turned and looked down at Pagan.

"Sadb O'Loinsigh, a singer, age 18. She thought she had a great career ahead of her. Now she's on her way to a different kind of career - no less great, I can assure ye."

Pagan's mouth was dry, she couldn't speak. She was disgusted.

"In a few weeks she finds out she likes her new job", Callaghan continued. "She's being treated well and she makes nice income. It was just a matter of bending her to give up her ridiculous belief that there is something immoral about this work - work that naturally suits to all women!" Callaghan roared the last words and spat on the floor.
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--Viscomte_dargent

D'Argent was penning a letter to Anto with a status of his part os the Red Duke's plan of Action when he heard the cart returning up the way.

That was odd. It should not be back yet...

Why did people have such a hard time following simple instructions?

Sigh. He'd have to go out and see what those fools--bereft as they were of the ravages of intelligence--had done now.

--Shamus

The cart eventually ended up at an abandoned prison. The only problem was that it wasn't abandoned anymore. He wasn't sure how many people were there, but it didn't bode well for Jerro or Pagan. He was about to leave his hiding spot when another man rode up. He dwarfed the other two, and it showed that they were afraid of him. They briefly discussed something, and then Jerro and Pagan were brought into the prison. There were no visible guards, but he waited a minute anyway. He silently stole into the building once he was sure that no one was there.

He followed the voices of (who he assumed to be) the larger of the three. As he followed the voices he heard a fourth voice pitch in, quiet and timid, but unmistakably female. Was Pagan awake? No, this didn't sound like her. Whatever she had to say, it was quick. Shamus heard two sets of footsteps approach. He quickly hid in a side passage. He brought his tonfa that he usually carried to his hands and waited. The two passed him without looking down the passage, luckily for him. He shadowed them a few steps, then quickly knocked out the man with a blow to the back of his head. The man crumpled, but Shamus quickly caught him before he could land hard. The position in which the man was walking, almost like he was herding the girl, meant that she didn't see this. He walked over to her and placed a hand over her mouth and restrained her with his other hand.

"Look, I'm just here to rescue my friends. Ye don't look mean, in fact it looked to me like he was herding ye. Don't make a sound and ye'll be free." Shamus said in hushed tones.

The girl didn't pay him any mind, she hardly seemed aware of her surroundings. She had a glazed look to her eye and didn't respond to Shamus' words. He slowly released her, and she continued to walk, like nothing had happened. Shamus was sure that she must have been through a lot, and wondered briefly if she would try to leave. He shook himself of the thought though, and continued. Eventually, he found the room in which Pagan and Jerro were held. He briefly looked into the room to look at the situation. The large man seemed to be talking to Pagan about something. Jerro was still unconscious, but Pagan was awake, which Shamus was glad to see. From his position, Shamus couldn't see the iron being heated. He waited at the door, ready to intervene should anything happen.

Pagan

Callaghan's eyes were wide open and they focused straight at Pagan. "I showed ye that woman so ye would understand what we mean by 'turning' or 'bending'. To spare our time and ye from unnecessary suffering, I suggest ye start cooperating with me. Let's start by a simple 'yes, sir'. I want to hear those words from yer lips."

"And I want ye to kiss me fat bum!" Pagan answered with a husky voice.

Callaghan's boot swung. It hit Pagan on her head with a bang. If she wouldn't have managed to turn her head aside in the last minute and thus partially dodge the kick she would have injured badly. Even now her neck almost snapped, and she was lying and gasping her breath with eyes splaying.

"Watch yer tongue", said Callaghan. He was visibly reliefed he hadn't killed Pagan. It would have been a defeat for him.

Pagan managed to focus her gaze again. Deep within her rage condensed. That she was being beaten and kicked while she was helpless didn't demoralize her spirit, it just injured her body. It was as if each kick and each punch would have added to her charge of hatred that was shouting for an opportunity to break out - to get even tenfold. She examined the other thug. He was young - about her age, a skinny and vigilant man. Pagan noticed that the other man - Puck - hadn't returned yet. Was this abandoned prison the nexus of the traffic? Was it here where the wagons got supplied? Pagan forced herself to think ahead. They must be somewhere halfway between Imleach and Lios Mor. It fitted! From this place they could reach both towns in just a few hours time.
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Banner by Raella

Pagan

"Now", Callaghan said, "I want to hear ye beg fer yer life."

Pagan hesitated. She felt almost uncontrollable urge to curse that beast into the Lunar Hell and then wait for death with a halo of a hero above her bleeding head. But her reason told her that it would have been drawing the bowstring too tight. The only thing she could have achieved was to be mutilated, probably killed. What could she say to prolong her life?

"All right", she said woolly. "I know when I'm beat. But I...", Pagan reeled her head, "I can't think. Drink!" Pagan was starting to lose her consciousness.

Callaghan barked: "Pim, whiskey!"

Pagan felt the cool mouth of a bottle on her lips and let the booze pour down her burning throat. She coffed and gacked and swallowed and was careful not to lose a drop. The alcohol burned like a fire in her belly.

"That's enough", said Callaghan. "Now, MacKenzie... beg!"

Pagan's eyes were blurring. She started to splutter.

"Beg!" hissed Callaghan, grabbed Pagan by the hair and jerked her head up brutally. "Beg fer yer life, damn ye!"

Pagan slurred incoherently. Her eyes had rolled up so only the bloodshot whites were showing.

Pim stepped in closer. "That kick", he muttered, "and the booze finished her I'm guessing."

"We'll find out soon enough!" Callaghan pulled the iron out of the oven and blew on the tip that was glowing red. Slowly he pushed the glowing tip towards Pagan's side. He kept it pressed against her - then pulled it away. Callaghan turned his head aside to dodge the smoke.

Pagan hadn't reacted.

"Ye are right", Callaghan said, disappointed. What made it worse was that the lad seemed to be unconscious still. He would have wanted him to watch. But now it was too late. He had failed. "All right, throw them into the pit."

He turned to face Pim. The young thug was pale. His brow was sweating.

Callaghan smiled - Pim's uneasiness gave him a small reward at least. "Well, Pim? Hungry?"

"N-no, thanks."
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Jerro_oconnor

Shamus had seen enough. He stepped out his hiding spot and flourished his tonfa. "Oi! Tall and ugly! Is this how ye get yer kicks? Torturing a defenseless woman? Why don't ye pick on someone who can fight back?" He was confident that he could take them both, but he silently cursed himself for taking so long to react.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Callaghan

Pim stopped like he had bumped into a wall. His jaw dropped wide open and his eyes widened in surprise.

Callaghan turned to face Shamus and grimaced out of anger. "Who the hell are ye? What do ye want from here? And where's Puck?"

--Shamus

"Puck? Was that his name? He's kinda unconscious right now. Ye'll have to deal with me." He edged closer into the room put up his weapons, ready if one of them charged.

--Callaghan

Callaghan looked condescendingly at that little man with a funny little stick in his hand and showed him his own iron with a glowing tip. "Ye want a little stick fight, little man? Because I'm on!"

--Shamus

Shamus looked over at Pim for a moment, then dismissed him. Pim would probably join in later, but for now he seemed to be in shock. Shamus still had several throwing knives hidden away if he needed to use them. "Come on then. Do yer worse!" Shamus ran straight at Callaghan and swung his left tonfa straight for Callaghan's ribs.

--Callaghan

Callaghan bent down as Shamus' tonfa struck his ribs with stunning force. A curse word fell through his distorted lips as he dropped his hot iron to the floor. He straightened up and blindly threw himself at Jerro's direction, swinging violently with his massive fists towards Shamus' torso.

--Pim

Seeing how efficiently that unknown attacker used his weird stick (what was that thing anyway?) Pim decided it was time for him to make a hasty retreat. He ran through the labyrinth of corridors until he reached the exit and could breathe the cool night air again. He jumped in the wagon and started whipping the horse as if the Nameless One himself was after him.

After a mile or two Pim started to get worried again. Speaking of the Nameless One, he was driving his cart back to Luvafair - back to where Viscomte was. Viscomte would want to know why Puck wasn't with him, and had everything gone according to the plan. Viscomte would kill him, most likely painfully, if he wasn't pleased with his answers. What could he say to save his skin?

Pim decided to resort to the half-truth. He would say that Callaghan came and insisted them to take the prisoners to the Chamber instead of the pit. And when Pim had valiantly objected, wanting to make sure Viscomte's orders were carried out by the letter, Callaghan and Puck had overpowered him, knocked him out and left him lying on the ground. And when he had woken up, he had jumped on the cart immediately and rode out to warn Viscomte - great and merciful Viscomte - about this treachery.

Pim nodded to himself and smiled. Surely Viscomte would spare his life upon hearing this story. Hell, maybe he would even give him a reward of some kind. Pim almost started believing himself a hero at this point.

--Shamus

Shamus quickly stepped back as Callaghan begun to swing wildly. Thinking he was getting the better of Shamus, Callaghan began to close the gap between him and Shamus. It was easy to avoid Callaghan's strikes, although he clipped Shamus a couple times around the head and chest. Shamus dodged and blocked until he found an opening he could exploit.

Once that opening presented itself, a huge right cross, Shamus acted. He simultaneously ducked under the punch and spun his weapons into what he thought of as the offensive position. He wasn't sure if that was what it was actually called, since the man he bought it from couldn't speak English well, but basically, it meant that the larger portion was open for striking instead of covering his arms. Then, before he could recover, Shamus jabbed both tonfa into Callaghan's gut.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro watched he fight through mostly closed eyes. He was still reeling from the effects of the poison, but it was definitely wearing off. On the cart, he could think (mostly) straight. During Pagan's "interrogation" he could wiggle his fingers. Every fiber of his being told him to descend back into the all-embracing dark nothingness of sleep, but he fought that urge as Shamus fought Callaghan. Slowly, his strength returned, but would it return too late?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Callaghan

Callaghan fell back on his arse and threw his head back in pain as the tonfa sunk in his belly. The tendons and muscles in his neck tensed to a breaking point, his hands pressed against his stomach. The big beast of a man was squirming in terrible pain. Callaghan shouted: "Ye devil! Ye black devil!"

--Pim

Pim drove his cart in the back yard of Luvafair. But who was that man standing there in the shadows as if he was waiting for him to arrive? Viscomte? Stick with your story, stick with your story, stick with...

Jerro_oconnor

Shamus was deaf to Callaghan's cursing. As Callaghan fell to the ground, Shamus rushed after him.

Quote:

"Ye Devil! Ye black devil!"

Shamus, ignoring Callaghan's cries of pain, spun around as he neared to build up momentum, then as he finished one rotation, brought both tonfa crashing into the side of Callaghan's head.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Callaghan

Callaghan's head flopped back sharply with a bang. Callaghan's eyes rolled up and he fell on his back without making another sound.

Jerro_oconnor

Shamus turned around, ready to defend himself against Pim, when he noticed that he was gone. That meant that he was probably gathering reinforcements. He put his weapons away and began to scratch his head, wondering how he was going to move both of them.

"Are they gone?" Shamus turned to the sound of the half mumbled, half strained voice. Jerro was awake, that was a step in the right direction.

"Ye-es." Shamus hazarded. "Two of them are unconscious, one ran away. There may be more, we should leave now. Can ye walk?"

"Not yet, I don't thInk" Jerro was still sore all over, and somewhat stiff in the joints, so he continued to exercise his muscles by making small movements. After several minutes, he was able to sit up on his own. Then, as he was trying to get rid of the stiffness in his neck, he saw Pagan. "Holy... we've got to get her to a doctor."

He stood up shakily. He almost fell over, but Shamus was there to catch him. He regained his balance, and moved to the door with slow, unsteady steps. Each step wracked his body with pain, but he forced himself on. "Ye get Pagan... and I'll concentrate... on walkin straight."

Shamus picked Pagan up and they walked outside. The cart was gone. "Looks like we'll have to walk. Can ye make it?"

"I'd better, the next ride away won't be all that friendly." The three made their way down the road back to Imleach.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan had been conscious for almost an hour before she reacted to the rocking movement around her. She was lying in a painful, stagnant slumber. Well not quite lying - somebody was carrying her. But her body and brain refused to react to the fact that she was still alive. She simply wasn't able to move a muscle. The spark of life had been brutally blown out of her. She just wanted to lie still until death would come...

But the movement disturbed her. Something was trying to surface in her brain - thoughts, images. She fought against them. She just wanted to lie still until she would die.

Torture. Mutilation. The word formed in her brain. With the thought emerged the images in her mind's eyes. Heads without eyes. Naked corpses, hollow and dried. The executioner had gutted them, removed their internal organs. While they were still living, after hours of terrible torture.
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Jerro_oconnor

"Umm... Is she okay, I mean, she seems to be in pain, a lot of pain."

Jerro groaned. "Yea, poison does that to ye." Jerro was stumbling down the road. He knew that they wouldn't make it to town if they had to wait for him. "Shamus, go on ahead. I'll be right behind ye. Pagan may not make it... if ye have to... wait for me. Just go."

Shamus turned around to argue, when he saw the look on Jerro's face. Behind the pain, he was determined to get them to town. Shamus looked away, and said, "Alright, but I'm comin back for ye."

Jerro gave a weak chuckle. "Don't worry about me. I'll be right behind ye." Shamus hesitated for a second, then turned down the road at a run. Jerro watched them go until they were out of sight. Then he stumbled down off of the road, into the woods by the side. After passing the first couple of trees, where he was sure he wouldn't be seen. Then, he collapsed and let his weariness wash over him. He was out cold before he even hit the ground.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

If you need something important done, you have to do it yourself..

That was a motto d'Argent was finding more applicable with each day that passed among these barbarians. If that Callaghan had screwed up again he was going to need to grow some gills or learn to fly real fast.

The trail leading to where the fresh cart tracks ended in front of a building was soft and help multiple sets of horse, cart, and human tracks. One set wandered off into the woods, but d'Argent ignored them for now.

Dismounting quietly, he tied his horse off and gave it the "STAY" command. There was barely any sound inside the building, although listening closely at the door he heard a low moaning.

Eyes narrowed to expedite getting used to a darker interior, d'Argent went inside, smoothly drawing sword and dagger as he went.

A lumpy shadow rolled over and presented itself as Callaghan, looking fairly roughed up. It appeared a desperate struggle had occurred, and there were spatters of blood here and there.

First things first. d'Argent prodded the moaning lump with the toe of his boot to get it's attention. a bloody mouth opened to speak but stopped when a yard of Flemish steel touched a point to his cheek.

"You will wish your next words to be both helpful and sufficiently compelling to make me yearn for more. Idiot."

--Callaghan

Callaghan was slowly coming back to his conciousness from a nightmare he had been having. In the nighmare he had been torturing dozens of tramps tied up in racks, but whatever he did to them, they didn't bend to his will, they didn't scream. Instead they were laughing at Callaghan, mocking him and asking for more...

A slight kick on his side made Callaghan open his eyes. The dim light hurt his eyes at first, so he closed them quickly, then opened them again. His vision was blurry, but there was a figure standing above him. Callaghan blinked his eyes a few times rapidly before he could focus his eyes on the figure.

It was Viscompte Argento. And he didn't look very friendly. Then again, Viscompte never did. In a sudden flash Callaghan remembered what had happened and what must have happened after he got knocked out. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a touch of cold steel to his cheek.

Quote:

"You will wish your next words to be both helpful and sufficiently compelling to make me yearn for more. Idiot."

Callaghan swallowed again and tried to smile disarmingly. It looked more like a grimace. "I know I messed up a little bit, Viscompte, but they couldn't have gone far. We can hunt them down and then throw them into the pit, just like ye said, Viscompte. Ye and me! We're friends, right? There's no harm done. We cool. We repair the situation and then I will obey every word ye ever say - just like I should have done in the first place! We friends... right?"

--Shamus

Shamus was making good time on the way back to town. He was traveling quickly and only had to leave the road once to avoid a cart. Shamus couldn't see who it was from his hiding spot, but he knew that it was Pim's reinforcements. He was almost to the gate when he was intercepted by the guard.

Coming into town with a bruised, bloodied, burned, unconscious women on your shoulders was pretty suspicious, but after a trip to the guard house and a quick explanation, he left Pagan there to get her fixed up and left to go get Jerro.

Pagan

Those horrific images vanguished the fear and pain over the injuries Pagan had suffered. She embarked on that enormous effort that was turning her head. The poison she had drank had locked her muscles into hard knots. Pagan moaned like an animal before she could turn her head. Tears washed the dust and dried blood out of her eyes. Her gaze focused on the roof.

Little by little as the sun started rising over the horizon Pagan inspected her battered and possibly dying body. She didn't know where it hurt the worst. Maybe in the gut. The gut! Pagan clenched her feet in horror as the idea of dying the worst death possible emerged in her mind - an impaled stomach. She cursed whatever had woken her from her slumber. Why couldn't they let her lie down and sleep until it was all over! Why did she have to live and feel the strenghtening pain and see how her stomach would little by little start to boil of the gases! Why did she have to feel her madness grow hour by hour?
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Banner by Raella

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent looked down at Nature's large, smelly mistake.

"Oh, no. Incorrect.

I find your words neither helpful nor compelling.

So let me ask myself a questions, shall I? 'Has excessive begging and pleading ever caused me to spare the life of a traitor?'

In a word, No."

The sword slid slowly into Callaghan's cheek and when it came out the top of his head, d'Argent twisted it and pulled it out.

"Apology accepted, idiot."

He had much work to do to clear this mess up. And Anto better send down an agent with more intelligence than a teaspoon.

--Callaghan wrote:

--Shamus

Shamus returned to the scene of where he and Jerro separated. Shamus was an expert tracker, so even though the dirt was disturbed by recent travel and the moon gave off little light, he was able to find Jerro's trail. By the time he picked up the trail, the sun was well up in the sky. He found Jerro, slumped in a boneless heap beneath the tree. Upon closer examination, Jerro seemed fine, except where he hit his shoulder on a root. Jerro was also shivering too much for the weather to account for. No matter, they'd sort Jerro out once Shamus got him to safety. Shamus wearily picked Jerro up and ran once again down the long trail back to town.

--Neil_of_the_nngo

Somewhere near An Gort, Chonnacht...

The boss had not not been happy with what had happened to Callaghan - not because he had been so fond of Callaghan but because Callaghan had been a member of the NNGO. Nobody killed members of the NNGO without a proper authorization from the boss. The boss had a reputation to protect, and if he just let people kill his men unpunished he would soon find himself without a criminal organization to lead.

The situation was problematic, though. They needed d'Argent and his business, for the moment at least. And they needed to send somebody else there to take Callaghan's place and oversee their interests. But as soon as d'Argent had utilized his usefulness...

Neil shivered as he was approaching the old ruins of what had once been a fort where he lived. Neil had slumped as pale as a sheet when he had heard the order: d'Argent wants someone intelligent, so we'll give him someone intelligent! Get Ciar Indigo! The boss must have been seriously irated if he seriously wanted to send Indigo to An Mumhain. They never used Indigo for these kinds of operations. Not operations where he was supposed to work with people. Neil figured he wanted to shock d'Argent a little bit too, to show him he had crossed the line.

But still, Neil wished it would have been anyone else but him who had to go to that old fort where Indigo lived. In the dungeons like some kind of evil spirit. And who knows - maybe he was that.

Neil slipped in from a crack in the wall and headed towards the castle. Once there he lit a lantern and descended to the basement. The basement smelled stale and rotten. He could hear rats squeking all over him. He couldn't understand how even Indigo could live here - a normal man would have gone insane in a week. But then again - Indigo was not a normal man and most likely insane to begin with.

He went to one of the cells where he knew Indigo lived. It was a large cell designed to house twenty or so prisoners. Neil raised the lantern but the sphere of light didn't reach all corners. He couldn't see anyone, yet he knew Indigo was there. Watching him.

And then, a voice: "Hello, Neil." It was a deep, rich and melodious voice, civilized and intelligent, soft, gentle and hypnotic voice. The most beautiful voice Neil had ever heard. Angelic was the word that came to his mind. "Did you bring me food?"

"Not this time, Ciar. The boss wants you to do something for him."

A man entered the sphere of light, and Neil felt irresistable urge to retreat before that horrifying figure. For Ciar Indigo was a terrible sight. He was closer to seven feet tall and skinny, and he had broad, bony shoulders and long arms. He was dressed all in black. Even his two scabbard belts and the hilts of his swords - and, Neil knew, the blades too - were as black as death. But the most horrifying thing about him was his face. It was snow white with a stint of gray. His eyes were like two deep, black holes in the mask-like face. His skin was uneven and deformed. Where once had been his nose and cheeks the skin was just one big wrinkly scar. His right ear was gone and the hole was covered with a black patch. His left ear was deformed and voluble. His mouth was but an ugly, limp crack in the middle of all the scar-tissue. His hair - golden and lifeless - grew as uneven bobbles in his temples and neck. His scalp was filled with similar bad-looking scars. Under his chin his skin was tight and white, his scars had strained to a breaking point. He wore a scarf on his neck.

The scarf was indigo blue.

"Please tell me about it, Neil", Indigo said with that strangely appealing and pleasant voice that didn't seem to belong to that monstrous face. Neil started talking and Indigo retreated into the shadows again. Neil talked about fifteen minutes without interruption.

When he had finished there was a long silence. Neil couldn't see or hear anyone, but he knew Indigo was there. Neil could sense his presence. Neil almost jumped out of his shoes when he heard a voice from behind him saying: "Was that all, Neil?"

"N-no, not quite. When the operation is over, the boss wants... Final Silence. Ye know what that means, eh?"

"Yeah. I know what Final Silence means. Get me a horse. I should be in Imleach in three days."

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent's pen had hovered over the parchment for about five minutes as he decided what to write.

After long consideration he began

"To the Red Duke, greetings from d'Argent.

The leaking roof needed attention to both English and Irish tiles, so repairmen have been dispatched to both.

Your peer, Anto, will be displeased with the cost of his involvement in the operation as he has had staff turnover as Callaghan's grocery bill became to expensive as he insisted on playing with his food.

Also vexing to 'A' will be my request that someone with better table manners be sent down. He will probably send down a mouser only to learn that we can afford to outsource that service elsewhere.

I recommend you send in the finisher to apply a few coats of paint to the place when the tiles are fully repaired.

I have had no report from Richard, but I can remove that grim and thorny problem at leisure.

Invoices for the repairs to follow.

A

He attached the note to a raven and sent it off. He hoped the Red Duke did not take the news badly as His Crimson Grace was far less forgiving than was d'Argent...

--Shamus

It was far into the evening when Shamus found himself at the gates again. Whether by luck, or by fate, one of the guards posted was there the first time he came to town.

"What? Again? How many people ye got stashed out there?"

"Last one. I promise." He answered wearily, out of breath from his trek. The guard took Jerro over one shoulder and helped Shamus bring Jerro to the doctor. He was placed in the room next to Pagan's, and would receive treatment after they were done checking up on Pagan. Shamus slumped into a chair facing the door and thanked the young guard. The guard left and he waited for the doctor to come, but fell asleep long before he came.

--Dr._sweeney

Dr. Redmund Sweeney and his wife Maureen stood bent over that almost lifeless figure the whole night. They weren't worried about Jerro - he was mostly just tired and needed rest more than anything else - but Pagan's condition was much worse. They forced meat juice through her clenched teeth, and each time she threw up they poured some more into her. A portion of the invigorating juice found it's way through to her stomach, and little by little life started to ignite in her again. They had washed and tied the bad-looking scald on her side and with astonishment and horror realized that it had been done with a burning iron. They were also worried about the horrible bruises on her ribs, stomach and head. Dr. Sweeney couldn't rule out possible internal injuries, bleeding, concussion, fractured skull or brain injury. Near the morning Pagan turned and moaned.

Sweeney stretched himself and pressed his back with his hand. He clenched his teeth and against his will he had to smile. His wife looked at him.

"She will pull through, Redmund - won't she?" she whispered.

Redmund nodded. "Aye, she will pull through."

Mrs. Sweeney sat down heavily. They were both in their fifties, and even though Redmund's little practice and their cattle farm gave them nice income and comparatively safe future, the early harsh years had aged and worn them. But the joy still shining in their eyes proved that tough life had never drained them out of their kindness and philantrophy.

--Biddy

A knock on the door woke Biddy up in her little cottage a few miles south of An Gort. Who could it be at this hour? The rooster hadn't even sung yet! Biddy rubbed her eyes and put on something more decent than her night gown before she rushed to open the door.

A stranger stood behind it, a stranger dressed all in black. He had a black slouch hat too. He had pulled it very low and was looking at the tips of his boots so Biddy couldn't see his face. Biddy saw he had two swords hanging from his hips and swallowed. He had to be a robber, possibly from the NNGO! And she lived all alone in here - the nearest neighbor was half a mile away.

"Good morning, ma'am. Sorry about the hour, but my horse hurt its leg. Could you please help me?"

The strangers voice was magnetic and self-conscious and sent a tingling feeling all over Biddy's body. How tall he was! And he must be very handsome too - with that voice there was no doubt about it. Why was he hiding his face like that? Was he running from the law and wished to remain incognito?

Suddenly Biddy didn't care anymore if he was an outlaw. The excitement of it all made her shiver. A handsome, rugged outlaw here in her cottage! What might he do to her?

"Aye", Biddy said, "but please, do come in first. I'll make us both a strong cup of herbal tea. I haven't waken up fully yet."

"Do you live here by yourself?" the stranger asked.

"Me? Aye, all alone, poor Biddy, the eternal spinster. No neighbors either, nowhere close by..."

--Ciar_indigo

Ciar Indigo lifted his head up and focused the gaze of his eyes at the girl, eyes that were like bottomless black wells in the middle of his horrific face. Before the girl had managed to scream, his hands moved like lightnings and grabbed her head. There was a snapping sound, like someone had stepped on a dry branch, and the girl slumped on the floor, instantly dead.

Ciar Indigo stood there a long while, perking his ears, trying to detect anomalies in the normal rhythm of nightly noises in the countryside. When he was satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary, she stepped over the dead girl and entered the cottage. He went through all the cabinets and shoved all the food and other useful stuff he could find in a bag.

Ciar Indigo was supplying himself for the long ride in Imleach.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro slowly opened his eyes. He looked around to see where he was. He remembered passing out in the woods, and was fairly certain that beds didn't grow from bushes. He couldn't find the window, but he did see Shamus slumped in a chair. Someone had thrown a blanket over him, but he was still sound asleep. That explained how he got here. He could smell something... a lot of somethings. Most of it had an herbal smell, but the smells ranged from sickly sweet to foul as sin. Most of the smells were faded, but they were in enough number or too strong to be blocked out completely. That meant he was probably in a hospital.

He faintly remembered their escape, and wondered what had happened after. Was Pagan ok? She seemed a mess if he remembered correctly. If she was, there was no better place for her than here. He was too tired, though. He would sort out it in the morning... preferably several mornings later. He rolled over and went back to sleep.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The sun was starting to rise. The bushy, shady oak down by the gate received life and colour. The rooster crowed so that the whole barn clanged, and old Nevan O'Connell came out of his shack and tiptoed barefoot around the corner for emptying.

"Who's there?"

Redmund woke up in a blink of an eye. They stared at the lass who had unexpectedly got up sitting on the bed and stared at them with blue eyes gleaming with fever.

Maureen Sweeney was instantly by her and pushed her back on the bed. "Daft fool!" she muttered. "Running away the moment we turn our backs! Well now, get back on the bed and take it easy! Are ye hungry?"

The frightened and confused look disappeared from Pagan's eyes. She stared at them - for a long time. Finally she sair with a low and coarse voice:

"How long have I been here?"

"Since yesterday early morning. And now it is morning again. Perhaps ye are hungry, Mrs..."

"Me name is Pagan. Pagan MacKenzie."

"Dr. Redmund Sweeney. This is me wife Maureen."

Pagan swallowed. "Did ye find me?"

"No. The guards came and brought ye here. Ye and yer friend here." Redmund pointed at sleeping Redmund on another bed.

An empty stare rose on Pagan's eyes. She sunk back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Redmund and Maureen exchanged looks. He said almost too sternly: "Are ye hungry, Mrs. MacKenzie?"

The lass lying on the bed shook her head. "No, thank ye", she said politely. "Not now. I'm just tired. Dead tired."

Redmund approached her. Perhaps he understood what the woman had had to endure. "Just take it easy, Pagan. Yer wounds are healing well, and ye are safe here. We are very civilized!"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro woke up again. This time he doubted that he would fall back to sleep. He looked over to where Shamus had been, but all that was there was a blanket. Jerro guessed that he had something better to do than sit around watching another person sleep, and Jerro honestly didn't blame him. Jerro carefully stood up and stretched app of the knots and sores that he had got from the long period of inactivity. He moved around, and eventually he found himself outside. He was still tired, but it was the kind of tired one gets after waking up from a good rest, not the utter exhaustion of the physically ill.

He walked around for a bit, but he couldn't find anyone that could help him. Instead, he walked outside, hoping that he could find someone.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan fell asleep again and slept peacefully and without dreams. It felt like the atmosphere in the house would have transmitted to her. She got woken up by a plate of pancakes, fresh milk and syrup. Mrs. Sweeney helped her up and set the tray on her lap. As Pagan ate she bustled in the kitchen. Often she fiddled with her hoary hair putting a misplaced lock back to it's place. Noises and smells emanated from the open window - smells of hay, manure and fresh mold. Cows were mooing somewhere, and a cackle told that a flock of chicken was picking corn in the yard. A horse whinnied in the corral. Pagan ate enormously and muffled a yawn. She was endlessly tired. Mrs. Sweeney took the tray before it fell on the floor, and Pagan smiled a sleepy thank you. In a few seconds she was sound asleep again.
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--Laoise

A young girl rode through the gate and into the cow farm. She sat on the saddle straight as a man wearing leather trousers and green shirt, her long blonde hair landed to her back as a wild gust and her blue eyes shone with life and youth over her freckled nose. She appeared to be on her eighteens.

When she saw Jerro standing on the yard she turned her horse and rode to him. The girl gave him a playful, teasing smile:

"Good morning, sir. And who might ye be? A new farmhand, perhaps?"

Jerro_oconnor

"Who, me? I'm no farmhand. I was actually tryin to find out where I am. Ye see, I was unconscious but someone helped out." He looked around, and realized that it wasn't the hospital he originally thought it was, but a farm. He idly wondered why a doctor would farm. Or was it the other way around?

He turned his attention back to the girl on the horse. "Umm... Ye wouldn't be able to tell me where I am, would ye?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dr._sweeney

Redmund rushed out of the shead when he saw her daughter talking to that stranger, patient, whatever but one who looked very well now. A little too well for Redmund's liking. He ran to the girl and took her in as she landed from the horse and answered to the tight hug she gave him. Laoise sniffed his shirt like a puppy.

"Mmmmm..." she murmured, "how good ye smell! Have ye been in the barn?"

Redmund glanced at Jerro and frowned worriedly.

"Yes. Listen, Laoise..."

"Have ye been worried about me?" Laoise's white teeth shone as she smiled. She leaned back on her father's strong arms and looked at his face. "Da, I can assure ye that yer daughter's virtue is still very much intact! I'm afraid Sean has turned into a gelding after ye beat him up! Just yesterday I tried to seduce him into a barn, and he squeeled and ran away from me like a rabbit!"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro listened to the conversation with growing concern. He thought that he was... The last person who... This was getting out of hand, he'd better step in and start speaking for himself.

"Good morning sir. I'm Jerro O'Connor. I assume ye were the one who help me get back on my feet? Thank ye for that." He was about to explain why his daughter was there, but that would make him look guilty. Instead, he said, "If there is anythin I can do to repay yer hospitality, then just ask. Before ye do, though, there was a girl who made it here before me, what's become if her, is she alright?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dr._sweeney

"Oh, ye mean colonel Pagan MacKenzie", Redmund said. "Don't worry, she'll be all right. We don't have a lot of expertise to tending the wounded here in Imleach, I'm afraid. There is the church, and the monks are doing the best they can. And then there are the ever so popular local healers like Oddman and Alys. But me", Redmund said with a hint of pride in his voice, "studied medicine in the university of Corcaigh and can call meself a doctor more than anyone else in this town! Even though", Redmund continued with a regretful look in his eyes, "most people here don't seem to trust the modern science, but instead the old healers fer their illnesses and blacksmiths to pull out their rotten teeth!"

Redmund was quiet for a while before continuing: "Oh but ye are not taking colonel MacKenzie anywhere. Not yet, not before she's fit enough to be killed in one of yer stupid wars!"

--Viscomte_dargent

Waiting for The Finisher and wondering what dolt/would-be-assassin Anto would send down, d'Argent set about the tasks of ensuring batch seven of the oriental poisons made its way over to Dr. Sweeney's office.

It had been child's play to hide the three components in multiple items that would generally be given war-wounded.

If you can't beat them, poison them and move on, the Red Duke always said...

Jerro_oconnor

"Don't worry about that. I won't take her anywhere. I saw how bad she was before I passed out, I wouldn't let her run around until she is well recovered. I have to be honest, though, I wasn't expecting to wake up at a farm. I would have expected yer own buildin in the middle of town."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dr._sweeney

"What ye mean, the church?" Redmund asked. "I have been baptized, aye, but the calling of Jah was never that strong in me. Most people in Ireland are distrustful of modern science and still rely on naturopaths and healers like they have done hundreds of years. Not many people study medicine in the University of Corcaigh and those who do soon find out they can't really make a living out of it." Redmund paused and pondered something for a short while before continuing: "I've heard they have something called 'a hospital' in England - it's a convent or a monastery specialized in tending the sick and inventing cures fer illnesses if I understand the concept rightly. No doubt spread from the civilized countries in France and Holy Roman Empire. That is the way of the future, son - one day Ireland will have a hospital too! Nobody can stay in the way of progress!"

--Ciar_indigo

Luimneach was a ghost town. Ciar Indigo had ridden through several towns like that - the plague that had ravaged Ireland had taken a terrible toll on it's people, and towns previously so filled with activity and life were now decaying, rotting places of death. That had an appeal to Indigo.

Indigo spent his days in the cemetaries, inside the mausoleums of dead noblemen. Indigo hated the sun. He had almost supernaturally good night vision, but the downside was that bright light hurt his eyes. And in any case it wasn't a good idea for him to travel by days. Too many people up and about at daytime. The horse Neil had brought him was pale, and that appealed to Indigo too. It appealed his sense of the dramatic.

It was still morning, so Indigo had a lot of time to sleep, eat and gather his strength. After sundown he would come out of the mausoleum and ride the couple hours stretch to Imleach. He would check out the old prison first before introducing himself in the Luvafair. The prison sounded like a place where he would like to live for the duration of his stay in Imleach, but it was only common decency to go meet the people he was going to work with for a while. To let them know he had arrived. Indigo hated rudeness and people with bad manners.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded as he listened to Dr. Sweeny. "Aye, I was actually planning on saving up money so I could help people. I..." He stopped abrubtly as his stomach growled loudly, interrupting him. He looked abashed as he said, "Uhh, not to impose, but do ye have any food? I can't remember when I last ate."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dr._sweeney

"Aye, I believe me wife Maureen has made pancakes this morning. We all must be really hungry, so let's go have a bite, shall we?" Redmund wrapped his hand protectively on his daughter's shoulders as they turned towards the house. "After that I have to retreat to me office fer a while. Some fresh supplies of medicines and bandages just arrived this morning, I have to inspect them to make sure of their quality..."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro followed Dr. Sweeney and his daughter into the kitchen. "Pancakes, ye say? Mmm, I love pancakes. Thank ye for everythin."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dr._sweeney

The breakfast was delicious. Maureen had eaten earlier and was outside milking the cows, so there were only Redmund, Laoise and Jerro dining in the kitchen. When they were finished, Redmund stood up and cleaned the plate. Then he turned around and threw a warning glance at Jerro's direction before talking to her daughter:

"All right, I have to retreat now. And ye, young lady, have a lot of work to do here around the farm, so don't be bothering our guest fer too long, ye hear me?"

Having said that Redmund excused himself, marched in his office and slammed the door shut behind him.

--Laoise

Laoise stalled quite a long time with her breakfast. On her ride home from the Boyle's farm she had been thinking about those short passionate boy-kisses Sean had almost drowned her in last night. How clumsy Sean was! And so eager! But when his hands had fumbled under her shirt she had kindly but determinedly pushed him away. Laoise remembered how he had looked like a shepherd dog standing there and glaring her with an offended look in his eyes. It wasn't the first time Laoise had had hands under her shirt, but Sean's hands were blunt and thick-skinned. He was kissable, but it was entirely different matter to let him fondle. She remembered Paddy Quinn, the son of Seamus Quinn, who had danced with her half the night last fall in the barn dance. Just to make doggy-eyed Sean jealous she had allowed Paddy to lead her in the dark shadows of the barn. There Laoise had found out for the first time what happens when her senses wake up. For the first time she had been short of breath and her legs had turned soft as wax. For the first time she had felt the touch of a boy's hand like a fire in her nerves. But Paddy had wanted more and blew a fuse when she refused. Later she had found out that Paddy dated that redheaded insolent Bridget Brady who had been in the barn with many young men of Imleach. Men! Laoise thought and was secretly jealous at Bridget.

Jerro_oconnor

Unaware of Laoise's thoughts, Jerro turned to her. He was going to ask Dr. Sweeney if there was anything he could do to repay him. He left for his office too quickly, though. He figured if there were anyone else that knew what there was to do, it would be his daughter. "I'd feel bad staying here without doing anythin, is there some way I can help out, seeing as I'll probably be here for a while."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Laoise

This mysterious guest under their roof forced Laoise to think about Paddy again. Jerro was strong and blond, not very tall but nobody's perfect. He had brown eyes and white teeth and brown, clean hands. Jerro. Jerro... she tasted the word. Jerro's question snapped her out of her daydreams and made her smile.

"Why sure! I have loads of work to do around the farm, and I'd appreciate it to have someone to help me out!"

Jerro_oconnor

I'd be glad to help ye. But ye won't get in trouble if I do help ye with yer chores, will ye?" He silently added, Or will I get in trouble?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Laoise

Laoise grinned and winked at Jerro. She leaned in closer to him and whispered: "Of course ye won't get into trouble!"

Laoise leaned back and gave a little giggle. "And don't mind da - he still thinks I'm three-year old or something! If he doesn't stop spooking me suitors he will have to endure a withered, wizened, flat-breasted old spinster fer the rest of his days!" Laoise pushed forward her young, firm bosom as if to show what she meant and smiled. "Not that Sean is anything to woo about, but still..."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro smiled nervously... Sean? Who was Sean? And why did she read into that so easily? "Umm... Yes, well... we should, uh, should go see about those chores, shall we?" Jerro was still worried about her da, though. He remembered what she had said about Sean after Dr. Sweeney was through with him. She seemed hell-bent to try it again.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Laoise

Laoise smiled happily and said: "So are ye through with yer pancakes then? Come, let's go to the henhouse! Those eggs sure won't pick themselves!"

Laoise sprung up and rushed to the door, turned around and frowned at Jerro who didn't seem to move fast enough for her liking. She waved at him.

"Come on, come on, come on! I don't want to spend the whole day working!"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro hesitated before follow her out, maybe it wasn't too late to run after Dr. Sweeney and see what he would like him to do? Nope, too late. Plastering a smile on his face, he ran after Laoise, who seemed too eager to finish the chores.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

For the rest of the day they worked the farm, with Laoise flirting insolently with Jerro. Pagan woke up late in the afternoon feeling good and well-rested (if thirsty) and walked to the kitchen waiting for someone to appear there. It sure was silent around the house.
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--The_red_duke

The Red Duke was not pleased and his servants were beyond nervous. There were already two cooling corpses leaving trails as they were hauled out of his audience chamber.

That moronic Grimthorn had not reported in for at least two weeks.

d'Argent had called for reinforcements

Anto had no one sentient in his entire army. How did he actually manage to win battles?

But

There was good news

The Red Duke remained unknown to Cardinal Faheud and the Red Duke had more than enough of the oriental poison to take out half the English, the Scottish Clergy, and all of the warring NNGO and MacKenzie clans.

Still. Had it been wise to send in The Finisher? That one would either create the desired order or acceptable chaos. All was good there.

The Mcdermott woman still lived. The two MacKenzie women still lived.

Yet....his old rival Zanatin and that stuffed nightshirt Viceroy were gone.

Sometimes the smoke takes a good while to clear.

A messenger in traveling clothes hurried into the hall.

"Brightpoint lives, Sire. he was seen at Westgate two weeks ago with the Irish woman."

The Red Duke looked coldly at the messenger. He rose and walked up to him.

"Do you have any other bad news for me, messenger?"

The messenger stammered, "Nay, sire!"

"Well that is good then, isn't it?" answered the Red Duke cordially.

The messenger, to his great benefit, never saw or felt the lightning strike of the long-knife between his ribs and into his heart, for the Red Duke was just that fast.

It was time for tea.

Jerro_oconnor

Late in the day, Jerro finished up another chore. He had lost track just how many things he had done, the chores were physically exhausting while Laoise was mentally exhausting. Jerro spent the greater part of the day steering the conversation to safer topics, avoiding barbed subjects and other flirtatious pitfalls. It wasn't that Jerro was blind to the prospect, but fighting for your life isn't exactly the best time to start relationships. At another time (and several counties away from her overprotective father) he might have considered it, but not now.

He had to give it to her though, she was persistent. Or maybe he was just being naive... In either case she wouldn't take the hint that he was not interested and continued after him. Now that the chores were done, he would probably have to watch her even more carefully. "Alright, that's done. Is there anything left?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Laoise

Laoise had started to become more and more interested in Jerro as the day had progressed, because he was so different to other men she knew. He seemed almost immune to her womanly charms, although not totally immune, that much she could sense. So Jerro was interested in girls, yet he remained polite yet distant and rejecting towards her. Laoise who was used to the annoying eagerness and clumsiness of menfolk found that kind of behaviour intriguing and exciting. She had found out that Jerro was with the NMA, and the knowledge of that had stiffened her of excitement. The images those letters conjured in her mind - the adventures and braveries that were attached to the NMA! Laoise wondered if Jerro had been in the Laighean war, and wether he had killed people there. The thought of it made her shiver.

"I think we are all finished fer the day", she answered. "Let's get back to the house - if ma hasn't returned yet from town I'll make us dinner!"

Jerro_oconnor

"That sounds great." Jerro said, wary for anything, but glad that she wasn't flirting outright. "Lead the way. If yer ma isn't home yet, I can always help ye cook. I may not be the best cook, but I'm not too bad." Jerro followed her back to the house
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan was just inspecting the cabinets in the kitchen for something to drink when Jerro and Laoise walked in. She closed the cabinet-door quickly and assumed an innocent face.

"Well well, it seems our other guest is up and about as well!" said Laoise. "I hope ye slept well!"

"Very well, thank ye", Pagan smiled at the lass. Suddenly Laoise frowned:

"Where's da?"

"I don't know", Pagan shrugged. "I haven't seen anyone since I woke up."

"Do ye mean he still hasn't come out of his office?" Laoise said worriedly and turned her look at the office door. It was ominously silent.
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Jerro_oconnor

After a minute, Jerro broke the silence. "Is it... odd... that he's spent the day in his office? I mean he could be busy. Should we check up on him?" He turned back to the door as if willing it to become invisible so that they could see inside.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"He's never been in his office more than one or two hours a day! And why is he so quiet in there?" Laoise's voice started to shiver with worry. "Da has a bad heart, what if something's happened?"

Pagan took two decisive steps to the door and knocked. There was no answer.

"Okay, I'm going to open it", she said to Jerro and Laoise. Pagan turned the handle and pushed the door open.

It was a smallish, ascetic and practical working room. The walls were covered with shelves and cabinets full of potions and all kinds of tools Pagan figured medical doctors used in their work. In the middle of the room there was a big desk, and on that desk were some opened potions. Dr. Sweeney was lying on the floor without making a sound. He had the same grey color on his face Pagan remembered from Corcaigh Castle. Before she could prevent it, Laoise screamed and ran to his father.

"Nobody touch anything!" Pagan warned. "Jerro, Laoise - help me carry him out of this office. After that we have to evacuate the premises as soon as we can. Do not touch or eat or drink anything here no more, ye hear me?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded, fearing the worst. He picked up Dr. Sweeney under his arms as Pagan and Laoise each grabbed one of his legs. "Where are we gonna take him? And what happened?" He looked down at the doctor's face, when recognition crossed his face. "Ye don't think..." He looked over to Laoise, not wanting to speak his suspicion out loud, in case it would panic her. Could he have been poisoned? Were they that well connected that they knew exactly where they were at all times and could sneak poison to them?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan nodded and said tersely: "Aye, looks that way. Alright, we're gonna get him to the NMA HQ first and then decide how to proceed from there."

"W-what's wrong with him?" Laoise sobbed. In spite of always teasing Redmund and trying to cause him grey hair she absolutely adored her father and secretly enjoyed his overprotectiveness. Laoise had always been daddy's girl and seeing him in the state he was in almost broke her. "I couldn't bare it if... if..."

"Laoise", Pagan interrupted. "We need a horse and a cart. We need to get out of here. Now!"

"But ma!" Laoise protested. "She hasn't returned from the town yet!"

"All right, all right", Pagan tried to calm her down. "We'll find her, don't worry. And yer da is going to be all right, ye'll see." If we can get him the antedote in time, she thought but didn't say it out loud. She knew the poison worked slowly, but Redmund had collapsed so much sooner than she or Zanditin, so maybe it worked differently on different people. Maybe Dr. Sweeney was more vulnerable to it than most people. Pagan had no idea how long the doctor still had to live.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded. "We can't just sit and wait. And I doubt we will get anywhere quickly like this. Pagan, get under his other arm, we'll move faster thus way." They quickly readjusted their grip, Jerro and Pagan supported him under the arms and Laoise stood nearby, still shocked at what had happened to her father. Dr. Sweeney's years of farm work had made him heavy with muscle, but Jerro and Pagan were able to support his weight.

"Now I was unconscious on the way here, and I have a poor sense of direction anyway, so you'll need to lead the way Laoise." He needed to keep her busy, so that she wouldn't have time to dwell on what happened.

Laoise was close to tears now, but she nodded. "Aye, it's this way. Come on, hurry!" She began to run, leaving Jerro and Pagan behind to catch up.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan and Jerro carried Dr. Sweeney quickly out of the house as Laoise, exhibiting astonishing coolness under pressure, tied the cart to the horse. That lass might make a fine soldier for the NMA one day, Pagan thought approvingly as they laid Dr. Sweeney down at the back of the cart, setting some quilts under his head as a pillow. Pagan noticed that Laoise wanted to remain close to her father and remembered Jerro once telling to her he wanted to become a doctor one day himself, so he must possess some skills in tending the sick already - or if he didn't there was no better time to learn than right now.

"All right", she said, "Jerro, Laoise - ye take care of the doctor while I'll be driving the horse!" Pagan jumped on the drover's seat, made a smacking voice with her mouth and whipped the reins. She felt a jerk as the horse pulled the cart into motion and they were on their way.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro knew that they couldn't be too far away from the town, after all, if the farm was the closest place for medical attention then either they were more hard pressed than Jerro thought or it was fairly close. Dr. Sweeney needed immediate medical attention though, so Jerro set about with what he could. He didn't know much about doctoring yet, and even less about what you should do with poison victims, but he tried his best. His time on the street had taught him how to detect and make poisons, and how to tell you were poisoned, but he was never taught antidotes.

Dr. Sweeney seemed feverish, and Jerro knew that he had to get his temperature down. He looked around the cart for discarded rags, but was distraught to find there were none. "No help for it then." He said as he ripped of a chunk of fabric from his sleeve. He reached down for his pouch which usually contained water when he realized he had left it at the farm. He yelled out to Pagan and Laoise over the whipping wind, "Do either of ye have some water, or even whiskey, somethin cool?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan looked over her shoulder as Jerro mentioned whiskey and instinctively reached out for her hipflask. But it was empty, as it had been since they first got locked up in that empty warehouse in the Luvafair.

"Nope, no whiskey", she said. "Trust me, I wish I had some. I think this is the first time I'm completely sober since... I don't know, since that time I spent a night in the Laighean prison I guess. And I haven't even gotten the shakes yet, I guess I've been too busy just trying to stay alive. Hopefully I won't start seeing or hearing things in a bit."

Laoise shook her head too - she had been too upset to even think about getting anything with them.

A middle-aged woman approached as they continued on the road. "Ma!" Laoise shouted. Pagan recognized the woman who had served her breakfast too and stopped the cart. "Hop in, we are going back to town!" Pagan shouted at her.
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Jerro_oconnor

As Mrs. Sweeney hopped in to the cart, she saw Dr. Sweeney laying down in the cart. She immediately became worried. Jerro and Laoise quickly explained to her what had happened to Dr. Sweeney. Mrs. Sweeney quickly took charge from them and took care of Dr. Sweeney for the remainder of the ride to town.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan stopped the cart in front of the NMA headquarters and hopped out of it, grimacing in pain as her wounded side reminded her of it's existence. It would leave her with a nasty burn scar. No matter, she would make sure both Callaghan and d'Argent would get hung, drawn and quartered if it was up to her. Or possibly flayed and boiled, she thought vengefully as she kicked open the door. The duty officer startled with Pagan's belligerent entrance and jumped up from behind his desk.

"At ease, officer!" Pagan bellowed. "I am Colonel Pagan MacKenzie of the 5th regiment in case ye don't recognize me! We have a poisoned man in the back of the cart, get someone to get him in the sick bay ASAP! And get Captain Kelly! And get me some whiskey, jahdamn ye! NOW MOVE!"

The duty officer tripped on his own feet trying to fulfill Pagan's many orders all at once and fell down on the floor. Pagan gave a vigorous kick to the bottom of his boot and roared:

"MOVE it, soldier, or so help me Jah ye will be peeling potatoes until next Yule! This is no time to have a nap, we're in a middle of a crisis situation here!"

The unlucky soldier who had bumped on Pagan on a bad day sprung up and ran over the corner as if the Nameless One himself was chasing after him.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro, carrying Dr. Sweeney inside the building, whistled at Pagan's display. "Remind me not to get on yer bad side!' He whispered to her. He looked over to Mrs. Sweeney and Laoise, who had heard the words "poisoned man" and instantly began to fret. He gave them a reassuring smile, "Don't ye worry, he'll be fine. We've got the antidote for this."

Two men with a stretcher almost ran by Jerro in their haste to fulfill Pagan's orders. Jerro cleared his throat to get there attention, then gently placed Dr. Sweeney down on the stretcher. He walked beside Pagan and asked her quietly, so that the other two couldn't here him, "We do have the antidote, right?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan shook her head. "We have two vials of the antedote in Corcaigh - at least I think we do. I'm not sure what happened to the vials after Zan's... passing or who's got the hold of them, but somebody must know where they are. And then we have three more in the Abbey of Port Lairge. So five vials - five in the whole damn island! What do ye suppose we should do?"

Captain Heber Kelly marched to the lobby from around the corner, carrying a bottle of whiskey with him. Pagan snatched the bottle from his hand like a seagull and lifted to her lips. The booze chugged in her throat, and when she handed the bottle to Jerro it was half empty.

"Follow me to me office", Kelly grunted and turned on his heels. Pagan started following the big man and had to almost run to keep up with Kelly's long strides. Kelly opened the door, held it open for Pagan and Jerro, slammed it shut behind them so it shook in it's frames, circled around his desk, sat behind it and pointed the two uncomfortable wooden chairs next to it.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro and Pagan sat down in the two chairs. Jerro was unsure of what to do. He looked at the half-empty bottle of whiskey and took a tentative sip. He felt that he should probably keep a clear head, but some things just needed a drink. He sat quietly as he waited for Capt. Heber to say something.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Captain Heber's black eyes flashed with anger as she addressed Pagan: "Colonel, I would be extremely thrilled to know what the bloody hell is going on around here! First I get a report that somebody carries ye two into town, looking like ye've been ran through a meat grinder. So I instruct them to take ye to Redmund's farm - he's a good friend of mine and I figured he'd take good care of ye. But now it seems somebody took care of him - ye drive here like ye were chased by devils and the man is dying of some sort of poisoning! So I want ye to let me in on it and SPIT IT OUT NOW!" Remembering he was addressing a superior officer he added, almost reluctantly: "Ma'am!"

Pagan didn't mind Kelly's outburst. Instead she told him the whole story from start to finish. When she was finished, Kelly leaned back. "We have to hit that Luvafair hard! I'll send five platoons of heavily armed..."

"Ye will do no such thing, Captain", Pagan interrupted. "We will raid the place, aye. Tomorrow. I will be leading the group. Could ye arrange fer a platoon of skilled and trustworthy soldiers to meet me here by tomorrow morning? Do not tell them what's it about, just make them come. But first things first - somebody must transport Dr. Sweeney to Cork immediately. Tell them to contact Padraig MacKenzie when they are there - or if he's not in Cork, the mayor, Moratt. Give me a piece of paper and a pen, Captain."

Pagan stood up and scribbled a few words on the piece of a note and handed it to Kelly. "One or the other should know where the vials are. I've explained the situation in the letter and emphasized that Sweeney should be given the antedote." Pagan returned to her seat. "Now - they took my sword, and I want it back. But in the meantime I will be needing another one on loan. How about ye, Jerro? Do ye need anything?"
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--Viscomte_dargent

"I think not." mentioned Viscomte d'Argent calmly as the messenger slid to the floor off his blade. "There will be no need for you to report to anyone. No loose ends, as the Red Duke always says."

d'Argent dropped the parchment into the fire, ensuring no sign of the letter from the Red Duke remained. He had totally expected to hear that The Finisher was en route to Eire, but he had not expected to hear Grimthorn was betraying the holy cause.

"It is good, though, that all evidence will be gone. This tavern is now empty and dust-filled as though abandoned for twenty years. My agents have destroyed every remaining vial of antidote in Eire. Even the the three antidotes that imbecile Brightpoint left with his brother at the abbey."

It was really sad about killing the Abbott. Not sad that he was dead, sad that he was so fragile that only 245 marks into the death of a thousand cuts he had yielded his life to the Nameless Unmaker. Fascinating to learn he had been Brightpoint's brother...

Now there was the matter of carving the seventeen signs of the The Ending into the Pagan's chest, and all was ready for The Awakening. And that prat Jerro would get framed for it.

Evil was d'Argent's business and business was good.

--Ciar_indigo

The night had fallen over Imleach. With it came the rain and a particularly nasty thunderstorm. The Luvafair staff was still burning the evidence as the door opened, making a squeaking sound.

At that moment a lightning struck, and the men got a glimpse of a very tall, thin silhoutte at the door. When the lightning struck again there was nothing there, for Ciar Indigo had taken a sidestep to get away from the door. A deep, civilized and pleasant voice emanated from from the darkness:

"Good evening, gentlemen. I wish to talk with Viscome d'Argent. I was led to believe he was here?"

Branaego the Dark, played by Faheud

"d'Argent? We shot him. And who is asking, eh?"

--Ciar_indigo

"My name is Ciar Indigo. It probably doesn't say anything to you, but I was sent here from Chonnacht by our mutual friends to take over Callaghan who had a little accident. Why did you shoot Viscomte d'Argent, if you don't mind me asking? And more importantly - does that mean that the operation has been cancelled?"

Baraego_the_dark, played by Faheud

Branaego nodded curtly, "Ah. The one person we are not telling nonsense to. Welcome to Imleagh. The operation is still underway, but changed. The Viscomte has shut this place down as though it has been closed for ages and I was left to spread the dust about."

Branaego threw a thumb over his shoulder, "When d'Argent found out Callaghan had let our prisoners escape he sent that great buffoon off to the Nameless, wrote your leadership for a better agent, and contracted me to make things here disappear. I am Branaego the Dark, called The Cleaner.

Do ye wish me to take you round to see 'is Excellency then?"

--Ciar_indigo

There was a lantern hanging from the roof, creating dim lighting in the tavern, but the light couldn't reach the corners of the tavern where Indigo's voice came from. Branaego didn't know it, but he had been only a heartbeat away from death. Indigo's instructions had been very simple - cooperate and help until the operation is over. Once it's called off - Final Silence. Indigo's specialty.

"Ah, very well then. Introducing myself to my associate would seem like a decent thing to do. So, unless you or d'Argent are too busy, I'd appreciate an audience." Ciar Indigo's hideous face emerged in the sphere of light. Because of his extremely dark clothing that and his indigo scarf were the only things visible to Branagh, as if they were floating in the air. "Please, let's go meet him."

Branaego_the_Dark, played by Faheud

"Not at all, not at all," answered Branaego. "Let's take a short ride to the new headquarters. His Excellency will be most pleased to see you as it is clear Duke Anto sent a professional. The Viscomte D'Argent respects above all things professionalism."

He stood and looked back into the well dusted chambers.

"Shall we then?"

--Ciar_indigo

Ciar Indigo was impressed by Branaego's coolness - he hadn't even blinked an eye when he had shown his face to him. Indigo bowed slightly - never removing his gaze from Branaego's eyes - and said:

"I am most grateful for this opportunity to meet the Viscomte. From what I've heard he has made quite an impression to our mutual friend up in An Gort. I have a horse outside, and I'm ready to leave whenever. There is no rush." The horrible crack under what had once been Indigo's nose grimaced into something that might have been a smile.

Pagan

"But surely ye don't need to be part of a military operation like that personally!" Kelly protested. "I mean, look at ye - ye are in no condition to..."

One look at Pagan's gloomy face and cold, sparkling blue eyes made him stop in the middle of the sentence. The truth was Pagan thirsted for revenge, she had to avenge all that she had been through. And she had to be there herself. But could she avenge? How would the crooks react to their escape? Would they flee? Or didn't they scare too easily? She remembered Callaghan's hard eyes and brutal mouth. Would he just give up and run away? Pagan didn't think so - or rather she hoped he wouldn't. She had to trust that they didn't believe Pagan and Jerro could have made it through the latest poisoning attempt - or if they had left, that she could track them down again.
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Jerro_oconnor

"I agree with Capt. Heber on this one." Jerro said. "Ye are not in any condition to lead the charge. That said, I know ye are just gonna ignore what I said, so I want to be there too." Jerro looked around to see if they all were in agreement, or at least as much agreement as possible[/i]
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan didn't answer, but her stubborn look and posture clearly indicated that she wouldn't budge an inch. Kelly's sturdy face reflected submission.

"Do I have a choice?" he grunted. "What do ye need?"

"A normal arming sword will do just fine. And please, fer Jah's sake don't be imposing no 4-foot two-handed longsword to me!"

Captain grinned. He dug his coffin and took out a bundle of clothes. He opened the bundles. It contained a polished and well-kept sword. He handed the weapon to Pagan.

"Will this do?"

Pagan took it. It was a handsome and expensive-looking sword with a cruciform hilt and a pommel. The blade was about 36 inches long and sharp as a razor.

Pagan glanced at Kelly who was looking out of the window, acting indifferent.

"All right, killer", Pagan said with a grin. "I will take good care of it."
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Brabaego_the Dark, played by Faheud

"Well, then lad, lets be to it. I can see by yer looks that you have skill and powers about you--tempered with wit. Exactly what we need to pull off our respective bosses' plans... the murder of all in Clan MacKenzie. They shall rue the day they ever tried to stop the Red Duke's Grande Design."

Branaego howled with laughter and motioned his new associate to follow him out to the stables from which place they would depart to where d'Argent was waiting...in the Last place MacKenzies would ever look.

--Ciar_indigo

They rode a while in the dark, rainy night, occasionally lit by a lightning. After a while Indigo thought of something:

"What about the abandoned prison? The girls that are being kept there?"

Branaego_the_Dark, played by Faheud

"Ahh...that..." grumbled Branaego, "That was an operation that moron Callaghan was running on the side. d"Argent put a stop to it at once as he did not need scrutiny anywhere near him. The prisons will have been set free a county away or cleansed, depending on the Viscomte's mood."

--Ciar_Indigo wrote:

They rode a while in the dark, rainy night, occasionally lit by a lightning. After a while Indigo thought of something:

"What about the abandoned prison? The girls that are being kept there?"

Pagan

"Right on!" Pagan said and sheathed the sword. "Come, Jerro - to the Circus next!" Pagan turned around on her heels and marched out of Kelly's office and across the town square to the MacKenzie Circus. About halfway there she suddenly remembered something - Desti's letter! She still hadn't answered it. Hopefully Grunt hadn't eaten the bird while they were away. Frowning at the image Pagan picked up the pace and rushed in the tavern. She let her eyes sweep the room as she stood on the doorway - nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual drunkards and Grunt behind the counter. Pagan marched to the bardesk, grabbed a tankard, chugged it down and said:

"Grunt, the bird. It is still alive, I hope?"

Grunt looked a little shocked at her mistress' mangled and bruised appearance but the fire on her eyes made him recover quickly. Grunt nodded and grunted enthusiastically and gestured for them to follow. Grunt went to the kitchen, and there it was, on the table, happily pecking stuff Grunt had laid out in front of it. Grunt looked at the bird with uncharacteristically loving, gentle eyes, and Pagan realized that her worry over the bird getting eaten had been futile. Instead she should have been worrying how the heck she could get Grunt to let go of it.
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Jerro_oconnor

As Pagan figured out how to wrest the bird from Grunt, Jerro ran up into the room that he had been occupying here (in theory anyway). He needed to grab his staff. It wasn't too flashy, just a length of oak about an inch-and-a-half thick, slightly taller than he was. It didn't even have a good polish or anything on it. It had served him well, and showed. He found it leaning up against a corner and rushed back downstairs.

He was tying the staff to his back in a loose knot, loose enough to come free with a quick tug, but not loose enough to fall off, when he reached the bottom step. He walked over to Pagan and asked her, "Ready?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan shook her head. "First I have to compose a letter fer Desti. Then I have some stuff upstairs in me room I will be needin'." Without further ado Pagan collected a peace of parchment, a pen and a bottle of ink from a drawer. Then she sat down and started scribbling, with her tongue sticking out from a corner of her mouth.

Dearest Desti,

I don't know how to put it gently, so I put it blunt. Zan's dead. He didn't take the antedote. I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say. I still live but not because of lack of effort! There has been numerous attempts on me life, I've been poisoned, beaten, tortured and mangled. It's a miracle that I still live. A man called Viscomte d'Argent is behind it all. Him and one Callaghan. They run their operation from the Luvafair - ye remember that empty joint, don't ye? Well, it's not empty anymore. They run some kind of operation from here - selling weapons to the NNGO and other criminal groups and finance it all through slave trade. Nasty business. Tomorrow I'm going to raid that place and rest assured d'Argent will die slowly fer all he's done. If he's still there. I'm sorry I still don't have any better news fer ye. I hope this letter finds ye alive and well.

May Jah and all the other gods up there help us all. Me thoughts and prayers are with ye.

Pagan

Pagan turned to face Grunt who had tears in his eyes as he understood what would happen next. But Pagan knew no mercy:

"Grunt, the bird."

Reluctantly Grunt handed the pigeon to Pagan, who rolled up the parchment, tied it to it's leg and released it through the window. Grunt's lower lip was trembling. Pagan touched his shoulder and said gently:

"Grunt, take the rest of the night off. Take tomorrow too if ye need."

Then she turned towards Jerro and said: "I'm going upstairs, come with me!" Pagan climbed the stairs and went to her room. She opened the big coffin in the corner and took out the shield, the plate mail armor and the crossbow. "Tomorrow I will have some use fer these. Where do ye suppose we should stay the night? Here, in the headquarters or someplace else?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro gave the question some thought. "Well, they probably already know ye live here, an I can't think of anyplace else, so I suppose headquarters would be the safest place."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan looked at Jerro in the eyes and nodded gloomily. "Aye, ye're probably right. Are ye sure ye want to be with us tomorrow? I have to warn ye, there will be blood. Some of it might be ours."

Pagan lifted up the plate mail armor and continued: "Well, there's still time to think it over - ye don't have to decide until tomorrow. Help me with this thing, will ye? It's kinda difficult to put on by yerself, but even more difficult to be carrying around with ye. Easiest just to wear it."

Once Pagan was fully dressed in her armor she took the crossbow and the quiver with bolts and tied them to her back the way she could grab and cock it as fast as possible. Crossbows were accurate and easy to aim for someone as poor with the bow as Pagan was, but the downside was that they were really slow to use. Now there was only two more things to take with her and she was ready for war. Her reliable friends from the battlefields in the Laighean War where they had saved her life many times.

The sword and the shield.
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Jerro_oconnor

As Jerro walked with Pagan down to headquarters, he thought over what she had said. It was true, a small part of him was saying, this isn't yer fight, ye could die here. Why risk yer life in something like this? Yes the king died, that is sad, but another one will come up, that happens almost daily in some places! He pushed that voice out of his head. No! I gave her my word. I will not sit here while someone out there is killing off people. And on and on he argued with the voice that wouldn't leave.

Eventually, he cut the voice off and thought about what Pagan had said. It was true, there was no doubt that blood would be spilled. Jerro was worried, would it be possible to uphold his oath? Would he be able to help when the time came? He was all too aware of the voice still hammering on him. He looked over to Pagan, and when he did a cold shiver ran down his spine. With her bruises, armor and weapons, if there had been any doubt about how serious the situation was, that doubt was gone. Pagan reminded him of the warrior queens that he would hear about in the stories.

He turned back to the road and realized that they were back at the headquarters. He didn't know that they had come back already. All doubts dissolved as he stood outside the doors. "No turning back now." He said quietly. Whether he was speaking to himself, or to Pagan, he didn't know. He followed Pagan into the headquarters, ready to face to entire world if necessary.

He would follow this through to the end.

Hopefully, not to his end.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Colonel Pagan MacKenzie and a small platoon of soldiers marched to the Luvafair next day a couple hours after sunrise. In addition to Pagan and Jerro there were eight soldiers from the C-company - four swordmen and four archers. All of them were hardened war veterans who had seen action in the Laighean war and had been part of some 'special NMA operations' after it.

Pagan was in a dangerous mood. All her bruises and injuries had kept her awake for the most of the night, and ghosts from the past had haunted her until the rising sun drove the night away. Without hesitation she ordered the archers to take positions on all sides of the tavern while she, Jerro and the swordmen would rush in through the main door. She appeared slender and dexterous in her plate mail armour. The heavy scabbard belt with it's wrought iron hilted sword hung low and challenging on her left hip.

She pushed the door open and entered. It was empty and desolate - just like it had been for so many years before d'Argent had taken it over. Only the lack of dust and cobwebs proved that anyone had ever been there at all. Pagan ordered the men to search the premises but didn't have much hope they would come up with anything. And she was right - not even a jahdamn bottle of whiskey.

Pagan turned towards Jerro. "Right then. The next step would be the prison. I'm not sure how to get there, but am I correct that Shamus knows the way? I'll get everyone horses and we'll ride there immediately, but could ye get Shamus to either show the way or draw us a map?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded. Yer right, I'll see if I can track him down." With that, he rushed off to Shamus's house, constantly looking over his shoulder for a tail or an ambush. He was able to find Shamus there, but he wasn't all too happy about being woken up this early. After explaining the situation, Shamus said that he would guide them. He told Jerro to meet him at the gate in ten minutes, and began to prepare for a fight. Jerro ran back to the empty luvafair to tell Pagan what Shamus had said.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan nodded and gestured for everyone to follow. All passers-by cleared out of the way when they saw ten heavily armed NMA soldiers marching down the street. Pagan led them to the NMA stables and asked the marshal to provide eleven horses for them. Then she led the men and the horses to the town gate where they met with Shamus.

They mounted the horses and started riding south. While following Shamus' lead Pagan went through the cart's probable route in her mind. They rode south for two hours before Pagan noticed the cart tracks Shamus was following on an old cattle path. The path went through open country, and Pagan didn't have any doubts they were on the right track. She rode carefully and used her eyes the whole time.

Each hour on the saddle increased her tension. Each mile - and the hunger and thirst, dust and flies that accompanied them - lifted her rage, and when she finally saw a shallow ridge rising above a valley and took a note of a thin pillar of smoke slowly rising towards the sky she knew the chase was over.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro felt out of place in the group. He was the only one without armor or a multitude of weapons. It wasn't because he didn't think he'd need them, but because he couldn't use them. He tried to stay away from lethal weapons (although anything could actually be lethal) and since he relied on speed and agility to fight, the armor would restrict his movement too much.

That wasn't the only reason. Each person here was ready to fight to the death. Jerro couldn't make that choice. He wasn't sure if he would be able to help at all. The voice in the back came back, feeding upon his doubts. If ye can't kill them, they'll get back up and kill someone else, maybe even you. Do ye expect them to stop the battle so ye can tie up each man ye knock out? Face it, yer useless here. What would ye do with all the prisoners anyway? Just turn around and go home!

Jerro tried to ignore this voice, but it was getting harder. When Jerro saw the smoke, the voice redoubled its efforts. Turn back now! It's not too late. Jerro ignored it and continued to ride. The fire meant that there was people there, cooking something. Or burning something. He didn't know what they would find, but he braced himself for the worse.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan motioned for everyone to follow her to the shrubbery where they tied up the horses properly. With the crossbow on her left hand she started crawling carefully along the ridge, trusting that everyone else would follow her lead. She found them a good vantage point and looked down.

The prison was about 300 yards below them. She saw it diagonally from above and kept an eye on the yard and the buildings until they could see the first signs of life.

The smoke was coming from the chimney of the main building. A little bit later the prison door opened. Twelve men walked out. A little bit later three more followed. There was no sign of d'Argent or Callaghan - in fact Pagan couldn't recognize any of them. But all of them were armed, and Pagan recognized their type by their clothing and the way they were moving. They were undoubtedly criminals. Pagan cursed from between her clenched teeth - she had hoped she could get Callaghan and d'Argent this time, but it seemed they had eluded her again.

"It seems to me like d'Argent and Callaghan abandoned the place and either sold their operation to someone else or somebody simply found it and picked up from where they had left, seeing all the prisoners there. I'm fairly sure all the girls are still inside and alive", Pagan said.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked back at the castle. He was relieved that the fire was coming from the chimney, which meant that they were cooking something. It could very well mean that they were burning paper evidence too, but at least it meant they weren't trying to burn anything too big.

He turned to Pagan and said, "It looks like Callaghan and d'Argente aren't here. We could still attack and see what they know. Plus a castle like that has got to have prisoners, maybe these girls ye speak of." He vaguely remembers someone entering the room when they were imprisoned, but he couldn't remember clearly. "What do we do?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan pondered about Jerro's question for a while and looked down again. The distance was long, but still it appeared to her like they were arguing. They were gesturing in a heated manner. A little later couple of them went back to the prison and returned holding big trays. "Food fer the women", Pagan said and memorized the door they had used. The others were standing and talking with each other, then a few of them went into the stables. Pagan was amazed when she saw how they opened a huge door. They literally removed half of the wall. They pulled out a big, tall wagon covered with sailcloth. Pagan smiled bitterly and said: "A cathouse on wheels!"

That was all the proof she needed - the wagon and the women! Now all there was to do was to arrest them. But how? She estimated the distance. 250-300 yards. That was a bit much even for the archers. And there was just too many of them. How many arrows they had time to shoot before the crooks could scramble for cover? And after nightfall they would escape. No, the archers were not the solution.

Coldness arose within her as the only possible alternative cleared up in her mind. She answered to Jerro's question: "We must go down there, face them up close and personal and kill each and every one of them that doesn't surrender. That is if we can survive ourselves."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro licked his lips nervously. His palms began to sweat. Oddly enough though, he felt more calm than he should. He looked over at everyone below him and prepared himself. "By yer command." Jerro said. He looked at Shamus and saw him pull out several wicked looking throwing knives and twin shortswords. Jerro marveled at how he could hold all that weaponry at once. Then he took hold of his staff and prepared to charge.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan wasn't being melodramatic, for she knew the odds were not on their side. There were ten of them agaist the fifteen crooks down there. Fifteen armed bandits, and while Pagan's troops were all elite fighters, she reckoned at least some of the bandits were weapons experts too. So the odds were against them, but she had no choice. The urge for destruction and vengeance was irresistable - it dispelled the fear of death that the weak odds created. Besides, each one of them had faced worse odds before - including Jerro and Shamus, Pagan concluded, remembering what had happened in that house with Skunk Kid and the others.

"When should we go down there?" Pagan asked without expecting a reply. She was just thinking out loud. "Now? Or after nightfall?"

"No, not in the dark", Pagan turned herself down. "We will have to see what we are up against." She looked down at the men who started loading the wagon with crates and barrels. "Dear Jah - are they equipping fer a new expedition? That can't be possible!" The answer cleared to her when she saw all the things they were loading in the wagon. "They are going to desert the place!"
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Jerro_oconnor

"Are we going to attack them, or not?" Jerro knew that he was being impertinent, but they had to make a decision now. Then Shamus came up with an idea that he should have earlier.

"We could fall back and set up an ambush."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"What do ye mean?" Pagan asked and looked back at the road they had travelled through. Her eyes widened as she saw what Shamus had been looking at apparently for quite some time now. There was a shelf-like deck on top of a hill that rose from the foot of a sandstone hill about two miles ahead. The place was terrific for an ambush - the horses could be well hidden behind those ten to fifteen feet tall rocks and the bandits had to go past that point - there was no other road for a huge wagon like that to travel through. Pagan looked at Shamus and said:

"Oh, I can see what ye mean now. It could work!"

Without wasting more time Pagan gave the soldiers their orders, and soon they were all on their horses again and riding along a deep valley in a low country so the dust wouldn't reveal their whereabouts. Pagan's war experiences enabled her to instinctively locate the right route even when they couldn't see their destination from where they were.
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Jerro_oconnor

The rest of the group followed Pagan through the valley. They rode hard until they reached the spot they would hide their horses. Then they scaled up to the top where they would stage their ambush. A handful of swordsman hid in the brush on the other side of the road to fully ensnare them. Jerro was among those troops, but Shamus wasn't.. Without a long range weapon climbing the hill would have been pointless. They hunkered down and waited for Pagan's signal.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan explained her plan to the fighters while they were still on one group: "Right, I and the archers go to the top of the hill while Jerro, ye and the swordsmen go hide behind those bushes to wait fer the signal. Shamus, I want ye to be behind that rock there on the opposite side of the road with one end of a rope in hand and Jerro, if ye could take the other end. When I whistle, pull the rope tight so the horses will trip on it. There will be one or two people sitting on the drover's seat, so I and possibly one other archer will shoot them down. Most of them will be sitting in the covered wagon, so the rest of the archers will have to light torches as quickly as they can and shoot the sailcloth with burning arrows, it will burn fast and expose the rest of the bandits. The crossbow is slow, so I only really have time fer one bolt - so I will jump down and join the swordsmen fighting on the road while the archers continue shooting arrows from the hill. Are we alright with this plan?" Pagan looked around at everyone to see that everyone had understood or if anyone had objections or better ideas.
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Jerro_oconnor

They all agreed that it was probably the best shot they had, but one soldier said, "But ma'am, what if there're prisoners in th' wagon?" A quick burst of murmuring agreement ran through the group as they looked to Pagan for guidance.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. "Based on what I saw them doing in the prison yard I don't believe they are going to take the girls with them. I believe their plan is to take along everything valuable and let the prisoners to rot there. Anyway, there's no time to think of a better solution anymore."

Pagan gestured for everyone to move into their positions. She grabbed her crossbow and checked that the bolt was properly in it's place. Then she cocked the weapon and laid it beside her. Judging by the angle of the sun there was no danger that the steal parts would shimmer. As they had approached the place she had also examined the shelf to determine if it would appear conspicious somehow, but it didn't. Half a mile back there was a similar rock, also surrounded by heaps of large rocks. The ambush could have been possible to set anywhere, even right in the middle of the valley to a gorge.

Everything was ready. They had followed every rule of precausion.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro crouched in the bushes as they waited for the wagons to pass. He knew from experience that it was easier to hide than people thought. Unless they stopped to turn over every rock, they would probably not notice them. People had a tendency to see what they wanted, and even then, they usually didn't look farther than head-height unless they knew to look otherwise.

He didn't know how long they waited before the wagon loomed into view. He saw that there was indeed two men on the drover's seat, but Jerro couldn't look see anyone else without leaving the brush. The man next to the drover had a crossbow out while the drover had one laid across his lap. He looked up to where Pagan was waiting for the signal.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan let her gaze glide along the rocks. She coudn't see through them to the plains where the prison was. But that meant that the bandits couldn't spot them either, not even by an accident. Pagan was dead calm. They had set a death trap.

About an hour later Pagan first saw dust flooding from an opening between the rocks and then a huge wagon pulled by four horses rushing in the view full speed - the distance was about 500 yards. There was two men sitting on the drover's seat. Pagan noticed right away that they were driving the horses to the extreme. Both had crossbows but only the one sitting next to the drover had it ready.

Pagan took her crossbow, positioned it on her cheek and took an aim.

"I take the one with the crossbow - the one on the left", she said in a low voice.

The archer next to her nodded.

The distance got shorter, and when it was hundred yards, the other archers started hitting a spark.

When it was only 30 yards, Pagan whistled the signal and pulled the trigger at the same time, followed by the archer next to her only a fraction of a second later.
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Jerro and Shamus both pulled hard on the rope. The rope had a greater effect than they had anticipated. After the first pair of horses went down, the second pair fell over the first. Jerro winced as the full weight of the cart ran over the pile-up of horses and overturned. Several men fell out through the canvas top over to where Shamus had hidden. These few were quickly picked off by Shamus's throwing knives and the archers above. Then, as the cart continued to slide, the reins pulled taut as the horses weight yanked the fallen cart into a wide circle. Jerro, Shamus, Pagan and the swordsmen quickly moved into position; either to apprehend prisoners or to kill the criminals.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan's bolt hit the man on his sternum. Before she had really time to comprehend all that had happened, she had jumped down of the cliff, ready to face the opposition. She stood up and turned her left, shield side turned to the enemy as the wagon fell down and the men fell off from it. Burning arrows rained from above her head. She could hear the panicked shouts.

Pagan saw a man diving fore with a sword in both hands. The man and Pagan rushed towards each other simultaneously. Splinters of her shield flew in tract of her ears. Her opponent bent down holding his gut with both hands, staggered beside the waggon and fell on his knees. He started howling out to the sky. Another man emerged from behind the wagon. A blade whirled through the air towards her, slicing her shirt and her flesh enough to make it burn.
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Jerro had just enough time to see Pagan get hit before he was beset by his own foe. The man came rushing out of the burning wagon, both hands on his sword, sword above his head. Jerro had just brought his staff up in time to block the two-handed swing. The impact jarred his arms, sending little shocks of pain through them. He pushed the sword away, knocking the man off balance, and kicked his legs out from under him. Not missing a beat, Jerro swung the staff high over his head and brought it down in a circle right down on the man's temple.

The man who rushed Jerro seemed to have been knocked senseless, but to be sure Jerro brought the butt of his staff down upon the man's forehead. He whirled to where he saw Pagan get attacked, to find the situation taken care of.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

A massive blow from a sword smashed the breast plate of Pagan's armor open and left it hanging from one hinge on her side. She took two steps back. Her opponent lifted his two-handed longsword high above his head, aimed and dropped it, a curse emanating from his distorted lips. Pagan could hear the blade swinging towards her head. Blindly she threw herself to her side, took a better grip of the shield and lifted it to defensive position. She lifted her sword and swung blindly. A second later her opponent responded. The blade missed Pagan blatantly. Her opponent was standing with his feet apart, face distorted in an expression of pain and horror while his hands were trying to keep his guts from dropping on the ground. Pagan stared in awe that big man twitching in terrible agony. He shouted: "Ye whore! Ye bloody whore!"

Pagan stood up. She was watching the doomed man, now slumping down to his knees, hands holding his guts, life pouring out of him with a flood of blood.

Pagan clenched her teeth, lifted her sword almost carelessly and let it drop. The man's head was rolling on the ground, a shower of blood erupted from the stump of the neck while the headless torso fell on the ground.

Sounds of the battle had stopped. There were corpses lying everywhere. Pagan lurched towards the wagon that was lying down on it's side and pressed her forehead and palms against the wooden bottom of the cart. She stood there breathing heavily, fighting against nausea and disgust and didn't see Jerro approaching before he was right there.
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Jerro looked down at Pagan's former opponent, bile rising up in his throat. "Well," He began. "I suppose that would definately do it." He looked over the battlefield, saddened by all of the death. He looked back at Pagan and began to speak again. "It looks like that's the last of them. The man I fought was still breathing, last I checked. Looks like he may be the only one. If ye want to capture him, though, I'd do it quickly. In my experience, they rarely stay down for very long."

He looked over at the man he was fighting. He could see signs of breathing, but he would probably have a nasty headache and some swelling too. That would be lucky if that was all he had. Head wounds, while easy to knock someone out with, could also kill easily. He may have to be watched for a while to ensure he wakes up at all. His eyes flicker over to what was left of the man Pagan fought, and he remembered what Pagan had said earlier. He mentally corrected himself and thought, if Pagan decides that they should keep him alive, that is.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan didn't know how long she had stood there before Jerro spoke. She forced herself to take a grip and looked around her. All the bandits were dead. Unfortunately, so was two of her swordsmen. Two out of ten against fifteen is not bad though, she thought bitterly. She stepped over the headless torso of her last opponent and approached the motionless figures lying down on the battlefield. One was lying on his side with hooked feet. Even in death his features were brutish. Another one had revealed his teeth in a grimace that revealed the pain and powerless rage he had felt on the point of dying. Pagan turned her gaze at the only one that was still living.

The man moved. Exactly at that moment an arrow flew from the cliff and landed on the man's chest. Pagan cursed and bellowed: "Cease fire, idiots! It is over!"

Slowly she approached the man. An arrow was sticking from his chest. Pagan drew her sword in a blink of an eye. She touched the man carefully with the tip of her boot. He lifted himself up leaning to his elbow, a sword dangling powerlessly in his right hand. That's why the archer had shot him. He cursed with a husky voice when Pagan kicked the sword away.

She knelt next to the wounded man. She saw instantly that he was doomed to death. The arrow had impaled him right below his heart.

Pagan lifted his flopping head.

"Ye are finished", she said callously. "All the others are dead. Ye hear me?"

A flicker of life lit in his eyes.

"Are ye with d'Argent - and Callaghan?"

"Go to...!"

"Are ye with them? Where are they? Talk to me!"

The man clenched his teeth. A sloshing sound emanated from his chest as the chest sinus was filling with blood. He would suffocate soon.

"Talk to me!"

A membrane veiled his dim eyes - a couple of harsh cramps, and the man was dead.

Pagan stayed sitting there leaning on her knee. The sword weighted like lead in her hand. It was all over. She had avenged. But it had left a bad taste in her mouth.
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Jerro fell to his knees, staring at the dead man. Seconds ago, he had been alive, granted he had been trying to kill Jerro, but he had still been alive. A thin wave of relief swept over Jerro, he had been able to keep his oath after all. That relief was soon dragged out by anger and resentment. Ye great bloody fool! He berated himself. What good is yer oath now. Ye may not have had a hand in these men's deaths, but neither did ye do anything to stop it! These men probably had families, people who loved them. Now they have pall-bearers. And for what? So one man can benefit?

Eventually, it was too much for Jerro to bear. He vomited, disgusted by everything. He fell in a heap next to the pool of bile, shaking with pent up rage and fear. He closed his eyes and just laid there. After several minutes, he quietly croaked, "I just can't do this anymore."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan straightened up. The pain she felt on her left shoulder made her bite her teeth. The armor was wrecked beyond repair - just a piece of scrap metal now. Pagan removed the broken breast plate and left it on the ground. She realized she looked rediculous with only hands and feet armored, but they were intact so she would have to return them. Slowly she looked around her.

The women!

Pagan started barking orders at the soldiers. She commanded them to turn the wagon back on it's wheels and load the merchandise and the dead bodies on it. She removed the hand and leg plates of her armor and loaded them to the cart too when it had been turned around.

Only then she noticed Jerro on the side of the road, lying down with closed eyes and shaking all over. Pagan had seen this reaction before, many times during the Laighean war. At one point she had been through it herself, so she knew what he was feeling. Pagan went to him, knelt down next to him and gently touched his arm. She said with a soft voice:

"Are ye all right?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

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--Shamus

Pagan

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--Shamus

--Viscomte_dargent

Pagan

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Jerro_oconnor

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

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Jerro_oconnor

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro listened to the women talk. Something was off. From Jerro's (granted, meager) experience, women generally only cooked for you if they liked you, if they liked to cook, or both. They were still acting and speaking as slaves, cooking simply to please them. They weren't talking about themselves, or anything else but how to serve the men. Just what had Callaghan done to them?

After a couple of minutes, he waited for a lull in the conversation, before trying to get them to open up a bit more. "Why don't ye tell us about yerselves? Since yer free now, ye can do whatever ye want! Do ye have any plans of the future?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Jerro's innocent question made the chatter stop as if it had been cut down with a knife. The women straightened up - suspiciously. Their looks drilled at Jerro.

Instinctively Pagan understood that they didn't want to return to Imleach. They didn't want to face their own vanity in front of other people. The NMA would demand inquests, endless stream of details. Town gossips would gormandize with details and paint fantastic stories that would spread in taverns and shops. Nobles would scream indecency and works of The Nameless One. They would be rejected, shut out of the society and possibly even slain.

Pagan understood this to be the truth and didn't want it to happen to them. She had to think of something to spare them from that fate, but first she had to make them open up to her - to tell her what they knew. But how?
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Jerro saw the suspicious looks that they were giving him. Well, it was a step up from subservience (he supposed). "I'm sorry, ye don't have to tell me if ye don't want. I understand ye've been through a lot, and they would've done the same to Pagan here if Shamus over there hadn't saved us." Shamus, having heard his name, but not the conversation, looked over at the party and waved. "If ye want to keep it secret, then I can't make ye. It's just we are worried about ye, and want to make sure yer fine." Jerro leaned back as if the conversation were finished and continued eating.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The women shifted their gaze from Jerro to Pagan, and the realization she had been through at least part of what had been done to them made their attitude towards her change into more trusting. In their eyes Pagan had just turned into one of them. Pagan took an advantage of it and started talking with them - told them about her work, the assassination of the King and how she had tried to hunt down those responsible, told them about Callaghan and d'Argent - and they in turn told how that diabolical d'Argent had lured them into a trap. They told about the promises, contracts, the trip to the "countryside" to relax and rest, the shock they had experienced when they had found out the "retreat" was in fact an abandoned prison, where they were forced to do unspeakable things and where they were dulled and broken until they were ready to do anything just to get out of there.

Pagan perked her ears. She thought about d'Argent and the almost physical disgust she had felt for that foreigner. Why? Was he evil? Obviously, but that wasn't all. There had been something sick, something almost alien to humanity - something... ingratiating, slippery; Pagan could not find the words to describe what she was feeling.
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Jerro_oconnor

An unsettling feeling passed over Jerro as the girls began to tell Pagan their tale. He manipulated them. He didn't even mean to, but it had happened again. He had done a lot of that to live before, people didn't just give you money for lies and glass afterall, but he tried not to anymore. His unsettling feeling quickly turned to one of horror, as the story unfolded. Only this wasn't a story, it had been their lives. Maybe he would go back on his oath this one time...

No, no exceptions. Besides, by the time they got to d'Argente, and after everyone's had their piece, there wouldn't be enough left to spit on.

Maybe if he got there first...

Then he would hand him over to Pagan, or someone else who deserved retribution.

He thought quietly as images of the girls in front of them doing to him what he had done to them, and found he felt a grim satisfaction at the thought. He remained quiet, even as they were nearing the end of their talking, as if they were birds that would take flight if he so much as moved. They still didn't trust him, he wouldn't doubt if they never trusted a single man afterwards after what they've been through, and his interruption would no doubt bring an end to what they had to say.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Do ye know where d'Argent is now?" Pagan asked.

They shook their heads.

"Do ye have any idea where he might be?"

They were quiet for a long time, trying hard to think of something. "Well?" Pagan said in a friendly tone.

"No... no we don't."

"Tell me about them", Pagan said. "Everything ye know. Absolutely everything."

And little by little the details came out. Callaghan's sadistic brutality, incomprehensible cruelty, morbid and unexplained hatred towards all women - and his secret hatred, loathing and envy towards d'Argent, who treated him - as he treated all his underlings and accomplishes - like something he had found from under his boot.

Pagan still couldn't understand d'Argent. Cruel, sadistic brutes she could understand - her father had been like that, in a way Callaghan had been like a replica of her own father - but not d'Argent's type. It was as if something had been missing from him - something that was usually there, even in the most callous, hardened and evil men Pagan had met before. That was the only way she could describe how she felt.
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D'Argente had no conscience. He seemed to have the opposite of one, a little voice that whispered vile secrets and praised evil. Jerro thought he had been horrified before, now he mixed horrified with disgust. How could you be so cruel for so little? He greatly doubted killing his own men put a single pound in his pockets, torturing people for the sake of it wouldn't feed him. "That's... that's... Jerro couldn't even finish his statement, he wasn't sure which emotion would come out on top.

Jerro was surprised that d'Argente didn't leave a trail of blood for them to follow. Jerro thought that he knew d'Argente's type when he first saw him, but he was dead wrong. He was worse than Jerro ever could have imagined.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--The_red_duke

The Red Duke was not pleased and this did not go well. Especially for the last three servants that brought news...or a lack thereof.

He penned a letter.

"d'Argent. I am not in fact delighted with the failure of a report to wend its wayward path towards me from your hand.

You asked for my Finisher and she has been dispatched.

Is Anto Capone dead? Why not?

Is Allan Brightpoint dead? Why not?

Are the MacKenzie disaster sisters, Pagan and Destini raped and dead? Why not?

Is Paddy MacKenzie hung from a gibbet outside his own keep? Why not?

Get. It. Done.

If I have to come over there, you will pray for the gentle passing that embraces a death of one thousand cuts.

Fondly

The Red Duke.

Pagan

They continued talking about those two and hours went by. Little by little it came evident that the women didn't know anything useful. At some point Pagan blurted out:

"Don't ye want to go back to Imleach?"

The looks on their faces told her the answer.

"Well ye could always run away", she said dryly. "How could we hold down a bunch of determined women like yerselves? Ye've got clothes, food and a wagon. The road to Chonnacht is long, but ye could make it. Perhaps..." Pagan looked hesitatingly at Jerro, then Shamus and back to Jerro again before she continued, "perhaps Shamus could help ye? I remember how ye told me once that it's kinda what he does - bends and breaks the law sometimes to help the innocent?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Could he? Jerro thought about it. "Yeah, I suppose he could. Let's ask him."

Jerro called Shamus over and they explained the situation to him. "So, will ye do it?"

Shamus appeared to be thinking about it, but Jerro knew what his answer was gonna be before he said anything. "I don't like to leave my shop for too long, but for ye, I'll make an exception. Just tell me when ye want to leave and I'll be ready."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Life lit in their eyes. "Do ye mean that, Shamus?" whispered one of the girls - color returned in her skinny, dimpled cheeks.

"Yes, he means it", said Pagan. "In Chonnacht ye have yer change. Just make sure ye grab that opportunity and don't fall into... well... ye know what I mean."

They laughed. "I will force the first decent man I can find to marry me with a knife in his throat!" said one of them, a blond girl from An Caiseal called Ída. Her name brought back memories of another girl, another Ída Pagan had known not so long ago.*) Pagan wondered whatever had happened to her, but then pushed the memory away. She didn't want to think about Ída. But these girls seemed like almost normal already.

"Well what are ye waiting fer?", she said with a grin.

Two hours later everything was clear. Pagan was walking around the prison yard - restless. She was thinking about d'Argent. All of a sudden a bird landed on her shoulder. Pagan recognized the courier bird immediately - and it had a message attached to it's leg. Pagan took the letter and opened it.

~5 June 1459 ~ Betwixt Holywell & Liverpool, Westmorland, England ~ Aboard the vessel Serenity ~

Dearest Pagan,

I am deeply sorrowed and angered at the death of our king and friend. Pagan, my friend, I will not lie to you. I want vengence. I hope you have killed the Viscomte d'Argent. But if you have not, I want a word with him myself for the atrocities he has committed against our kin. You know what I am like when I want vengence. This time, I will not back down.

I have secured passage aboard a ship named Serenity. I come with three allies, agents of Cardinal Faheud, to aid you. Though we are not soldiers, I think our information and talents will be of use to you. Look for our arrival by light of the third day. We should be in port in Eire by then.

If you are able (and I pray you are) please send us word on the situation before we make landfall. It will help us prepare.

Yours in allied service,
~ Desti

Pagan's eyes widened as she read. Destini was coming! She was already on a ship! Pagan started running back inside the prison and shouted at Jerro: "Make sure everything goes all right with Shamus and the lasses, aye? I have to go write a letter!"

*) (ORP) Skunk Kid in An Mumhain Inn archives.
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Jerro_oconnor

"Aye. I will." Jerro said as Pagan rushed off. He was curious what the letter had to say, it must've been important for her to rush off like that. If she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. He turned and began to help with the packing, it was goingbto be a long trip for them, but they'd lead better lives.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Once Pagan had fed the bird, retreated in a quiet corner office and dug up some writing utensils, she read Destini's letter again. It reminded her of the time when Destini had come in the Circus and asked for her help - a sword, to be exact - to hunt down and kill the man she suspected was responsible of the death of her parents. Pagan had offered - no, demanded - to come with her on her quest, but actually she had attempted to talk her out of it. And she had been successful.

But something in the tone of her letter told Pagan that Destini had had it rough in her trip to England. That she was changed now. More mature. And something else too. Pagan sensed that Destini had now fully learned how taking a life always had a price tag attached to it. It was easy to do, living with it was the hard part.

Of course it would get easier each time...

Pagan grabbed the pen and started writing.

Dearest Desti,

I am so happy to hear you are coming and so close already. On the other hand I am very worried too. Things here are pretty bad. But, by the sound of it, you've not been exactly smelling the roses there in England, so who knows - maybe it is even worse there?

I'm afraid d'Argent managed to slip through my net. Luvafair is as empty and abandoned as ever. We did a strike to the old prison where they had been doing their human trafficking from and killed a whole lot of bandits who were in the process of abandoning the place, but I have no way of knowing whether they were d'Argent's men, people he had sold the operation to or just some folks who had stumbled there by accident because they all kinda died.

But we did manage to save the prisoners, that is the good part.

I am now returning to Imleach. We have no more leads, so I think we'll just stay put and wait for you to arrive. Hopefully you and your agents have something concrete we can follow, otherwise I don't know what to do.

Your friend,
Pagan

Pagan tied the message to the bird's leg, went outsdide and released it in the air, confident that the animal would find it's way to Destini in some mysterious way, like it had so far. Then she turned around and yelled:

"Alright, Shamus drives the wagon and the women away first! We will give them one hour head start before we mount up and head back to Imleach! Any questions?"
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"None here." Shamus called back. The girls were too excited at the prospect of freedom to say anything, and probably hadn't heard Pagan anyway. In minutes, they were off, on there way to a new life. As Jerro watched them leave, he wondered how it would all turn out.

Once Pagan rejoined them, he asked, "Anythin good?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan looked at Jerro and nodded. "Aye", she answered. "We are getting some help from England. Destini is coming, and she's got some 'agents' with her, whatever that means."

After an hour they mounted their horses. Pagan's face was expressionless as she turned at the gate of the prison and looked long and inquisitively back at the grim fort in the fog of the misty day. That place had nearly become her grave. For a moment Pagan felt almost irrisistable urge to spur her horse, ride straight to Port Lairge, get a ticket to the next ship out of Eire and never look back. Zan was dead. There was nothing in this world she could do that would ever bring him back.

But there were others too. Paddy, her kin and clan, An Mumhain, the whole Eire was in danger for as long as d'Argent lived and breathed. And Destini was coming. So they rode - step by step - and soon the old abandoned prison disappeared in the fog behind them.
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Jerro_oconnor

A while later, after the mostly quiet ride back to Imleach, the gate rolled into view. , Jerro asked Pagan, "What do we do now? Do we look for d'Argente some more, or do we rest and wait for reinforcements?" If they were to look, Jerro didn't know what he would do. He had exhausted his most reliable resources, and he was afraid what would happen if he went undercover again.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

As the gates of Imleach rolled into view Pagan glanced at the sky. It was starting to get dark. Pagan didn't know why, but something made her pull the reins of her horse. She stopped and so did everyone else. Pagan looked at Jerro, indecisively. "I'm not sure", she answered to his question, "I guess we have to improvise."

"All right!" she commanded the soldiers. "Ye get back to barracks and report to the Captain! Tell him the operation was a success, and that I will get back later to fill him in!"

If Jerro thought Pagan had some kind of plan or rational reason for doing this, has was mistaken. But Pagan had an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach that told her not to return to Imleach with the soldiers, and not to return before the darkness had fallen. There was no rational reason for it, just an instinct and Pagan had learned to trust her instincts.

"Come, follow me", she said to Jerro as the soldiers continued to Imleach. Pagan led the way, rode quickly in a forested valley between two steep cliffs and dismounted. She didn't unsaddle the horse, just spread the rain quilt to the ground, sat on it, produced her hipflask and took a nip.
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Jerro followed Pagan away from the gates, confused at what was happening. Where was she going? He followed wordlessly as she went further away. He saw Barrabas through the trees, so he assumed that this way was right.

He often wondered about that, was he going mad? No, he was too young for that. Anyway, which was more likely, after a traumatic experience at a young age, he sees his dead friend as a way to keep calm during times of stress and indecision, or that Jah let his friend come down to earth as a guardian angel that only he could see? No contest. Besides, didn't crazy people throw cats at people, or run around stark naked, or something... Well, crazy?

He pushed these thoughts aside as they came to a stop. Pagan dismounted, so Jerro did too. Then she pulled out a rain quilt and started to drink. "Erm... What are ye doin? Shouldn't we be doing somethin else, not having a picnic?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"We are waiting fer the sun to set", Pagan said wryly. She hoped that Jerro wouldn't ask what for, because she really didn't know how to answer. She didn't want Jerro to know she had no idea how to proceed from here. She tilted the flask a few more times before it was dark enough.

She mounted her horse again and waved at Jerro to follow as she rode the last half a mile to Imleach.

She led them through back alleys with her head bent down, hoping that she would not bump into anyone she knew. The restless feeling in the bottom of her stomach just didn't let go. As she approached the main street she dismounted and started to walk the horse with her left hand. The dark hilt of her sword was barely visible against her black shirt. She felt stiff, tired and insecure. The flame of hatred was gone. She was afraid of her own mood. She hated the suffocating feeling of defeat. Jah damn d'Argent to hell! Pagan gathered her thoughts. There was no point in complaining or feeling sorry for herself. It didn't help anything. She knew that Jerro could see she was more quiet and reserved than normally, but she couldn't help herself.
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Jerro_oconnor

He followed Pagan through the streets. She seemed off somehow, but Jerro couldn't place why. Perhaps she had finally drunk so much, she had become terrifically, horribly sober. Then Jerro wondered why he kept having these strange thoughts, perhaps he was still feeling off himself. He was also worried about what would happen should they get attacked. He didn't have a weapon anymore. Although he felt sorry for anyone to cross Pagan's path right now. Jerro couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, or led into another trap.

He wanted to ask Pagan what was wrong, but it was obvious she was trying to avoid being noticed. Why, though? He couldn't ask that, either. He fell behind her a few paces further and tried to become inconspicuous. It was too late for most crowds, and the horses marked them as just getting in town from afar. They also marked them as being together, no matter the distance he put between them. They were more Exposed than he would have liked, but he was sure that they would make it fine. If only he could shake his uneasy feeling.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

It would have been so hard to die now. Pagan clenched on life, thinking about it the way she could share it with Kadie, free of killing and fear of death.

But who said she had to die!

A small spark of pride was glowing in her. She graced the hilt of her sword carefully with her right hand. She had her sword on her belt and her shield hanging from the saddle of the horse. Oddman had trained her in the art of combat and the war had honed her skills into perfection. A perilous confidence overtook her. She noticed it and smiled cruelly. Her will to fight didn't give in...

Down the road was the bailiwick. The front and the windows were dark. A sign was glowing white.

Pagan glanced quickly at both directions on the street. Then she slipped across the street to stare at the poster. The light from a solitary lantern on other side of the street was enough.

An iron claw clenched her guts.

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING
IN SUSPICION OF CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT REGICIDE

PAGAN MACKENZIE

JERRO O'CONNOR

She didn't read more but turned around and looked at Jerro.
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Jerro saw Pagan stop and look back to him expectantly. He caught up, looked past her and read the sign.

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING
IN SUSPICION OF CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT REGICIDE

PAGAN MACKENZIE

JERRO O'CONNOR

"Jah!" He whispered. "That don't look good at all." How could they be the ones to do it? Did people actually believe this? Pagan had been poisoned herself, and the marks on her now weren't self inflicted. In any case, they shouldn't be seen. "Ye were right. We should get out of here quickly. But that might make us look guilty. What should we do?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan felt her whole life crumble beneath her feet. They suspected her of poisoning Zan! Pagan had no doubt d'Argent had something to do with it, and that he had framed them properly. In a perfect world she would have just gone to the proper authorities to discuss things and promptly proven guilty and released, but this was not a perfect world and Pagan had seen enough to know how the system worked. Everything that was needed was someone that might have done it, after that it was just a question of making them confess. And uh, Pagan knew they had means to make her and Jerro confess. Even if she could convince Paddy and her clan that it wasn't her, they wouldn't help her. They couldn't. The whole county would be demanding their blood, and Paddy would have to remain silent just to protect everyone else in the Clan, no matter how terrible torture they would subject her and Jerro. And Pagan wouldn't condemn Paddy for that - in his shoes she would do the same thing.

All the power and authority Pagan had been accustomed to was drained out of her. She had come far after that night she had killed her father, and had learned to base her life in two certainties: she was a MacKenzie, and she was with the NMA. First as a soldier, later as an officer. Both certainties had brought her so much more respect, authority and power she could have ever been able to accomplish by any other means, the labil drunkard she was.

But now it was all gone. Even though Pagan had had her troubles with the law when she had been younger, it had all been just the usual disturbing of peace, wrecking the tavern, resisting the authorities kinds of things - nothing that a good night in jail and sometimes a small fine wouldn't solve. But now it was different. This was bad, and this was a situation Pagan was not at home in. When she looked at Jerro, she looked nothing like the fearce warrior she had been before, but rather like the lost little girl she had been way before:

"I... I don't know, Jerro. What do people usually do when they are outlawed?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Hmm... While Jerro had been in plenty of trouble with the law before, it had never been under his actual name and there were never any posters. Still, he knew people who had gotten into this kind of trouble, not regicide really, but still general bad stuff.

"Well, there are three things we could do. I say three, but it's really two and the second option has two choices in itself. First, we could turn ourselves in, proclaim our innocence and try to prove it. More likely we'll be killed more or less on the spot. The second option is we hide and gather evidence from the shadows."

He pulled her off the main road into a small alleyway so that they could have some semblance of privacy. "Now, we could try running to another town, or even another country, but we might lose all of our leads here. The other way is to disguise ourselves, stay away from our usual haunts and stay here. It's risky, but we may be able to find out more."

He looked out of the alley and down both sides of the street. He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean there was no one there. "So, which will it be?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent entered the Bailiwick and followed the signs to the Constable's office. The stocky fellow smiled when he recognized his visitor.

"Ey up. Lad.... Good ter see ye... Appreciates the heads up on the assassins. We found the evidence just as you suggested we might. Who'd a thought it...an Army Officer and all..."

d'Argent smiled pleasant ice.

"Greetings. Just trying to be a good citizen and help the law. Here are the four hundred pounds offered. The other half when you have detained the prisoners for trial."

The Viscomte handed over a heavy bag of silver. He started to leave then, but thought better and turned to make a final parting comment.

"Oh, when you take them into custody, there is no need to be particularly gentle...."

Pagan

"Oh, we wouldn't be killed on spot", Pagan said grimly. "Oh no, we wouldn't get away that easily. Trust me, I've been the Constable and I know. In effect being 'detained fer questioning' is much worse fate than being found guilty and executed - that's why most people confess right on the spot whether they did it or not. Our method of execution - a drop from the high window - is a very humane and civilized form of ending one's life. There isn't time fer it to hurt. But worse fate awaits those stubborn ones who cling on to their innocence and have high hopes of their abilities to prove it to the Court. There are many methods of making people confess. One of the most lenient one was something we called the 'Lie Detector Test'. It is very simple. The suspect is tied to a big stone and thrown into a pond. If the suspect drowns, that means they are innocent. But if they float, that means they are guilty and Jah wants to save their lives so that they can face the righteous earthly justice and be thrown out of the high window of Corcaigh Palace. Surprisingly large number of convicts were found innocent and got their reputations cleared post mortem with the Lie Detector Test."

"So turning ourselves in is not an option - not before we can prove our innocence. And running away is no answer either - we would have to run fer the rest of our lives and never look back. So I say the third option is the best chance we can get. What do ye suggest?"
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Jerro_oconnor

"I'd hoped ye would say that." Jerro said with a grin. "I know a guy, or rather I knew a guy. His sister, though, does wonders with disguises. She's the best I know. Come on, we've got to find somewhere to lose these horses first. Got any ideas there?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"I think the best we can do is just let them loose. They are marked fer the army, and they know their way back home. The only downside in this is that our pursuers will know know that we are in town, or at least that we didn't run away with the army horses. The other alternative would be to kill them somewhere, but to be honest I would hate to do that. It would also be really difficult to find a safe place to do it, let alone hide the corpses. No, I say we let the horses go free", Pagan said and detached the shield from the saddle. She looked at Jerro apologetically and added:

"Obviously I know I can't be carrying a sword and a shield with me while disguised, but I might need them still and we need to get them somewhere we can keep them. I hope yer friend doesn't live far because especially the shield might draw some attention while I'm carrying it."
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Jerro_oconnor

"Depends on the disguise. Let's go, we've got to get movin." Jerro smacked the horses flank and the horse took off. He was glad that they wouldn't have to kill the horses, or try to hide them nearby. Where they were going, the horses would probably be stolen, or worse. He checked for people again, then took of for the underworld of Imleach.

He was spending much more time there lately than he had liked. He filled Pagan in on some of the details. "Her name is Deirdre. She lives in the outskirts of "the bad part" of Imleach. Her brother was a small time crook. He was actually thrown out of a high window a couple of years ago. She made some money legally as an artist. She also does tattoos and what we'll be there for. Do ye use make-up? Not the way she does. Deirdre can completely reshape yer face with it. She can make realistic scars and wrinkles. She can do just about anythin. The only thing we'll have to worry about is clothes and how we carry ourselves. Any questions so far?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Aye, I use make-up. I dye me hair too", Pagan confessed. "I'm naturally a brunette", she confessed, rather pointlessly. She didn't have any questions. She had been struck down from the pedastal, from everything she had learned to take for granted.

Now the law would be chasing her. The same law she had used as her own shield so many times before.

There was no running away now. They were wanted for regicide. Soon there would be a bounty on their heads, and that would be a death sentence for them.

But what about the NMA? Would Field Marshal Silverswain - infuriated out of his mind - send an army or two to chase them? That would only really matter if they tried to run though - inside city walls the armies were pretty much useless. But here the constabulary would be after them. Pagan shivered.
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Jerro_oconnor

"Good, that'll save us a step. Unless ye want another color." Jerro looked over his shoulder. No one there, so far so good. Only a few blocks to go.

"We'll need new identities. I already have one, but ye need to come up with one too. From now on call me Faolán Seanáin. I'm an elderly shopkeeper. I'll figure out the details later, but from now on call me Faolán. If ye can find somethin that relates to my story, that'll be great. It's not necessary, but it'll keep things easier. We're almost there. If ye can come up with a basic idea, that'll help a lot."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The street was dark and desolate. A cool, moist breeze was whinging on treetops and the moist grass was squelching under Pagan's boots.

"Well, I guess I could be yer wife, Faolán. Like... Bridget, Bridget MacBruiser Seanáin, shopkeeper's wife. That's a good name, aye?"

Pagan saw light coming from behind the closed curtains as they approached the house. The windows were closed, but whoever lived there hadn't call it a night yet.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jah, I hope that she isn't with a customer! It was too late to worry about that now, though. "Alright, one last thing. Well, actually two. First, her brother is still a sore subject. Unless ye try saying something about it, she can be... perky."

He knocked on the door three times quickly. After some banging around, the door was opened by a slim girl with shocking pink hair. EEEE! Jerro! How are ye it's been forever!" She wrapped her arms around Jerro and then turned to Pagan and gave her a hug too. "And ye must be Pagan!" She leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, I saw the posters. I know yer innocent. It's not Jerro's style."

"I'm not into that anymore, and ye know it. Um... what happened to yer hair?"

"Oh, I tried to make a red, but I did something wrong and it came out like this. I think I like it, Oh, but come in come in!"

Jerro turned to Pagan, shrugged and followed Deirdre into the house.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan couldn't help but smile at the funny looking lady with a funny-colored hair that had opened the door for them. The warmth and friendliness that emanated from her was genuine, and Pagan felt no discomfort when she suddenly hugged her like they were old friends already. Pagan liked Deirdre instantly and returned the embrace with a wide grin. Deirdre had something about her that made Pagan feel at ease in the house and dissolved some of the anxiousness in her.

"Aye, I am Pagan. And Jerro here told me ye are in a business of making extreme make-overs to people. If ye are going to dye me hair, I would prefer something less conspicious though - something more mainstream. Say, Dierdre, ye wouldn't happen to have anything to drink around here?"
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Jerro_oconnor

of course I do! What kind of silly question is that! She suddenly grabbed some of Pagan's hair gently and inspected it. Ooh! A dye job already! It's a pity, ye have some lovely hair, too!" She turned to the cabinet and opened it. "I have tea or whiskey. I was just working on a batch of dyes. Which I suppose is why yer here."

"Aye, while we are wanted, we'll be tryin to clear ourselves. We can't do that as ourselves, so we'll need to be other people. Remember Faolán?"

Deirdre was boiling water for tea. [b]"Oh I remember him! He was one of my favs. Oh, help yourself to whatever. What are ye gonna be?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Why is it such a pity?" Pagan wondered out loud. "I've been dying me hair blond ever since I hitched up with Kadie because, ye know, I think she prefers blonds. I'm in favor of the potash instead of the urine, even if the urine leaves a more natural color. Unfortunately it also leaves a frisky smell that I prefer not to smell when I wake up in the morning", Pagan confided to Dierdre.

When asked about her drink of choice, Pagan hastened to say: "I'll have whiskey, please, if ye don't mind. I don't usually drink tea, unless it's spiked that is. In my line of business I have to keep me edge, and I've seen enough tea drinkers to know what that stuff will do to people. I wouldn't last a day if I suddenly changed into a sappy idealist who visits convicts, tries to help strayed youth, organizes anti-war protests and tries to save the world. So whiskey it is fer me."

Pagan still had almost cup and a half worth of the stuff in her hip flask, but that was reserved for emergencies and Pagan never failed to seize the opportunity to hooch off other people when she saw one arising in the horizon. So she walked to the cabinet and poured herself a large one. "What about ye two? Want one?"

Deirdre asked Pagan what she was going to be. "I was thinking about being Faólan's wife. So I guess the wife of an elderly shopkeeper is an elderly lady."
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Jerro_oconnor

"Ooh! Speaking of spiced drink, my neighbor makes a mean drink! It was deemed "unfit for human consumption", so he can't legally sell it, but it gives ye a mean buzz. She began to bounce around the room with such energy she could probably light a small town for a couple of nights.

While Dierdre was occupied, Jerro took the opportunity to say, "I'll have tea, thanks. It may eventually turn me into a, how'd ye put it, "sappy idealist", but it tastes well enough." The tea wouldn't be ready for a while, though, so he was forced to sit there.

"But back to business, are ye sure ye want to be his wife? No offense meant to ye, Jerro, but what I mean is ye won't be able to wear yer sword or shield." She pointed to the items and continued, "Ye could be a hired bodyguard, I mean, these are progressive times. No one would think twice to see a man who should have a lot of money to hire someone to protect him." She stopped moving around the kitchen and sat down.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent looked over his letter one last time before sealing it. He had developed something of a flair for reporting in code that read as commonly spoken conversation.

"Unto His Grace, the Crimson Duke come these greetings from the Viscomte d'Argent, on this thirteenth day of June in the year of the Nameless One, 1459, being the Feast of Ezgrog the Manipulator.

Worthy Master of Wounds,

I have completed a recent turnover of that embarrassing bit of real-estate in the woods. It was rather shabby, run-down, filled with the filth of Eire's dankest pits, and occupied by persons to whom a pack of lice might feel superior.

It did not fetch much gold, but proved priceless to get the Pagan and its toy Geriatric out of town so that I might arrange a little party in their honor.

They shall return from their mission to be the invited guests of the local inquisitors on charges of Conspiracy to commit Regicide.

The humorous part is that they are actually guilty of the crime by failing to ensure that King Zantastrophe took the bloody antidote.

I have taken the liberty of doing my duty as a concerned citizen and ensuring the constabulary took possession of very incriminating evidence, and providing a bit of a golden nudge as well.

The party awaiting them shall be most festive indeed.

I have an equally glorious celebration awaiting the MacKenzie wench traveling with Doltpoint should their ship get past Anto's often incompetent pirates.

Trusting You are well and pleased with this progress I remain at Your Infernal Service,

d'Argent

He did love setting these tricks into play, did d'Argent. Faheud had inadvertently taught him very, very well. And it was far better to avoid fighting the Irish when one could so easily get them to fight each other.

Pagan

"Oh yeah?" Pagan exhilarated. "Ye should have tried me 'Potato Swill' that I used to cook during the war when we had shortage of supplies. The foulest thing ye've ever tasted, but it gave ye the ability to communicate with animals, among other things."

Pagan grabbed the cup she had filled with whiskey and poured the contents down her throat. It was strong and left in it's wake a hot burn that steadily spread throughout her body, filling her with pleasant warmth. She took only one drink before she sat down by the wall.

"If I was still the Constable I might feel tempted to give yer neighbor a little visit and confiscate his illegal products as evidence that would later mysteriously disappear from the evidence locker. Ah, good times!" Pagan sighed nostalgically as she remembered those happier, simpler times in her life.

When Dierdre made her suggestion about Pagan's new identity, she just shrugged. "I'm good with everything. I've never been running from the law - at least never fer anything this serious - and I don't have much imagination anyway, so ye probably know better. I still want to be known as Bridget MacBruiser though!" Pagan demanded to retain at least some authority over matters here.
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Jerro_oconnor

[b]"Oh, it was just a suggestion! Ye can be what ever ye want. But anyway, I already know Faolán, so let me do Jerro up first and we can do ye when we're done."

Jerro followed Dierdre into another room, Dierdre's studio. This is where she held all of her various dyes, powders and creams, most of them homemade. It surprised Jerro each time he came in here.

Almost an hour of making-up and mindless small talk later, Jerro emerged into the kitchen. He now had almost white hair with tufts of grey hair throughout. He had more pronounced wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. As a final touch, he also had a pale scar running from above his left eye down to his cheek. Jerro himself stood slightly stooped.

He changed his voice to match his new look, he even sounded older, his voice wavered a bit and sounded slightly deeper. "Well? How do I look?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

When Jerro and Deirdre had disappeared into the other room Pagan fetched the bottle and started tasting the the whiskey. She had long suspected that Jerro thought her drinking was out of control somehow, and even if he had never expressed it to Pagan out loud she still felt kinda annoyed by this unspoken accusation. Because it clearly wasn't true. Pagan was more than capagle of sticking with moderation, it's just that her moderation was somewhat more than what it meant for most people. Like a pint of 60-70 percent whiskey a day. Or alternatively 1-2 gallons of beer, depending on how strong the beer was. More than that was boozing, so much Pagan agreed to - but still good if there was a cause for celebration. Sometimes even if there was none. But less than that and she just wouldn't function properly anymore. Instead she would get terribly ill.

But still she felt this ridiculous need to have a few guzzles when Jerro wasn't watching, and hurry to put the bottle back in the cabinet and sit back down pulling an innocent expression on her face when she heard they were ready and coming back.

Pagan was amazed when she saw Jerro's new look. "Jerro!" she yelped, forgetting she was supposed to call him Faolán. "Ye look old!!!"
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Jerro_oconnor

"Up-bup-bup! It's Faolán now, if yer gonna be my wife it wouldn't look good to have ye yell out another man's name." He smiled and held up his hands. They still looked young. "She can't do a thing to the rest of ye, but ye'll never be able to recognize yer new face!" He moved aside as Dierdre bounced into the room beaming from the positive review.

"I'm so glad ye like it! Most people don't ask for wrinkles, only to take them away. I'm glad I was able to do it right." She went over to Pagan and practically dragged her by her hands into the room. She placed Pagan into the seat and started gathering various supplies. "I'm so excited! It's been forever since I've done another girl! First things first, we'll have to wash the old dye out. Then tell me exactly what yer looking for and I'll see what I can do."

Back in the kitchen, Jerro took out a cup for some tea. As he was getting the tea leaves, he noticed that the bottle of whiskey was noticeably emptier than when he had left to get older. He shrugged, Pagan had probably just gotten thirsty. He finished making the tea and sat down for the long wait.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan thought about it as Deirdre pulled the cape over her head and started washing her hair. To be honest Pagan had no idea, so she just shrugged.

"Well, I don't know. But I trust yer judgment and skills, so I'm fine with everything ye decide. No pink though! As much as I love yer hair, I do feel that it might draw some... unwanted attention." Pagan paused to grin. "If ye do decide to make me old though, feel free to make me an ugly old hag with graying hair, pastry complexion and enormous nose. I always did want to know what I would look like should I reach me golden years some day. Even though it's somewhat terrifying thought that I might actually some day make it to the point when I'm so old I can't even hold me own crap, especially since I'm not planning on having any kids of me own." Pagan shrugged. "Oh well, lucky fer me there's always Oddman's kids. I'm planning to become such a nuisance to them in me old days they will probably feel forced to conduct an euthanasia on me." Pagan giggled sadistically at the thought.
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--Dierdre_o_meadhra

Dierdre frowned as she attempted to scrub out every last iota of Pagan's old hair color. "Well, that's not very helpful at all! I was hopin ye had some inklin of an idea in yer head." The frown didn't last long, though. Giggles broke through and Dierdre found herself smiling again. [b]"While it may be interestin to turn ye into an old crone, if ye are goin to play as Jerro's wife, then ye can't be too ugly. After all, as a shopkeeper, he could have his pick o' women and definately wouldn't pick a partner who looks completely hideous!"

So she would need to make another "mask" that complimented the first without being too similar. This would be fun! Unless Pagan had a change of heart, she would be able to start right after she finished washing Pagan's hair. Besides that, it had been a while since she had indulged herself in some good girl talk!

Pagan

"I'm not so sure about that", Pagan answered. "Maybe he married me when we were both young and I still had me looks, but later all the ale and whiskey stripped it from me. That happens to the best of us. I'm convinced that if ye could add about ten stones of fat on me in addition to the reddish-gray pastry face and overgrown pickle-nose so red it will glow in the dark , that's exactly what I would look like when I grow old!" Pagan giggled happily at the thought. The future was so far ahead for her it didn't bother her a least bit - given that she would make it through the next couple of days or weeks alive in the first place. That thought was a bit more bothersome for her. All her stress and worries would have driven a less strong lass into her cups, and even Pagan had to admit that if anyone would have handed her a glass of whiskey or even that mysterious stuff Dierdre's neighbor was cooking behind that wall, she would have grabbed it without hesitation and downed it in a go.

To steer her mind into nicer subjects Pagan ask Dierdre: ”So what about ye, Dierdre? Are ye an Imleach lass or did ye migrate here from somewhere else? How did ye end up doing what ye do?”
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Jerro_oconnor

"Oh, I've been here since birth! I was always a pampered girl, me brother would buy me all the makeup I wanted." Her face clouded over for a second, before she continued, "After a while, I thought, 'if I could make myself pretty with this, what else could I do?' So I started practicing with new things and making my own stuff. Won't my brother be proud when he comes back!

There! Finished washing this stuf out of her hair! Let's see, a steel grey would be perfect! Dotted with specks of a fiery red! Maybe something darker? Nah, it'll look fantastic! "How about ye? How'd ye get mixed in with Jerro in this whole regicide charge?"

Pagan

"Oh, it's a long story", Pagan answered. "I knew Jerro before this all business even started." Pagan let her mind wander back to those two fateful days - and the night between them - in Imleach during early spring. "I got mixed up in something by accident - because I'm nosy, and because it's me job to be nosy when there are known criminals up and about - and Jerro kinda stumbled on the scene and the events pulled him in it with me. Exactly as it happened this time as well. There I was, conducting a secret yet kinda routine army business when all of a sudden I am told about Zan, the late King - who happened to be my good friend, by the way - having been poisoned - and the next thing I know there's a whole army of assassins after me, no idea why, and Jerro stumbles on the scene and gets pulled in with me. And now he's in a deep mess with me, whether he wanted it or not. I guess he has done something bad in his past life to always get drawn in to these situations. I guess we both must have", Pagan concluded with a frown.
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--Dierdre_o_meadhra

Dierdre stiffened involuntarily. She was one of the few people who knew the full truth about Jerro's past. Slowly, she continued to mix the dyes to get just the right color. "We-ell, I suppose ye could say that. I'm not in a position to tell ye, though." She finally got the mixture right. "Alright, this could take a while, so don't move too much. I've got to work this down all the way to yer roots, otherwise it'll be obvious that it's a dye-job. And old ladies down dye their hair grey." She giggled at the thought that someone would actually want grey hair.

"That does sound like Jerro though. That's like how I met with him, he..." Suddenly something Pagan had said had caught up with her. "OhmiJah! The king was your good friend? What reason would ye have for killin him then?" She stepped back to see her work so far, then kept working the dye in. "Honestly, some people are just so... ugh!" She couldn't think of a word bad enough to explain how stupid some people were.

Pagan

Pagan squinted her eyes a little bit as she noticed how Dierdre reacted to her mentioning Jerro's past. She had always suspected there was something fishy there, if not for any other reason than for the numerous people from the underworld he seemed to be acquainted with.

"Don't worry, Deirdre", she said. "What's in his past is in his past, and it's no business of mine. I'm not such an angel meself. To tell ye the truth, when I was the Constable I sometimes hired former thugs to the ranks - if I saw in them the qualities I wanted, innate loyalty being the most important quality of all. And sometimes I destroyed evidence when I found out someone in the ranks had peen on a payroll - again, only if I deemed the person in question capable of loyalty and not rotten to the core. Sometimes such people make the best guards there is - if they genuinely feel indebted to ye. Not to mention they can do stuff I would hesitate to ask from a regular guard."

She nodded at Deirdre's reaction when it hit her that she and Zan had known each other on a personal level. "That's what the people are like in this island - vengeful and blood-thirsty. Eire has a long and bloody history of infighting, and it seems like we are happiest when we can beat our neighbors into a bloody pulp. So even if me family would know and understand there's no way I couldn't be involved in it, unless I couldn't prove it in the court, I would be executed fer it. The people would demand my blood. And if someone tried to stand in the way, they would be executed too. Such are the realities we live by in this small island of ours."
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--Dierdre_o_meadhra

Dierdre shook her head. Why couldn't people use common sense? What possible reason would Pagan have for killing her friend? And how would Jerro get caught up in all of this? Even though Eire was bloody and... and violent, why does that make everyone there an automatic murderer? It just doesn't make sense.

She spent the remainder of the time doing Pagan's hair in a quiet, angry fog. She eventually calmed down enough to become sociable again. Just a few red specks along the grey. Enough to look natural, but not too much either. Closer to the tips than the roots... there! Perfect!

"Alright! I'm done with yer hair now. Do ye wanna see it, or do ye wanna wait until we're all done?"

Pagan

Pagan was the sort of lass that would have snuck up to open her Christosmas or Yule presents the night before if they had ever celebrated such events when she was a child - or her birthdays, for that matter. But in spite of the fact that Pagan had never received a single gift before she was an adult - or perhaps exactly because of it - Pagan didn't possess the kind of patience that would have enabled her to delay any kind of gratification, even if she knew she would be better off if she waited for later. Pagan's inner life was in many ways primitive and underdeveloped, and other people - even those closest to her - had difficulties in seeing or understanding it, because there was nothing primitive in Pagan's conduct or appearance and her high intellect compensated for the qualities that were lacking in her emotional life.

So when Deirdre told her her hair was finished, Pagan clapped her hands in anticipation and yelped like a child: "Let me see it! Let me see it! I want to see my new hair now!"
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--Dierdre_o_meadhra

Dierde smiled and giggled at Pagan's enthusiasm. "Alright, hold yer horses. I know yer excited, just give me a second to find that mirror." She rummaged about the various shelves and other flat surfaces until she came up with what she was looking for. A small hand mirror with a basic rose and vine pattern on it. Right in the center of the vines was a small oval of glass.

She held the mirror to Pagan with a flourish. Then, once Pagan grabbed it, she started to prepare the stuff for the next part of the makeover.

Pagan

Pagan grabbed the mirror and turned her head in every direction with a critical eye. It wasn't all grey, some of her natural brown color was still showing, and it gave out the impression of someone in about her mid-fifties with the hair not completely grayed out yet but getting there fast. Even though nothing had been done to Pagan's face, the hair made her seem ten years older already, but like her hair was still graying before her time. Pagan grinned happily.

"I love it, Dierdre! Now make me old and ugly! And fat! The uglier and fatter the better! I wish to be a real whale!"
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--Dierdre_o_meadhra

Dierdre giggled again. [b]"Unless yer willing to go out with pillows under yer shirt, then I can't do a thing for ye. I can make yer face seem rounder, but that is about all I can do." First she would need to get the skin the right shade. She would have to change the skin so that it was paler, but still a believable skin tone. Not albino either, she had seen one and immediately felt bad for him, after all, he would never be able to tan!

She took the mirror and put it back somewhere she would remember it. She then took out a special cream she made herself. It wouldn't crack once it dried, nor would it feel oily or fake. It had taken her months to get it right. She took a dollop of it and worked it between her palms for a second before beginning to apply it. [b]"As for the ugly, I'll see what I can do. I can't change anything, mind ye, just make it look different. Don't talk til I'm done with this cream. Trust me, it tastes horrible!"

Pagan

"Mm-hm!" Pagan mumbled. She thought about pointing out to Deirdre she had consumed some pretty horrible tasting stuff before, and briefly wondered whether the cream had any percentages in it, but then decided it wasn't worth the try to find out.
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--Viscomte_dargent

Four hundred pounds does not buy quick action like it used to, thought Viscomte d'Argent, as he stood outside the window of that O'Meadhra woman. He should really consider hiring that one--she had some impressive skills at disguising people. Those two looked nothing like the Pagan and her toy.

What to do...what to do.

SNAP

D'Argent made his way back to the Constable's office to give him a nudge in the right direction. And a word about the new disguises the prey had.

You can lead a horse to water, but how do you resist the urge to drown it in the trough if it did not drink?

SNAP

You didn't...

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro sat drinking his tea, waiting for Dierdre to finish up with Pagan. He blew it a bit before taking a sip, but something didn't feel right. The tea was fine, but it was not all right. There was an uneasy feeling in the air. He found himself walking up and looking towards the door more often. It almost felt like the feeling before a thunder storm, where the air felt charged and ripe to burst.

He couldn't just run, though his every nerve was telling him to. He would have to make sure that Pagan and Dierdre made it out first. If nothing else, then he would have to be sure they made it. But why would it come to that? No one saw them, he was sure of it. No one knew they were here. He looked beyond the shadows into the deepest part of it to see any foreign shapes in it. Unless they were tailed by an expert, then they should be safe here.

No, this kind of thinking was what got you killed. First rule, anything bad that can happen will. Always prepare for the worst situation possible. Jerro hoped that Dierdre still had a secondary exit somewhere. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but the feeling he had said otherwise.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

As soon as the foreign Viscount had left the Bailiwick Constable Caine asked his adjutant to call all the under-constables to his office in the Bailiwick. And he did mean everyone. And no, he didn't want or need any help from the NMA. Best keep those interfering pests out of the loop altogether. This was a job for Constable Caine, and he would take all the credit for it.

Caine rubbed his hands in anticipation. Finally the day of reckoning had come! Caine had never forgotten the time when Pagan MacKenzie had been the Constable and Caine's boss. Like that one time she had found out he had been taking money from a loan shark to not interfere with his businesses. True, Pagan had never reported him for it, but she had said some insulting words at him and cut him off from a lucrative income. And then that disgusting lush had had the nerve to expect some kind of gratitude from him! Him, Constable Caine, who's fathers and fathers' fathers had worked in the line of law enforcement for as long as he knew. What had Pagan's blood family done? They had been nothing but a bunch of common thugs and drunkards, and even if Pagan had later joined the almighty MacKenzie Clan, that didn't change the fact she was nothing but rubbish, plain and simple.

And then there had been that time when Caine had interrogated that drunkard a little too harshly and he had died. True, the man hadn't actually done anything, but the fact was that the man was a nobody and what was the point of being in the constabulary in the first place if you weren't allowed to take bribes and beat up drunkards? Pagan hadn't helped him at all that time and it had seriously dented Caine's good name and almost cost him his job.

But each dog had it's day. Oh yes, this time that lushy peace of human trash would get what was coming to her and there was nothing the almighty MacKenzies could do about it...

When the whole constabulary was gathered Caine explained the situation and his plan for them. Before long they had surrounded the house the foreign Viscount had pointed out to him. d'Argent seemed to be a really upstanding citizen, a man of substance, wealth and good upbringing! Not to mention generosity...

The best throwers of the force were carrying burning torches on one hand and bottles of whiskey with rags stuck in them on the other. If the human trash inside wouldn't come out peacefully, they would all burn inside...

Constable Caine stepped fore and pounded the door with his giant shillelagh. "In the name of the law, open the door right this minute!"

Do you want to be dead?

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent could hear the constabulary out front demanding those inside come out immediately.

The Viscomte was perched with an ever handy crossbow, loaded with a dart of paralytic poison where he could hit anyone trying to flee out the back. And he had a second one loaded just waiting for him to pick up.

There was no escape his way...

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro's head perked up. How had they found them? No matter, he would have to try to find a way out of this himself. He stood up, remembering to keep to his diguise. Stooped over and shuffling, he walked to the door. He could see torch light flickering underneath the door. Something told him that they weren't just to see in the dark.

He slowly opened the door, and stood there with his knees bent slightly to make him look smaller and placed hand on his hunched back. He put a pained expression on his face and stepped out. "Yes? Can I help ye?" He asked in his new, older voice. He looked at the crowd that had gathered out of the house. He did not like the look of this crowd at all.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

Constable Caine tilted his head back and aimed his gaze along the back of his nose at the citizen who seemed to be on his late stages of productivity. Soon he would be too old to be a productive member of the community and force himself as a burden to his grandchildren. Caine hoped old people would have the common decency to die after they had used up their utility and usefulness, but more often than not it didn't happen that way.

Like Caine himself - his product was security so the upstanding citizens of Imleach could sleep their nights peacefully and not be disturbed with the sight of disgusting drunken human trash during the days. Upstanding citizens like the foreign Viscount d'Argent. True, d'Argent wasn't a resident of Imleach or even Irish, but Caine wished he could be. This island needed people like him - people who understood what it meant to be of noble blood. There was little to distinguish the so-called 'nobility' of Ireland from the common peasant except for their wealth, and to top it off they even liked to hang around with the peasantry.

Like that lushy tart Pagan for example. She was nothing but a small time corn-farmer, a common peasant, human trash in every sense of the word, and yet she had been adopted to the almighty MacKenzie Clan and invited to royal balls and fine celebrations she could appreciate as much as a pig would appreciate fine poetry.

But never him - Constable Caine. He was not good enough for them. True, he wasn't of noble blood himself, but he sure would have appreciated a chance to show he could act like one.

Caine shook these thoughts out of his head and said to the old geezer: "It has come to my knowledge that this house is harboring people who are wanted for questioning in suspicion of serious crimes. Aiding wanted criminals is a serious offence itself. Anyway, I have permission to search the premises. Will you let us in or shall we shackle you first and then search the premises?"

Do you want to be dead?

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded. So at least they didn't know that they had gone incognito. "Well, this is not my house to invite ye into, but please, come in. If ye say ye have orders, then we can't stop ye. I was in the guard myself, once." He pointed to the fake scar on his face. "Some... gutter urchin almost took me eye out then. Luckily my captain were there, and he managed to pull me back before any real damage could be done. But ye don't want to hear all that, come in."

He stepped out of the way to allow them into the house. "This is my good friend Dierdre's house. Sweet young lass she is, she is giving my wife a make over, no charge!" He shuffled back over to the chair he had been sitting in a few seconds ago and picked his tea cup back up. "I'd offer ye some tea, I just made it, but it looks like yer men brought there own drinks. Fair enough, there probably wasn't enough for all of ye anyway." He made a show of blowing his now-cold tea and began to sip at it again.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Dierdre_o_meadhra

Dierdre continued working hurredly. She had almost finished with the wrinkles when she heard the yelling at the front of the house. She almost bolted right there when she remembered that Jerro was there, in front. If there were anyone who could talk there way out of it now, it was him. She just had to have faith. She nervously kept her ear to the door, listening to the muffled words coming through. Ah-hah! Good story there, and close enough to the truth anyway. She hoped he realized that too much of this stuff, especially different kinds put on top of each other, started to look really fake.

So instead, she worked without talking to finish the disguise. They would just say that they had just sat down to start when they had come in. Yeah, that would work. She just needed a few more brush strokes...

--Constable_caine

Constable Caine stepped inside and waved at his men to follow. For a moment he was considering leaving the throwers outside, but then it occurred to him that should they throw their bottles while all the guards were inside too... let's just say it would have been a dumb way to go. And while Constable Caine might have been a lot of things, he sure wasn't dumb.

Once they were all inside Caine frowned. He had a feeling he had forgotten something. Something important. Something that the foreign Viscount d'Argent had told him. Something about disguises. Disguises, disguises... Oh, right! He had said that the suspects had disguised themselves to an elderly couple. Elderly meaning old. And the man sitting in front of them, sipping his tea, was old. Thus elderly. Or was he? Caine laid his eyes on his hands - his young, smooth hands - and his eyes widened. My Jah! This must have been Jerro O'Connor, one of the conspirators behind the assassination of King Zanditin! In Caine's opinion Zanditin had been nothing but a Scottish carpet-bagger and not worthy of the crown, but the King all the same. And now this peace of human trash had the nerve to imagine he could fool Constable Caine with such a cheap trick!

A smirk spread on Caine's face as he realized he hadn't actually forgotten what d'Argent had said - no, it had been a conscious tactic from his part - to let the prey think they had managed to fool him, when in fact the opposite was true. He said:

"Well, in that case you don't mind if I join the tea set as my men search the premises?" Caine gestured for three men to stay in the room with him and the four remaining to start checking the rooms. Caine stepped nonchalantly to the teapot and poured himself a cup.

Do you want to be dead?

Pagan

Pagan had heard the whole thing to the room where she had been sitting on the chair as Dierdre was frantically trying to finish her new look. She had clenched her teeth and pressed the arms of the chair with white knuckles, but there was nothing she could do but wait now. The walls in the house were thin, so she heard the whole conversation Jerro - Faolán, she reminded herself - and that intolerable Constable Caine were having. The only good part was that Caine wasn't the smartest apple in the tree, and by the sounds of it Jerro had him fooled. The only thing Pagan couldn't understand was how he had managed to track them down so quickly in the first place. How he had known to come to the right house?

Deirdre had just finished with her and managed to throw away the cape as somebody kicked the the door open and four men rummaged in:

"We've got two perps here, boss! Two females, one old, one young with pink hair! Shall we arrest them?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro saw the constable's eyes go to his hands and widen. He knew the plan was foiled. He silently cursed himself for not investing in gloves. He hoped that he would be able to appeal to his reason, but judging from the bottles of alcohol with rags in it, he doubted so. If all else failed, he was sure he could run faster. Then he heard the shout from Dierdre's studio.

He leaned across the table and spoke quietly so that only the constable would be able to hear him. "I know ye know who we are. Ye don't mask yer face all that well, really. Why don't we all sit together here, drink some tea and rationally explain the situation, all of the important players are here anyway. Except for the real killers, but we'll have to try and persuade you on that ourselves, won't we?" He smiled warmly towards the man, as if sharing a joke. "Besides, no one in the guard can make a decent pot o' tea. Why let this stuff go to waste?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

Caine shook his head feigning sadness and disappointment in his face as he listened to the piece of human trash trying to squirm his way out of this. How typical! They were all innocent, even if they got caught redhanded the real perpetrators were always somewhere else. As if Constable Caine had nothing better to do than go around throwing innocent people in jail while the real criminals were roaming the streets. Caine turned his head and shouted to the other room:

"Keep the female perps in the room and don't let them out of your sights! And don't turn your backs on them, they might look harmless, but trust me, they are to be considered extremely dangerous!"

Caine turned his gaze at Jerro and pulled a benign smile on his face. Caine's cold and dead as fish-eyes made the expression that would have been pleasant on everyone else seem so dreadful on his face.

"Real killers, huh? Well, you have your chance to tell me all about it down at the Bailiwick." Caine shook his head again, making clicking sounds with his tongue. "So you think I'm predictable, do you? If that's so, how come you couldn't predict this?"

Without a warning Caine swung his shillelagh towards Jerro's forehead in an attempt to knock him unconscious.

Do you want to be dead?

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro ducked easily out of the way and the shillelagh passed over his head in a wide arc. Then he quickly shot his arm foreward, spilling the rest of the contents of the teacup across his face. It wouldn't harm him in the least, probably just make him angry. Then, perfectly conscious of the room full of guards who seemed to have found there weapons quickly, he placed the teacup gently on the table and stood up slowly.

"I could be wrong, but I think I just did." Jerro said slightly louder than when he first started speaking. "Ye really should talk less, ye give yerself away. I already said I didn't want to fight, and I know it's not proper procedure to assault an unarmed, non-agressive person who is surrendering." He shook his head sadly and made a clicking noise with his tongue, a perfect mimicry of Caine. "Now I expected better of ye, I won't run and I won't fight. I want the truth just as much as ye, probably more given the circumstances." He slowly raised his arms to prove that he had no other weapons on him. He would not, however, turn his back on Constable Caine.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

Constable Caine just stood there like a statue for what felt like a long time without saying a word, just staring at Jerro with his cold, dead fish-eyes. His expression was not amused. With an elegant gesture he pulled a napkin out of his breast-pocket and wiped the tea from his face, veerryy... slowly. When he was done, he said with a cold voice: "I didn't appreciate that."

There was another long pause before Caine continued: "Very well then, so you have decided to make the smart decision and come down quietly. Sadly, your friends were not as smart." Caine barked orders at the other room: "The female perps are armed and aggressive and they are resisting the arrest! Subdue them using necessary force, but don't kill them!"

A series of thumps, grunts and screams emanated from the other room. When it was over, a breathless and startled voice said: "The women are now subdued and unconscious. The old lady puts up a hell of a fight - she bit me! And Randy won't be randy tonight."

Caine smirked slightly and nodded at Jerro. "As you can see, you were wise not to resist the arrest. Now you can walk to the Bailiwick with your own feet. Your friends, on the other hand, have to be carried there." Caine motioned at the door with his shillelagh. "After you, sir."

Do you want to be dead?

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stared Caine down for a second... two. He was beginning to get angry now. Finally, he said, very coldly, "Gladly." He took the few steps to the door quickly, waiting for the sound of the shillelagh rushing through the air. Once at the door jamb, he spun on the sole of his foot so that he wound up on the other side, next to the door facing anyone who exited. There he stood, waiting patiently with his arms held behind him, almost like a soldier at parade rest.

He would make sure that they made it out of this situation, but first he would have to think of how. Dierdre was popular, and the guard wasn't well liked in this part of Imleach. But with that many guards, it wouldn't be likely that anyone was coming to their rescue. He'd have to find a way out of this himself.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

"Being a little agitated and jumpy tonight, are we?" Caine smirked from the inside of the house. "Just for a second or two I was worried you were trying to make a run for it. I wouldn't have liked that. I'm afraid I would have taken it out on you... or, in case you managed to get away, your friends. If that concept even means anything to the likes of you."

In all honesty the concept of friendship didn't mean all that much to Caine either, but he had learned that he could get a reaction out of some people if he pulled from that lever. Sure it was beneficial to have friends in high places but other than that Caine didn't really get what the fuss was all about, but each to it's own.

Caine ordered two of his guards to escort Jerro by his both sides walking in front, two others following them close behind on their heels, Caine in the middle followed by two guards carrying the women and poor Randy who got kicked in the cobblers coming last. "Right on then!" he barked when all was set. "Off to the Bailiwick we go!"

Do you want to be dead?

Jerro_oconnor

The walk to the Bailiwick was fairly uneventful. Jerro saw the faces looking through the windows and out of alleyways. They knew who Jerro was, if he hadn't still been wearing a disguise, and they knew who Dierdre was. They were both one of them, or had been in Jerro's case. But each one rule was to watch out for yourself, no one out here would be coming to their rescue, but watching them get taken away was allowed.

Caine was constantly harrassing Jerro, trying to get under his skin. Jerro wouldn't let that happen, Caine wanted Jerro to swing at him again, just for an excuse to bring harm to Jerro or his friends, as he liked to point out. Jerro spent the remainder of the night ignoring such comments. Caine wouldn't be able to get a rise out of Jerro any time soon.

Eventually they made it to the Bailiwick. He never figured that he would be brought here like this. He followed the guard through to where ever they were taking them. He kept expecting some trick to come, but he didn't know what yet.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

The parade of guards walked over the yard and into a small room. They threw Deirdre and Pagan on the stone floor like bags of potatoes.

In the room there was a desk. In one corner stood a cabinet. On two walls there were small barred windows. They gave a view to the yard and to the courtyard surrounded by ten feet tall brick wall. On the desk stood a bottle with no label. In addition to that there was some papers, a crop and a big dagger.

Caine looked at the unconscious women.

"Well done, lads! Now try to get them to wake up." Caine said with a smile.

The guard that seemed to be Caine's second in command shone like a sun when Caine appraised them and barked a short order. One of the guards rushed outside to get some water. He was about to pour the water on Pagan and Deirdre when Caine interrupted him.

"I don't want to soil my floor! Use the shirt of the 'old' woman!"

Do you want to be dead?

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro couldn't think of what they could do with Pagan's shirt, but he doubted it would be pleasant. "Wait! Before ye do that let me try." He kneeled down next to them before waiting for an answer. He shook them each in turn, and gently patted their faces until they woke up. Dierdre woke up pretty quickly, mumbling incoherently until she was fully awake. Now they just had to wait for Pagan to wake up.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling only half-conscious.

"Look at me", Caine commanded.

Pagan looked at the constable and sat up slowly. Her hair was sticky of clotted blood. Little by little her blue eyes got brighter, and she glanced at the office, Caine, Jerro, Dierdre and all the guards in it.

"Who are you?"

Pagan hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Bridget MacBruiser", she said with a husky voice. "What is the meaning of this? Why am I..."

Caine whipped with the crop. There was a sharp lash as the whip hit Pagan's shoulder. A red, swollen mark appeared on the skin. Pagan lost her self-control again. She cursed furiously, threw herself at Caine, got a grip from the line of the whip and jerked it from the constable's hand. She turned the whip around and lifted it's heavy handle up, and only then the guard-in-charge realized what was happening. For a second time Pagan got a taste of a shillelagh. This time it struck her neck, and she fell face down on the wooden floor. Slowly she rose on her fours and shook her head tardily.
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Destini

Across the island, in the county of Laighean, four travellers cloaked in darkness descended a gangplank from an English ship recently docked in the harbor of An tInbhear Mór and onto the shores of Ireland. Destini looked about the eastern-most edge of the island she had called home ... and shivered.

They had been dispatched on the Cardinal Faheud's business to aid Pagan and deliver justice to those who had murdered King Zanditin. But they had not intended to make landfall in the county of Laighean. Their luck in the crossing from England had been poor. Bad weather had forced them further north than intended. Now, they would have to cross Ireland's eastern county before they could reach Pagan and bring her the promised help in stopping d'Argent.

Even in the darkness, looking at the shore of Laighean, Destini's natural tendency to look at things artistically caught patterns in the way the buildings were designed and in the way the city was laid out. Each shop was painted white with red trim. Each store had one window, polished clear. Below each window was a single bed of red flowers. Here and there, the pattern would break. The bed of flowers would be blue or the glass not quite as polished. These different houses seemed as if the people who lived and worked there were trying to express themselves the only way they could. The overall effect of the city's visage was one of eerie similarity.

The effect was further driven home when the bell in the town hall chimed sharply. The townsfolk that were still about their business in the dark evening all immediately stopped what they were doing and each went inside identical houses. They returned a moment later each holding identically sized pieces of tinder with a flame on the end. Each villager lit each lantern that stood outside each door. When the lanterns were lit, the villagers extinguished the flaming tinders and went back inside. The streets, although now lit with lamplight, cleared and emptied until only Destini, Allan, Corwynn, and Richard were left outside.

"Laighean," said Destini quietly to her companions, but the sudden stillness of the night was enough to allow her voice to be heard. "Donae look fer welcome here, my friends. An' donae trust to hope. 'Tis forbidden in these lands."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Never trust to hope indeed. I will rely on good steel and a fast crossbow."

Allan looked up and down the streets that were too ordered and too clean. Odd signs outside various establishments read "Springtime mercantile," and "Springtime Tavern" or "Springtime tailors," and "Springtime Hostel."

"Is anyone here not named Springtime?

So where to?...Nothing looks good to me so far..."

--Richard.grimthorn

"South," said Grimthorn. "And East. Back to England. As fast as possible. I don't like this at all." He had never seen a town like this. In all the Red Duke's missives, nothing had hinted at this. What would d'Argent do with such an ordered state? Would he take it over? Would he even bother? Perhaps this Springtime was an agent of the Red Duke herself? It didn't quite have the Red Duke's flare for chaos and he'd never heard of her, but anything was possible.

--Brother_corwynn

"Aye, an it be soo, Richard, yer always sich a pleasant lad wi an upbeat way about ye.. What be there not to like, then? Aside from the insidious sameness o it all an a lack of people abouit the place, it tis like any other haunted town isnae that true?"

Corwynn loved the way Richard cringed when he did perfect flipping Irish....

Destini

If Destini hadn't been already on edge from the eeriness of the suddenly silent town, she might have laughed at Corwynn's relentlessly poking Richard. As it was, she didn't even have the chance. The sound of steady marching echoed off the identical walls of the buildings near them. It sounded like soldiers. But why would there be soldiers? As far as she knew, there was no war going on in Eire. Springtime had been defeated in the last war. Looking about at the names of the establishments and the posters announcing the election of the next council, Destini wondered how thoroughly Springtime had been defeated.

She turned quickly to her companions. "I vote we get off the streets as soon as possible. Out o' town, into one o' the Springtme establishments, I donae care which." She turned to Richard. "We cannae go back to England. Nay while our mission isnae fulfilled an' d'Argent remains at large. But I am with ye, Richard. I donae like this town -- or this county -- in the least an' would be glad to be quit o' it."

The marching sound was moving in on their position. Destini looked to Allan.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Let's beat it out of town, then. Lord knows if Springtime is working for d;Argent. No need to find out at the wrong end of a dozen pikes.!"

Allan turned and quickly led them into an alley to a parallel street and headed for the gates. This was a great night to camp in the forest after all...

Pagan

Caine took the whip handed to him by one of the guards and said:

"Never try anything like that again, Mrs. MacBruiser!"

Pagan groaned quietly and bestially.

"Lift her up and watch her! Keep an eye on the other two as well, especially the male", Caine said. His voice was calm but couldn't conceal his rage. He clenched the handle of the whip and stepped in closer. The guards lifted Pagan up and held her still. Four soldiers were watching Dierdre and Jerro to make sure they wouldn't try anything ornery. The whip lashed twice. Both times Pagan's slender body trembled, and two new stripes appeared on her fair skin.

"Do you understand, wench?" Caine scowled. "I'm the one who makes questions here."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro twitched everytime the whip cracked. He wanted to rush across the room and rip the whip from Caine's hands and beat him with it, but that would account to nothing. He might be able to get the whip out of his hands, if Caine weren't expecting it, but the guards would quickly overcome him. There was no way to get out of there with force.

"Stop it! I already said that we would help ye. There is no need to do this."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Caine turned around and laid his cold gaze at Jerro. "To save us some time, Mr. O'Connor", he said in a sharp tone, "I can tell you that we found some very incriminating evidence from the MacKenzie Circus tavern. Enough to get you both defenestrated. It is only a matter of principle that I don't want to hand you over to the Judge before I have confessions from you. That's why you can spare me of more lies. It'll be easier for you if you just confess now. Dropping out of that window won't hurt a bit, you don't have the time to feel anything. In my honest opinion it is way too lenient punishment for human trash like you lot!"

"I don't understand what ye are talking about", Pagan said coarsely. And she didn't lie - she had no idea what the 'incriminating evidence' that had been found from their tavern could have been.

Caine's fingers clenched the handle of the whip, but then he calmed down.

"That doesn't help you", he appealed to Jerro. "You two conspired to poison King Zanditin. We found the poisons, a whole lot of money and a letter assigned to you two signed by someone called 'Red Duke' thanking you of job well done. And my sources tell me you were both in Cork when the King got poisoned - for the 'festival' or 'secret NMA business', depending on the source. How fitting. So 'fess up and let's get this over with."
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Jerro_oconnor

Had they really found all that at the Circus? How did all of that get there? Jerro was about to make a smart comment on how Caine probably had tested the poison on "human trash", as he liked to call them, but he probably would've tested it on Dierdre or Pagan. Caine would want Jerro to know that he had caused it and make him suffer for it. So he held his tongue until he could make a not-so-inflammatory comment.

"We're tellin ye the truth. We don't know anythin about the poisonin. We were tryin to find out more about it when we saw the posters. We would've tried to clear our names when ye..." he bit his tongue again. "ye brought us here." He looked around the room and tried to find some other way out of there. So far he couldn't see one, but he was sure that he would find one eventually.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Shut up, you liar!" Caine snarled. "I am the Constable, and I don't have to investigate every lie some criminal tells me! We have apprehended three conspirators and assassins, and don't even think you are going to walk away free! Since you are not being cooperative, you leave me no other option but to start a formal interrogation! You have one last chance to think this over and come to your senses. If you confess now, I will be lenient to you and see that you will not be harmed before you are thrown out of the high window. Take them away from my sight!"

The guards twisted everyone's hands behind their backs and flew them out of the office in a short corridor, across a room where six or eight people were throwing dices, and then along another corridor that formed a ninety degree angle with the first one. The walls were stone and on both sides there were stury, ironed doors. The soldiers stopped in front of the farthest jail cell on the left side of the corridor, lifted the heavy iron bolt and pushed all three in forcefully. Pagan stumbled on the stony floor and crashed against a bunk under the shutter.
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--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent was amazed. He had taken Constable Caine to be an idiot. A fool. a corrupt and incompetent dolt.

Turns out he was not. He was a very, very competent corrupt official. d'Argent's favorite kind really...

d'Argent headed into the Bailiwick and asked for the Constable. Seeing the stout, strong fellow approach, d'Argent let a rare smile dance across his face.

"Well done, Constable, well done. I must say that I am quite impressed by your efficiency and zeal for the job."

The Viscomte handed over a large bag of coin.

"You will find double what I promised in there. Bonus for excellent work.

I have to tell you that you could become one of the folks who help me get the NNGO out of Ireland, the Scots out of Ireland, and the damned English out of Ireland. Eire for the Irish!

If you would like a permanent position in my organization a suitable stipend can and will be arranged...."

d'Argent awaited an answer....

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stumbled across the room, but managed to keep himself upright by bumping his shoulder into the wall. As he rubbed it, he looked around the small cell. A couple of tiny bunks and one small window with metal bars over it. Nothing to write home about, but prison wasn't supposed to be.

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. "I'm sorry I got ye into this mess Dierdre."

Dierdre, who was sprawled across the floor, saidm [b]"Oh, it's ok. I'm sure ye two will find a way out of this somehow."[b] She stood up and brushed herself off.

That brought up another good point. "How are we gonna get out of here? The constable would no doubt deaf to our side of the story." He lowered his voice, "given enough time, I might be able to pick the lock, but it could be trouble. Besides, they wouldn't give us enough time to let me. We can't go through the window, and I can't see any other ways out. What do we do?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Destini

Destini finished setting up camp in the dense forest outside of An tInbhear Mór but did not dare light a fire for fear of being spotted by the guards they'd narrowly avoided. Destini passed around what bread she had in her pack. "'Tis all I have that can be eaten without a fire, I'm afraid," she explained to her compatriots quietly.

She sat close beside Allan and munched on her bit of bread. The night was cooler than the day had been, but much more humid. It would be their luck if another storm rolled in during the night. Destini looked up to the trees and saw the leaves were flipped upside-down to the sky. "I think we should prepare fer weather tonight," she said, recognizing nature's warnings of rain. Her voice was bleak.
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--Constable_caine

Constable Caine instinctively corrected his posture as he heard the foreign Viscount d'Argent wanted to see him. Foreign or not, Caine had to reluctantly admit that d'Argent had the aura of nobility in him, much more than any of the so-called Irish nobles he'd ever seen. d'Argent was the real deal! A genuine blue-blood.

Caine walked to meet the great man and basked in his appraisal. In those few words d'Argent had shown him more appreciation than anyone in Eire ever. Caine was so moved that he almost said money was not important in comparison of doing one's duty, but that would have been boorish. Of course money didn't mean anything to a great man like d'Argent! He accepted the bag d'Argent was offering him with - he hoped - a proper dignity and poise and set it aside, trying to mimick the great man's indifference to earthly mammon. He perked his ears as d'Argent spoke and agreed with every word. Caine wouldn't have objected if the damn NNGO, Scots and English would have been driven out of England and Scotland as well, but it would have been boorish to point that out. Instead of that he said:

"I am interested. Tell me more about this organization, and what I have to do to deserve this honor..."

Do you want to be dead?

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn muttered curses at the ground. No matter which way his bedroll was positioned there was a great, bloody root in his back or bum. "Rain," he said, mimicking the lady MacKenzie's bleak tone. "Just what this bloody savage world would toss at us, isn't it?" He missed his flat back in Hastings. He missed the city streets, the listening at corners. This woodland adventure did not appeal to him at all ... and his every gesture showed it at volume.

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent was pleased, very pleased

"You have but to continue to root out the evil doers, Constable, and you merit the rewards my kindred folk will send your way.

You have captured these lot, and there are more headed our way from England. When one Destini MacKenzie and Allan Brightpoint turn up here, you will wish to silence them. They are the ones who originated the poisoning plot. No righteous soul is safe until they stop making their annoying breathing sound...

If they show up, it is one thousand pounds to prove they are dead. 150 pounds to catch them alive.

Keep up the good work!

d'Argent was pleased, very pleased

--Brother_corwynn

The grin was hidden in the dark, but not entirely hidden from the voice drifting from Corwynn now...

"So tell me, Richard... why do you always get the comfortable spots when we are out camping..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn glared at Corwynn with such heat in his expression that he was certain the brother could see him even in the dark. "Comfortable?" said Grimthorn. His ire raised his volume. "Do you think this is comfortable?"

He got up and walked across the campsite, prepared to toss Corwynn down to his own bedroll on the forest floor. "I'll show you comfortable."

--Constable_caine

Constable Caine was very happy that the great services he had done to Eire and indeed the whole humankind were finally acknowledged. His trained ear couldn't help but to pick up the big difference in pay whether those two peaces of human trash were brought in dead or alive. And if you thought about it, it made perfect sense - dead people made the least amount of trouble.

"Allan Brightpoint and Destini MacKenzie?" Caine echoed wrinkling his nose. "They sound like those intolerable English and/or the almighty MacKenzies. It will be my pleasure to give them an official interrogation - and as of yet I've never met anyone who has endured the official interrogation long enough to be executed!" Caine grinned.

Do you want to be dead?

OOC: Edited a little bit to correct a few mistakes, the writer was very tired when posting this originally.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Richard! Corwynn!" barked Allan. "Shut it and go to sleep for Jah's sake...."

--Richard.grimthorn wrote:

Destini

Men! "Enough!" she said to them, trying to keep her voice low despite her irritation. She stood. Her height seemed doubled in her anger. Though, in truth, her anger was fueled mostly by her fear. The situation in the port city had left her unnerved and on edge. She was taking it out on her compatriots, though she didn't mean to. "Do ye boys forget we are in Laighean? Did ye nae just witness what happened back in town? Do ye forget the soldiers we narrowly avoided on our way out o' town? We donae know who else may be listenin'!" The sudden silence of the forest amplified the tiniest sound. She listened and didn't hear any soldiers ... yet.

She suddenly realized her hands were shaking and she sat back down before her knees, too, began to shake. When she spoke again, her voice was a harsh whisper. "Sleep an' silence are our best course o' action now. If we wake early an' travel hard we can reach the border o' Laighean by late tomorrow ... an' be outside o' Imleach by the day after that."
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--Brother_corwynn

"I told you, Richard... hush!"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn opened his mouth to offer a retort to Corwynn.

He glanced at Brightpoint. The attache's expression did not invite retort.

Grimthorn closed his mouth.

Corwynn's smug grin invited fruther rebuttle.

Grimthorn opened his mouth to say something impeccably witty.

He glanced at the lady MacKenzie. Her glare did not invoke more noise this evening.

Grimthorn glared at Corwynn again and laid down on his lumpy bedroll to go to sleep as best he could.

Pagan

Pagan stood up, walked at the door, pressed her ear against it and listened. Then she sat down on a bunk.

"Did ye count them?" she suddenly asked with a quiet, sharp voice. "The guards?" Without waiting for an answer Pagan continued calmly: "We have two options. We can build a battering ram from the bunks or surprise the guards the next time they come to get us." Pagan's throat felt dry. She needed a drink, desperately. "But these rotten benches can't break the bars, and we couldn't dissemble the bunks without making a lot of noise", she continued with a husky voice.

Pagan frowned and pondered the situation in silence. Suddenly she continued: "The guard room is on the other side of the corridor. And I saw half a dozen men there when they brought us here. I reckon they always keep six men there."

Gaara893 wrote:

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Jerro_oconnor

It made sense that they would keep half a dozen guards on duty every time. They needed enough people at all times to quell any riot. There best best would probably be to ambush the guards, but even that would be a long shot. He held his lock-pick set through the bottom of his pants. With six guards on at all times, he wouldn't be given the time to try it. It would take a minute to identify the lock without being able to see it fully, then anywhere from one minute to ten minutes to actually get it opened.

Then another thought occurred to Jerro. What about Dierdre? She definitely wasn't a fighter, but there was no where for her to hide. "Catchin the guard unawares would be our best bet. We can't take the bunks apart for weapons, as ye said, it'd make too much noise. But Dierdre, are ye okay with this? We probably won't survive otherwise, but if we attack them, there will be no turning back. Ye'll probably have to fight too. Are ye okay with that?"

"Oh yes, my brother taught me how to defend myself. I don't think he'd think I'd have to use it this way."

Jerro nodded. "So, we are decided then? Next time they come, we'll ambush them."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan nodded gloomily. There was no chance in hell they could survive past the guard room, but they had no alternative. Sho stood up hastily and stepped towards the window. She examined the rusty, finger-thick iron bars. They were sunk in the brickwork.

"Hey", she said quietly, "look at this! Notches! There are cracks in the brickwork!" She frowned and kicked the bunk. "Too bad this is still not har enough matter." She walked around in the room. Suddenly her eyes brightened and a smile rose to her face. "But the guards' shields are!"

It was already very late at night, and Pagan figured the guards wouldn't come before tomorrow. She continued: "If we can get rid of the bars, we can beat the wall! See those iron rings there? They tie people up to them for various forms of torture. We can use them to climb over the wall! Do ye have any suggestion on how we can defeat the guards when they come to get their shields?"
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Jerro_oconnor

He stood up and inspected the spots that Pagan pointed out to him. Was the place really held in such disrepair? It was almost insulting. But he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He realized that what Pagan had said was true, though. If they used a material that they could break with their hands, then it definately wouldn't stand up to the task.

Perhaps he could trick one of the guards into leaving his shield here? No, probably not. They'd have to knock them out. "Aside from the usual, "beat them about the head" tactic, I can't think of any way to knock them out. Plus, that only usually works with a blunt/heavy object. If we could tear a chunk of wood from the bunks, then maybe it would work. But even if we got the wood off of the bunk unnoticed, we'd only be able to knock out three at a time, the other guards would be able to pull the alarm." He paused and thought for a couple of minutes, before sitting back down on the floor. "I suppose that's our only option, huh?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan concentrated to remember her stint as the Constable. If this was going to go along the usual routine, they would first serve them breakfast in the morning. Two guards would stand on both sides of the guard carrying the tray. They would stand on the threshold pointing pikes in the room. There was no point in trying to hide in the corners stalking. They would have to stand - or sit - on a bunk or next to it if they didn't want to arouse suspicion. But the bunks were too far from the door! Pagan walked back and forth on the floor and measured distances and angles. Suddenly she spotted something hidden in the corner. She bent down to pick it up. It was a wooden tray, the kind guards used to bring in food. One had been forgotten here for some reason. She looked at the tray in deep thought and weighed it on her hand. Then she glanced at the narrow molding above the door. She squinted her ice blue eyes. She grabbed the tray, reared it on the molding and stepped back.

"The wall is stone", she said hoarsely. "It wont drop even if they kicked the wall! But we could attach a string to it!"
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Jerro_oconnor

What was she getting at? "Alright, how big a string do ye need? And how will this get us out? I don't see where this is goin." He looked from the tray, to the to the molding, then to Pagan. How would this help them get a shield?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan shifted her gaze from the tray to Jerro and saw that he was confused. "Well, the tray is made of wood and quite heavy", she explained. "If it crashes on the floor under the guards' noses, they are bound to startle and look at it. The only question is will it give us enough time to act? Anyway, I don't have any better ideas."

Pagan sat down and without further ado started pulling strings from her trousers. When she was ready she weaved the strings into a cord. It was quite thin. She tied the cord on the tray, set it back on it's place and hid the rope behind the doorframe and lower hinge and on the cell floor.

"They will have a lantern with them, so they can see the cord! We have to hide it between floor tiles and sweep some dust on it!" Pagan said excitedly.

She strained the cord, sat on a bunk and tied it on the heel of her boot.

"Let's try it", she said bluntly. "Catch the tray and in the name of Jah don't let it drop on the floor!"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro nodded. He got into a position to catch the tray once it fell. He looked out the door to see if their actions had caused any unwanted attention. So far so good. "Alright, we're good to go. No one's watchin. Just count down before ye drop it so I know it's coming." He stood under it and slightly beside it so that it wouldn't drop on his head. He watched it and got ready to catch it once it fell.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The cord snapped from the point of the hinge.

"Damnit!" Pagan cursed. "The cord must go there, or else I have to jerk it like at least five feet!" She calmed down and thought about the problem for a while. "We must make the cord twice as thick. If we manage to hide it, the thickness will make no difference!"

It was night, and the moon was shining bright in the sky. The air in the cell smelled stale.

After a while it was time to try again. Pagan hooked her foot.

"It succeeded! I just wish we had a ton of rocks to pile above the door", she smiled.

The tray was set meticulously on it's place and the cord was hid behind the doorframe and the hinges. Pagan took her boots off so she wouldn't drop the tray by accident. Not before it was closer to the time to act. She landed on her knees and gathered dust in the crack on the floor to cover up the cord.
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--Constable_caine

A poster attached to every important building in Imleach:

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING
IN SUSPICION OF CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT REGICIDE

ALLAN BRIGHTPOINT

DESTINI MACKENZIE

Do you want to be dead?

Destini

Destini's eyes scanned the dark forest, her ears trained for unknown noises. Her head was hooded in her dark cloak and her form was shrouded in its depths. The rain misted from the canopy of trees. Happily, Jah had graced them with only a light drizzle. It was not the storm that she had feared it would be.

Richard's snores from across the dark camp made keeping the watch more difficult than normal, but she endeavored to tune out the sound.

Her eyelids drooped again and she shook her head to stay awake. She mustn't fall asleep on watch. The soldiers they'd narrowly avoided on their way out of town might still be out there. She had to keep a weather eye.

Destini scanned the dark forest again.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan heard the subtle sounds of a camp at rest around him. Or was it?

Destini adjusting her position on the opposite edge of the camp.

Richard's dulcet tones joined the singing of snoring psalms with the choir oblivious.

Corwynn breathed normally, which meant he was awake--probably thinking harsh thoughts about the endless choir.

Two deer started from their spot nearby, and darted away from the camp.

Nothing in the camp to startle them.

Visitors.

Other night sounds vanished.

Visitors coming closer.

Allan made the sound of a whippoorwill and Corwynn rose enough to show he heard and understood.

Silent movement towards Destini, only enough noise she would know it was him. What was that damned phrase they had hit upon to warn of danger.

Ah, yes.

"Destini, " he whispered, "I cannot find Uncle Otho's tankard."

Destini

When the night sounds vanished, Destini alerted. Zanditin's teachings about listening for danger in the woods applied here. The party had been keeping quiet enough to allow the normal night creatures to become accustomed to them. Their silence meant trouble. Destini inwardly cursed when she heard Allan move close to her side and utter the warning phrase. It figured, though. The odds of a quiet night had been infinitesimally small. She was a little surprised they'd made it so close to dawn. She turned her head to Allan and answered the phrase with a coded response. "Did ye last see the tankard near the satchels or the bed rolls?" she whispered. The satchels lied on the east side of the camp. Richard and Corwynn were asleep on the west side of the camp. What direction was the danger coming from?

Beneath her cloak, she unhooked her pistol crossbow from her belt and loaded it. Allan would probably recognize the motion since he was next to her. Still, the motion would be hidden from whomever was in the woods.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"The bed rolls, as best I recall. Corwynn may be sleeping on it..." Translated to the other side of Corwynn.

Should I wake Richard, wondered Allan.

Can it be done without a scene from an Italian comedy spiraling out of control?

"Can we go out an replace the tankard before Uncle Otho finds it missing?" This meant should they disappear before any but the approaching scouts came into range

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn inched over towards Richard, put a hand over the man's mouth and nose, and whispered, "Richard. Uncle Otho's Tankard is gone," when the man was awake enough to try to throw him off

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn almost punched Corwynn - and might have succeeded if the brother was not also cutting off his supply of air. Down to the depths with whoever Uncle Otho was, anyway! He'd been having a nice dream about his flat back in Hastings when Corwynn had so rudely woken him up. "mffph riff hrr!" His cry of 'Get off me!' was muffled by Corwynn's hand. Suddenly, he woke enough to realize what Corwynn was saying. Ohhhhhh. Uncle Otho. That was the rediculous hint of a warning. Grimthorn calmed down and nodded to show the brother he understood.

He could throttle him later.

Destini

She nodded her agreement to Allan. "Aye, I think we'd best do that. A trip to town to get a new tankard an' circlin' back shouldnae take us too long." Town lied to the East. With any luck, they could appear to head to town and circle back behind their visitors and not be noticed.

She stood and began to head out of camp to the east. For this initial motion out of camp, she made enough noise so their visitors would be able to hear them moving off in the direction of town. When they were far enough out so as not to be noticed in the darkness, she came to a silent stop. She motioned to Allan that he should go one way and she another to catch their visitors completely surrounded.

Turning, she moved silently through the forest as Allan had taught her back at the lakeside of Holywell. With luck, they would catch their visitors unaware.

And maybe, if they could take them alive, she could get some answers ....
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint made a soundless sign to Corwynn to take rearguard and for Richard to follow the Archdeacon quickly. They made their way along behind Destini, looking and listening, stopping motionless at a signal, continuing through the forest without a sound.

After hearing someone moving about in their camp when they were a thousand yards away from it, Allan heard nothing more but his own heart beating, and the soft secrets of the night whispering in the wind.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn knew that Brightpoint trusted him more than anyone else in the field. He always let Corwynn have his back

Tonight that back would take some watching.

There were three groups out there. Four counting Corwynn and his friends.

Three groups. One blundered erratically into the site where Corwynn's lot had just been camped. They were not supposed to actually capture the English visitors, rather to move them on.

Damn. That meant this was a very organized action.

The second lot. Corwynn almost could not detect them, so quiet were they at moving along. Their noise was light but present. Trained by experts, but not experts then. A good thing.

That damned third lot. Off to the side and closing fast. Two scouts. Lightly armed by the minimal disturbance of brush at waist height.

This was bad. Assassin scouts. Probably Anto's boys.

Corwynn had a couple scars from that lot gained in Cumberland. Sigh.

He did not want to freak Richard out, so Corwynn let himself fall behind a fair bit.

Destini was doing a very good job arcing them back around to where they'd catch the main body from behind.

Those assassin scouts though. Dammit, they would screw the whole plan up.

Nothing for it then.

A silken sigh of sheath and stiletto ensued, twice, as Corwynn stopped moving and prepared to strike. He kept moving brush, though to avoid a scout hearing sudden silence and being warned. Any good assassin would spot that.

The two scouts had made the mistake of being too close together.

Definitely not experts then.

Corwynn flowed out from behind his tree, stiletto's at throat level, and glided between the assassins--caressing each throat lightly with a razor tip.

Sadly for the assassins, they did not realize they were dead until they hit the ground.

Corwynn moved to catch up with his friends and ensure Destini's delightfully brilliant plan worked.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn liked to whine. He knew this. It was part of his nature ... especially when things weren't going his way. Lately, nothing was going his way ... but that was beside the point now. His whining usually ensured no one took him seriously. This left him free to do his work as planned. For all his whining about how much he preferred city living and how much he hated to stay quiet, Grimthorn was an adept lurker. He was able to stay more quiet than most would give him credit for being.

He was also extremely adept at observation.

He had been on enough missions for the Red Duke to know the sound blood made when it hit something ... in this case the leaves of the forest brush. A glance behind him told him Corwynn was no longer following. He listened again. Two softened thumps hit the mossy forest floor with as much sound as a midnight owl returning to its perch. Well done, brother, well done. Grimthorn lengthened his gait to catch up to the arch-deacon. He maintained his uncanny silence in the forest despite his stout form. He whispered his information so low only their party could hear him. "Brightpoint, Corwynn has taken out two of the enemy. Still, I advise caution. Even you can tell there is one moronic patrol in the camp we just vacated. But there is another group tracking us."

Destini

Destini halted to listen to Richard's information. When he was finished, she closed her eyes and used her musician's auditory talent to tune out all else but human motion. Her dislike of violence and death had caused her to miss the gentle sound of the two scouts' plummets to the forest floor. Now, however, she listened. She heard the final sighs of the two scouts' last breaths. The sound of the ameture soldiers going through their satchels reached her ears. But Richard was right. There was something more. Other guards following them.

It was time to return to camp. With luck, whoever was following them would contiue back to town when they circled back. With luck, they would catch the soldiers back at camp off guard and get the answers they needed.

The adrenaline of fear sped her blood, but unlike when she had left Eire, now, she was its master. She used the extra energy Jah had given her to smooth her motions and slide soundlessly through the trees, turning to catch the soldiers in their camp off their guard. Destini raised her pistol crossbow at the ready and opened her eyes wide to detect the most subtle of movement amongst the darkened beech trees.

No killing. Not unless she had to.

She needed survivors. Survivors could answer questions. And she needed answers.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint moved forward to brief Destini.

"We have dead enemy scouts, a quiet unit approaching, and their fodder at our old camp. I recommend we keep arcing around back to the rear and catch them unawares.

Corwynn has our rearguard secure, so we three can assault whatever we find"

Pagan

Pagan was sitting on a bunk. She looked at the result from all angles but couldn't see a sight of the cord.

It was pitch black outside.

A group of guards arrived in the Bailiwick making a lot of noise. Pagan could hear commands and heavy footsteps.

"Ten thousand small devils!" she cursed. "Reinforcements!"

Pagan shut her mouth. She was afraid that they had changed the way things were done around here and that they would come and get them in the questioning right now.

A little by little the sounds quieted down.

Pagan wrote:

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Destini

Destini agreed with Allan with a single nod and moved to arc back to their original camp. In minutes, they approached their camp from the Western side ... the side their visitors had arrived from.

She watched one of the soldiers bearing the green armband of Springtime throw her satchel at a nearby tree. Apparently, he was annoyed that they weren't waiting there for them to kill them. Destini was again glad she had left her harp back in England. It would have been destroyed three times over by now. Her Irish whistle would easily survive the impact.

She took aim with her crossbow and fired on the man in the center of their campsite. The bolt hit him squarely in the chest. He might survive for questioning. He might not ... best make certain with the next soldier. She reloaded and fired again, this time hitting the dominant hand of the man next to her primary target. Reload. Fire again. She hit her second target in the shoulder square enough to pin the injred man to a beech tree. Maybe he would be available for questioning later.

She looked for other hostiles. Her mind did a quick caluclation. Two men down, four to go, probably. This blatently obvious crew was probably a squad. The other less-obvious was hopefully following their original path back to town.

Destini reloaded her crossbow and looked for the other four soldiers in this squad ....

--Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan heard Destini fire and immediately moved ten yards to the right and arced back to catch the squad from a new angle. He could see the four hunched down, looking at where the shots from Destini came from.

Allan laid out bolts to swiftly reload and began killing.

First shot. The man took the bolt in the left, side, temple. Instant kill.

Re-load. No one spotted him. Secured for a new shot.

Second shot. Took the man in the neck, he gurgled out a warning that alerted the others. They did not know from whence came the shot.

Re-load. Still undetected. He withdrew and moved around another thirty degrees. Right behind the third target.

Third shot fired. Spinal shot. Immediate loss of motor control, death within two minutes. Target neutralized. Withdraw.

Arc thirty more degrees to the only angle no shots have come from.

Re-load.

Target watching his side. Take out stone and arc high.

Stone lands on far side of camp, target whirls to gauge threat.

Fourth shot pins attacker between shoulder blades. Paralyzing instantly. Death in fifteen minutes unless treated immediately.

Total time to neutralize enemy force

Sixty seconds.

Destini

Destini watched with pride as Allan took out the remaining four men. She marched into camp and secured the man whom she had pinned to the beech tree with a simple shoulder wound. She looked him directly in his eye and knocked him out with the butt of her pistol crossbow. There was time to deal with him later after the immedate threat had been resolved.

She reloaded her weapon and motioned for Allan, Corwynn, and Richard to gather.

"There is one final group headed fer town -- probably in the hopes of catching us," she hissed to her compatriots "If they have heard any o' the noise here, they will be back to find us. I propose we take them out now." She looked to the ranking leader of their party. "Allan?"
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked at the unconscious captive. As he walked over and lashed the idiot to a tree, he answered Destini's questions.

"We have a witness to tell us what we need to know.

We need to eliminate the rest of the threat.

Did Springtime actually think we'd be taken so easily.

As Jah is my witness, she must never cross my path or she.will.pay.

Allan was ready to hunt the final enemy force.

--Ciar_indigo

Ciar Indigo sat alone in a dark corridor. Listening to the bats rustling in the corners. His abnormally sharp eye-vision could see them.

d'Argent had left him to be with the Constable of Imleach. Indigo was happy of that. He didn't resent d'Argent's company, but he was happiest when he was alone in the dark. It was easier to breathe when there was nobody else around.

The only thing that felt better was the rush of power that went through him when he took someone's life away. Taking a life made Indigo feel alive. In a perfect world there would be no other people alive than Indigo.

Indigo heard some rustling in the air. His hand swooped through the air like a lightning and catched it. A bat, trying to fly past him. Indigo crushed the animal in his fist and held it over his mouth, letting it's intestines flow in his mouth. He was hungry.

All the other bats in the room moved as far from Indigo as they could. Indigo could see them. He smiled. They knew what he was, and it made Indigo happy. The smell of fear electrified him.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked on. He was impressed with Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie's tactics. "The other squad is headed in the opposite direction," he pointed out. "There is no point in chasing the rest of them. We will be gone before they can bring reinforcments." With an appraising glance, he looked at the man Brightpoint had lashed to a tree. "Let us be done with this man and be away from here as soon as possible." Grimthorn began to re-roll his bedroll.

--Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was a bit taken back. He actually agreed with Richard...

"I hate to say this in ways you will never understand Allan. Destini. But I agree with Richard. Yes. I know. But still, alert the media.

That said. Let us get information from that trussed up turkey and get across the bloody border.

Nothing good comes from staying here. Nothing.

Are we clear?"

Destini

Destini could not agree more. "Aye, let us get what we need here as quickly as can an' get to An Mumhain as fast as possible."

The man she'd injured, the man Allan had lashed to the tree, was waking. Let them be done with this. She didn't take her eyes off Springtime's solder as she put away her pistol crossbow. This interrogation wouldn't require her weapon. She moved to the soldier's side.

Her minstrel's nimble hand threaded from her cloak to firmly grasp the crossbow's shaft she had placed in the soldier's shoulder. Pulling the quarel from his shoulder caused pain and opened the soldier's gaze. "Ye work fer Springtime," she hissed. "Donae deny it. I can clearly see yer armband. Why did ye come after us?"

"'Twas a ... routine ... mission ... nothing important!"

Destini gripped the soldier's wound, placing pressure on the already open sore. Blood coated her minstrel's fingers. The man cried out. A part of her hated causing the man pain. Wasn't this supposed to be one of Springtime's minions? Wasn't her army supposed to be unfeeling, inhuman ... unrelentless? This man was clearly feeling, clearly human. What if he was telling the truth? She pushed her thoughts aside. She needed the answers this soldier could provide. "I donae believe ye! Who sent ye?" The man didn't answer. Destini loaded her crossbow and pressed the point of the arrow on his wound. The arrow tip caused him immediate pain ... pain he would feel thrice fold if she fired into his shoulder again.

"No! No! No!" he cried, trying to stop her from firing.

Was he crying out of pain or to warn the other squad still looking for them? They didn't have time for this! "Give me a name!"

"Springtime." Destini glared at the soldier. Of course he would give her that name. What other name was there to give? Who else in this county was there? Destini looked to Allan. How much time did they have to find the truth ... assuming this soldier even knew the truth? How much longer could they delay before Springtime's soldiers caught them?
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Pagan

"Jahdamnit..." Pagan grunted for no obvious reason. She concentrated on remembering what it was like on the other side of the wall. She looked at Jerro and Dierdre and pointed diagonally out of the window.

"The gate is there on the left. The Bailiwick is on the outskirt of the town. If we can get over the wall we should have chances. The guards who bring us our breakfast are not the one's who sit in the guard room, and it won't take long before they start anticipating that something is wrong, so we must not waste any time. This is what I think we should do: When we hear them approaching, I will move farther in the corner to attack from the side. Ye two should stand up like ye were glad to get something to eat. Are ye okay with this plan? Or do ye have better suggestions?"

The sky was getting brighter outside. The sun would rise soon. Pagan looked at Jerro in the reddish light that was emanating through the window.

That's when it hit her: Pagan and Dierdre were small enough to fit through the small window, but Jerro wasn't! There was no way he could get his shoulders through!
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stepped over to where Destini was questioning the man who looked little better than hired thugs from the backstreets of London.

"You. You may not know what your Countess is up to. But there is a lesson there, dolt."

The man's eyes gave hint of a flash of irritation before settling into common insolence. "What lesson, criminal?"

Brightpoint grinned and none of it made it to his eyes.

"Don't work for people who fail to keep you informed or you end up tied to a tree in a forest hoping the clothes fairy turns up."

Allan smashed his crossbow hand-guard across the man's temple, knocking him senseless again.

"Corwynn. Tie this trash to the tree, remove all clothes and weapons, and lets get the hell out of here. Morning's light is beckoning to the east."

Allan turned to Desti to see where she'd want to go now.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn went about his work quickly, muttering to the unfortunate soldier as he lashed him, gagged to the tree. "By the twitching of my thumbs, something unfortunate your way comes.

Aye, an th' parting be sich sweet sorrow. Nae need t'be engineerin a wee reunion or I will slit yer throat meself with a walnut shell, laddie!"

Corwynn joined the others, his work here complete.

Destini

She stood back and watched as Allan and Corwynn took over. They were better at this than her. No surprise there. They'd been at this longer than her. She looked at the blood that washed down from the crossbow-bolt sized hole in the man's shoulder then glanced to the blood on her hands. Her eyes were wide when she looked back at the unconscious soldier. Whether he worked for Springtime or no, he was human. He was real. The evidence was before her. There was no denying what she had done. Destini had caused this man pain to get information he didn't even have. A chill went down her spine. Jah, how is it I am capable o' this?

She tried to swallow the walnut-sized lump in her throat and pulled her focus back to their mission. "We're done here. The other squad may have heard this one's cries. We have to move. An' we have to move fast. The sun rises in the East. Let us gather our things an' go to the West. We can reach the border o' An Mumhain by early afternoon."

She returned the bolt to its quiver and un-cocked the crossbow. She returned the weapon to its tether at ther belt. Her gaze lingered on the soldier and his wound a moment before she turned to gather her satchel from where it had been tossed.
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Jerro_oconnor

"A better idea? No, no better ideas yet." Chances were he wouldn't either. Dierdre shook her head emphatically. The light from the sun began to brighten up the room. He looked, but he couldn't see the chord that was holding up the tray. Then he saw Pagan look toward the window. A surprised look came over her face. He looked towards the window, thinking someone was spying on them. That's when he noticed the problem too. He was small, but he wasn't that small.

"Oooohhh... That's a problem. I could possibly slip through if I dislocate my shoulder, which will hurt terribly, but then I wouldnt be able to climb up. Ye two couldn't push me up, even if ye could, it would waste too much time. It looks like there is only one way to go for me."

"Wha... what do ye mean?" Dierdre asked.

"It looks like I'll have to be a distraction."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan stood up and started walking a nervous circle on the floor, throwing glances at the window, Jerro and then back at the window again. Finally she said:

"I have an idea that might potentially work. Me and Dierdre go out first and then ye stick yer hands out of the window. I take the other hand, Dierdre the other and supporting our weight to the wall we'll pull ye out. Make no mistake, it will hurt like hell and rip yer skin a little bit too, but ye'd still be able to climb the wall. And come to think of it, I don't think we should run out of town after all - that's what they expect us to do. I know a place - a secret hiding place only Oddman and Narehme knows about, so nobody can ever find us there. It is stocked with food, whiskey and even running water fer cleaning up. What do ye say, Jerro? Do ye think ye could manage it? It would be easier if we had some kind of grease we could use, but unfortunately we don't."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro thought about what Pagan was proposing. He would have a better chance to survive than if he played decoy, but it might ruin Pagan and Dierdre's chances. "Are ye sure ye want to try that? I mean, I don't want to be the one to hold ye two back if ye can escape." He might be able to give them a couple more minutes to escape. If worse came to worse, he'd be killed. More likely, Caine would torture Jerro once he was recaptured and really make Jerro suffer for as long as possible for helping the others escape.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn slogged through the mud of yet another dirty, grimy creek. At least this one didn't smell like a fetid bog like the last four had. "It's no wonder this island of yours is so green what with all these horrid streams running every which a way! We've crossed ... what, now? Twenty? Forty? of these tepid waterways. It surprises me your lot can travel anywhere at all!" The rain during the night had ensured a damp morning's journey. Now, at mid-morning, Grimthorn was thoroughly soaked and covered in mud. Swamp grass and prickly burrs clung to his tunic and pants and irritated him something terrible. His boots made a slurping sound as the mud tried to claim his footwear for its own. "Ugh," he whined for the fourty-second time. "Are we there yet? Honestly, I have no idea why we couldn't just stick to the roads... this dismal, backwater country of yours does have roads, doesn't it?"

Destini

"Shut it, Richard," said Destini for what felt like the thousandth time. Still, despite the repetition, there was no heat behind the words. "As I said, we cannae take to the roads with Springtime's patrols out there. Plus, by travelin' as the crow flies rather than as the wolf runs, we will reach the border faster." Her voice was low, her tone bland. Her mind was elsewhere.

Despite that she had washed her hands clean in the first stream they'd come to, the image of the soldier she'd interrogated remained with her. The taste of his fear and pain was as real to her now as it had been several hours ago. Jah, what have I done? she wondered again.

The beech trees were becoming mixed with oak and ash now, more like the forests where she'd grown up. They were nearing the border of An Mumhain. Destini pressed on.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was feeling a bit of tension as they neared the borderlands into An Mumhain. He had spent twenty minutes trying to sort out why it bothered him, and then something clicked.

"It is at the border where we will learn if the patrols looking for us were random, well guided, or part of a well-directed, intense effort to intercept us.

My thoughts thus far are thus:

Allan walked in silence a few steps before again saying what he figured most were thinking

"Thus our reception at the Border will tell us how much thought the enemy is putting into what we are up to."

--Brother_corwynn

"Not to be a fly in the salve, as it were, but we are missing a few salient points." Corwynn was ever the harbinger of sunny tidings it would seem. He ticked off some concerns as he spoke them.

He stopped moving as that last thought tumbled out of his mouth.

Destini

She was about to respond when other voices reached her minstrel's trained ears. Her highly auditory skills came in handy for more than just music, it seemed. She came to an abrupt stop and held her hand up to her compatriots to forestall any further conversation ... even from Richard, if that was at all possible. "What's missin' isnae all that's amiss, Brother," she said in a low tone. "We have company."

Closing her eyes, focused her mind on the sounds she was hearing. She knew these woods, knew these trees, knew the way sound carried in them. Two conversations were going at once, too far away for words to be distinguished, but definately two separate conversations. Her eyes stayed closed as she reported what she was hearing in a soft whisper.

"There is one woman with an alto timbre to her voice. She is speakin' with a man with a beard an' a low tenor tone." The way the man's voice was hindered slightly told her he either had a beard or a mask. Given casual inflections in the voices as they were speaking, a beard made more sense.

The clatter of small wooden items against pottery caught her attention. The sound stopped abruptly. Three men and one woman spoke to one another in succession. Laughter. The clatter again. "Four others, three men, one woman. I think they're playin' at dice."

Another sound reached her ears. Destini opened her eyes and turned to Allan with a grave expression. "The shimmerin' sound o' chainmail an' the clank o' armor. These are soldiers."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan motioned everyone near and down.

"Everyone. Weigh in fast.

I say, we do *not* want to be having a chat with that lot regardless of who they are. Fewer eyes what see us, fewer eyes report us.

I recommend we circle around and avoid contact.

Richard?

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn startled to be addressed specifically. Usually, they didn't bother to listen to his opinion even when he gave it. Now, he was being asked? "I'd take this opportunity to say I told you we so and we should have gone back to England when I said so back at the docks, but that seems to be overcome by events at this point." He paused to consider the information the lady MacKenzie had gleaned from sounds he could not hear. She really was a wonder.

"While it would not surprise me to discover this lot in armor belong to d'Argent (they're certainly careless enough ... like Elias), I doubt that's the case. For one, they're far too much in the open for his style. D'Argent would plan an ambush ... not a blockade. Still, for all their incompetence, trouble avoided is easier to get out of. I vote we go around them, if possible." Grimthorn couldn't believe he was voting to continue traveling through the damned prickly underbrush, but there it was.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn hated to admit it. He agreed with Richard.

"Agreed. Avoid at all costs. This lot are making more noise than the Finisher in a pink parchment shop, but we cannot entertain the idea of a useless entanglement.

Especially if we have plans to get back to England."

Corwynn hated to admit it. He agreed with Richard, and there would be no living with him now.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked at Corwynn first in utter shock, then in bemused wonder that morphed quickly into a grin of pure glee. He might have cried out in triumph if it wasn't for the disapproving glance the lady MacKenzie gave him. "Well, that's settled then! Around and about we go, where we're caught Jah only knows ... but it won't be here." He was so amused that Corwynn agreed with him that he was quoting children's rhymes. Undignified? Maybe. But it had the potential to annoy Corwynn, so that was well enough.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn let Richard have his moment of glee before remarking, "Come! Richard, there is a thicket with your name on it..."

Corwynn looked to Destini to see which way they'd be circling.

Pagan

Pagan realized that Jerro was right in the sense that if he sacrificed himself for them it would give Pagan and Dierdre much better chances of getting away, and conversely pulling Jerro out of that window would cost them valuable seconds and potentially ruin the whole escape. But still, Pagan had no hesitations or doubts about what was right. "Ye wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't fer me in the first place, so I'm not gonna let ye sacrifice yerself fer me! Ye know what Caine would do to ye? No, we are either leaving all together or not at all! Ye are coming with us!"

A sound of footsteps from the corridor interrupted her. They were coming! There was no time to argue or plan anymore. Pagan retreated in the corner like they had agreed to.

The footsteps echoed under the stony roof of the corridor. They could hear how the guards were talking with each other. One of them laughed out loud.

That was a good sign!

Gaara893 wrote:

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Banner by Raella

Destini

Destini felt no need to weigh in after the men agreed. Not that she didn't share their opinion, she did. But there was no need to speak it aloud. Truth be told, since the attack early in the morning, she didn't feel much like talking unless she had information the party might require. Plus, in this situation, with soldiers just beyond the rise on the road, it was best to avoid speaking.

A gentle incline of her head to the southwest informed the party that traveling in that direction would avoid the soldiers and still keep them headed toward An Mumhain.

She knew they had crossed the border when they came through the forest to a patch of farmland. From the looks of things, it had been a horse farm. It was abandoned now, but didn't have the rundown look of an abandoned farm. Maybe the family had simply gone traveling, then? A fluttering piece of paper on the barn door caught her attention. It was a strange place for a parchment to be tacked. Curiosity drew her closer.

She stopped short when she read the words written in an official hand. "Allan," she called just before her breath caught in her throat. She pointed to the parchment.

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN SUSPICION OF CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT REGICIDE

ALLAN BRIGHTPOINT
DESTINI MACKENZIE

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Jerro_oconnor

That gave Jerro a pause. He had honestly been planning to sacrifice himself, but if it were truly all or nothing, then he would gain nothing from it. He shrugged it off, "Alright, just a suggestion. Then he also heard the footsteps. "Sounds like they're comin. Ain't that a bit soon?" He also got into position as the footsteps got closer. He just hoped that they would either turn at the last second, or if not, then they would at least be fully armed.

Pagan wrote:

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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn nodded at Destini's shock

"Wow...Sorry..um..wow...wanted...and...yeah....wow..

Could be worse...

We could be stuck in a prison cell somewhere discussing our woes..."

Corwynn knew this poster was not a good thing.....

Pagan

The sturdy iron lock squeaked and they could hear clanging as the padlock and the chain attached to it slumped on the floor and swang against the iron fittings outside. From below the door they could see a clear glimmer of yellow light.

The door slammed wide open and Pagan closed her eyes on that exact moment. It took a fifth of a second before she dared to open them again.

Pagan could clearly see two spears.

The floor whirled as the cord tightened and the heavy tray crashed down straight in front of the three guards. They were incredibly lucky because the tray hit the full tray that the guard in the middle was carrying and all the contents spilled all over.

In a blink of an eye Pagan rushed into action. She attacked towards them from the side and heard a frightened yelp as the nearest guard was trying to turn and point his spear at Pagan. Pagan grabbed the rod of the spear and jerked, and the guard swayed forth.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro also acted once the trays hit. He rushed to the other side to attack the guard there. He grabbed the guards spear close to where the blade connected with the shaft and pushed foreward. The guard's too-loose grip on his weapon offered little resistance, so he was able to bring the weapon up and hit the guard in his face. The guard then dropped his hold on the weapon. Jerro took the opportunity to rip off the helm the guard had been wearing and hit him in the temple with it. Still holding the spear, he caught the guard's limp body before it hit the ground.

Dierdre was having trouble with her own guard. Jerro and Pagan had hit the sides, so she would have to deal with the middle. Her brother had taught her "All she needed to know about self defense" which basically amounted to "Kick them in the nadgers and run". What was she supposed to do to knock them out afterwards? The guard had dropped the trays, making a loud clattering sound. She would start there. She quickly picked one of the trays up, as the guard stood there quietly, holding his wounded area with both hands and dry heaving. It was a good kick, but the follow up was weak. She brought the tray down on his head, clanging against the metal helm. All this did was make him try to rub both wounded areas at the same time. She looked frantically from Jerro to Pagan, but they were both occupied still. So instead, she kicked him again. And again. And again until he finally keeled over from the pain.

Satisfied with herself, she looked over to Jerro and Pagan, who was just about finished with their own guards. "So, now we run?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan hit her fist behind the guard's ear and watched as he slumped to the ground without making a sound. Then she jumped at the door like a cat and pulled it shut. "Jerro, Dierdre, stand by the door and give me a warning if ye hear someone coming!"

Pagan grabbed one of the shields and pushed it in between the window bars. She pressed her leg against the wall and pushed. Plaster rustled and the bars bent. Pagan switched her grip and pushed again, and a bar broke away with a snap and clattered on the floor. Then she broke away the other bars and glanced at Jerro and Dierdre guarding the door.

"All set!" she said quietly.

She lowered the shield on the ground. It was bent. She grabbed one of the spears, ran back at the window, climbed on a bunk and stuck her head out. The yard of the Bailiwick was still dark and quiet. From afar she could hear the sound of a fiddle and a trembling tenor voice singing.

Pagan pushed the spear out, pressed her head even further and flattened her shoulders. She slithered like a snake out of the tight hole and fell on the dusty yard. She grabbed the spear and looked up.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro and Dierdre stood at the doorway, on the lookout for any more interuptions. That's when he heard something. He turned his head towards the sound and tried to identify it. It sounded like... a faint gurgling sound? He looked down to see the middle guard was still conscious. His face was locked in a rictus of pain. He seemed to be recovering, though. He was attempting to shout or something (presumably). They couldn't have that, though. He brought up his borrowed spear and brought the butt of it crashing down on his head. He stopped making noise, but kept breathing.

And they think we're the murderers Jerro scoffed silently. He looked back quickly into the room, Pagan's feet were just disappearing through the window. "All clear?" He whispered loudly out towards the window. He motioned for Dierdre to get into position to climb up next. So far so good, no one had come to investigate yet.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent was sitting in the Circus wondering what he should do next.

The targets....well two of the four...were in custody. One had to be impressed with Caine for showing such ruthless efficiency,

Except. The targets were still alive and would doubtless find a way out.

What to do.

What to do.

SNAP

Perhaps d'Argent needed to create a little accident for the prisoners and avoid awkward trials later.,

Yes.

That would sort it.

If you want it done best, do it yourself.

Off to the Bailiwick and straight away went d'Argent, still holding the Pagan's letter-opener with that cute MacKenzie Circus crest on it.

Pagan

Pagan was the smallest of the three, so getting out of that window had been easiest for her. Dierdre wasn't a big lass either, but squeezing through that hole was considerably more difficult for her. Pagan put the spear on the ground and helped her by pulling by her arms, and the lass dropped down like a newborn filly.

What really worried Pagan was Jerro. Even though he was smaller than an average man, he was still too damn big for that hole and Pagan wasn't at all sure he could go through it at all.

Then Pagan heard a door slamming. Voices broke the soft silence.

She cursed and grabbed Jerro's left arm and nodded Deirdre to do the same with his right. Then she supported her feet on the wall and pulled so hard her eyes went black.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro pushed his spear through, then subjected himself to being pulled through the tiny window. It hurt. It felt like someone was trying to scrape his skin off of his arms and his shoulders. If he could just get those through, then he'd be all set. He gritted his teeth, and started kicking off the back wall. He couldn't tell if it was doing anything, but he had to try something.

Then he heard the door. He couldn't tell if it was a door inside, or out. Didn't really matter the position he was in. He was dead if they found him like this, they all were. Pagan and Dierdre pulled with all their combined might. This did mean the pain increased too. Jerro felt like his arms would be torn from their sockets. Black began to swirl at the edges of his vision. Suddenly, there was a popping sound and his left shoulder came free. It had been like when two people try to use the door at once, they can't get through. With his left shoulder out of the way, he was able to shimmy and get pulled the rest of the way through. It was still a snug fit, but he managed to get out.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent moved in silent shadow through the bailiwick...

The Viscomte walked back to where the prisoners were being held. He had veered down this hallway once out of sight of the guard station. It was time to assess what his options might be if he needed to liquidate the prisoners.

d'Argent pulled up short, in a brief moment of shock when he saw the open door, sprawled guards, and an otherwise empty cell.

Resourceful, were the Pagan and her toy.

Check the guards.

Out but not dead.

Hmm

SNAP

With ruthless and silent efficiency, d'Argent slid MacKenzie's letter opener out of his pouch and into the ear of the first two guards, twisting and stabbing to ensure the wound was fatal.

He left the opener in the ear of the third after he, too, was quite dead.

Add a few murders to the prosecutor's case, shall we? Killing to escape was as good as a confession.

Now off to find Caine and ask to see the prisoners...

d'Argent moved in silent shadow through the bailiwick...

Pagan

Pagan almost fell on her back on the ground as Jerro fell down. Jerro's upper body was half naked and blood was flowing from wounds and bruises. Pagan grabbed her spear and whispered:

"Over the wall!"

Pagan didn't stick around to fiddle her thumbs. She leaped through the air like a shadow, grabbed the iron ring and was on the top of the wall. She offered her hand to help the others.
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--Constable_caine

"d'Argent is here, sir", said the adjutant.

Constable Caine had just been cleaning his fingernails with his big dagger as he heard his adjutant's announcement. Instinctively he straightened up his posture, opened his desk drawer and placed the dagger in there. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before he grabbed the bottle and hid it in the drawer too.

Caine wasn't a heavy drinker, quite the contrary. In fact most that knew him considered him practically a teetotaller and a prude by Irish standards, not the least because of his many revolutionary ideas that were vehemently objected by the general population, like raising the legal drinking age to 13. But sometimes he celebrated a successful day by having a drink - one drink, mind you! - of quality Irish whiskey. But it would have been beyond boorish to keep a bottle of whiskey and a dagger on plain sight when there was nobility visiting. Come to think of it, that horse whip and the pile of paper looked vulgar as well, so he swooped them in the drawer too before he said, trying to sound as dignified as he possibly could:

"Send him in."

Do you want to be dead?

--Viscomte_dargent

"Greetings, Constable Caine," came the silken voice of Viscomte d'Argent as he entered the office.

"I had a message arrive that some operatives from England who might be working with your recently arrived guests are headed for An Mumhain. I thought perhaps we could confirm the ties I suspect by revealing the purported capture and death of MacKenzie's clan sister at the border. The shock of the news would make concealing their association very difficult....

I know you are a busy man, but a few moments might prove very...profitable... to gaining cooperation."

d'Argent smiled beneficently at the constable even as his mind was cackling with the knowledge that the few moments of the Constable discovering fresh murders to blame on the Pagan would be profitable for the Viscomte in so many ways...

--Constable_caine

"Aye", Caine nodded at d'Argent's wise words. "Well, I can assure you that An Mumhain is first and foremost a County of law and order! The times when human trash roamed the streets robbing decent citizens are long past us now, thanks to m... men and women who don't hesitate to give their lives to see that the criminal scum is apprehended and executed! Long gone are the times of inefficiency too. If you doubt me, let's just go to see our new guests and how they are adjusting to their new quarters, shall we?"

Caine smiled smugly as he thought of Pagan and the other peaces of human trash in his custody about to be exposed to his favourite interrogation tactics. What would he use this time? The Lie Detector Test? Too easy for the criminals. The Judas Chair? The Pear? Caine realized he was smirking and pulled his face serious as he realized he had a guest of substance. Vulgarity was repulsive, and smirking in the presence of the nobility was vulgar if anything.

Do you want to be dead?

--Viscomte_dargent

"Yes," concurred d'Argent, "You do seem to run a remarkably tight Bailiwick. Let us to the prisoners and watch them quail at news their associates are taken, and then again when they realize their reaction has undone them before your skilled eyes."

The Viscomte stood and gave the "After you," gesture so that the Constable could lead the way back.

Jerro_oconnor

Dierdre followed Pagan up the wall in record time. Jerro tried to lift himself up, but his left arm wouldn't move like he wanted it to. That explains the pop. Still, the wall didn't seem too high. He started to run straight towards the wall. With his momentum, he was able to run a couple feet up the wall. He reached up and grabbed the ring with his good arm. Using the ring, he boosted his momentum. For one heart-wrenching moment, he was afraid he wouldn't make it. He reached up for the top of the wall, his fingertips brushed the corner. Then he started to fall back down...
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

With a smirk Caine got up from behing his desk. Oh right... the Pear. d'Argent would certainly appreciate the Pear, so it was time to use it this time.

"Let's go then!" he said triumphantly, proud to be able to show the foreign Viscount how satisfyingly miserable his jail was for it's numerous visitors.

Caine didn't stop his ostentation before the adjutant had opened the cell door. Once Caine saw what was inside his mouth dropped and for a secod or two he just stared. Then he snapped out of it and like a well-trained Constable shouted out:

"ALAAARRRMMM!!!

Do you want to be dead?

Pagan

Pagan grabbed Jerro as he was about to drop and practically plucked him up to the top of the wall. As they were standing on the wall they could see lights turning on in the Bailiwick windows. Boots were rustling. They could hear sharp commands.

The escape had been spotted!

Pagan turned and looked down on the other side of the wall. There was probably a about fifty yard wide open area filled with horse tracks. It was a training field for the NMA. A gate opened approximately twenty yards away. A group of guards ran out holding lanterns.

"Stay down!" Pagan whispered at Jerro and Dierdre. "Down there we wouldn't stand a chance!"

Pagan shivered but stayed lying down on the top of the wall. Would the guards check the foot-wide wall? It was over ten-feet tall, but still...
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Banner by Raella

--Viscomte_dargent

"Goodness," d'Argent said, "That looks a bit of a muddle. Weren't these your shock troops down here? One of them has a dagger plunged into his ear.....funny crest on it too...."

D'Argent smiled to himself...

--Constable_caine

Feeling extremely peeved, Caine bent down to pluck the knife out of the man's ear. By Jah, if the prisoners wouldn't have killed them, he would have done it himself!

"Oh yes", he said, "just as I suspected. It's Pagan's sign. I've always said that tramp was nothing but a criminal hiding behind a respectable name. MacKenzie - PTHUI! I happen to know she has no relation to that family of Scottish immigrants whatsoever. No, she was born and bread here, and no matter how hard she tries to pretend like they never existed, I still remember who her real family was. The scummiest, purest example of human trash that's ever tread the face of this Earth. And Pagan is no different, it is in her blood. I don't know how she managed to squirm in the good graces of the MacKenzie's, but now everyone shall see what I meant!"

Caine turned and looked apologetically at d'Argent. "I'm sorry about this display of incompetence, sire, but they couldn't have gotten far. Rest assured we will catch them - and the other conspirators from England as well. I think I remember that Destini now - there's another social climber. Granted, her parents were honest, but they were also poor dirt farmers. Nobodies. I guess the undeserved respect those two enjoyed by replacing their real names with the title of MacKenzie just wasn't good enough for them anymore, eh? Nothing is ever enough for that type of people."

Do you want to be dead?

--Viscomte_dargent

Inwardly the Viscomte was roaring with mirth and glee, but outwardly was a picture of calm elegance--as always. His silken voice shadowed forth, "Yes. Social climbers and murderers all. Same with Brightpoint. A small bit of talent puffed up with an ego the size of Flanders

I expect Brightpoint and Destini MacBrat helped slay your guards. I worried we might have to suffer some ill-conceived, murderous rescue effort. I will send over three of my best men to swell your ranks after this sudden loss of troops. They are well-trained, effectively brutal, and utterly reliable"

D'Argent paced, "I think, Constable, that when next that lot is captured--and I have faith you will get them--you may wish to be a bit more stern. Some scum are best left to meet their end 'resisting arrest,' don't you think?

Besides Ireland is a hungry land and this will be four fewer mouths to feed..."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked over Destini's shoulder at the notice tacked up.

"What, no pictures?" complained the Arch-deacon. "Pretty shoddy business not having descriptions and pictures on the notices."

Brightpoint's eye spotted another parchment flopping in the breeze nearby. He walked over to have a look.

"Uh oh...One here for your friend Pagan MacKenzie and some other gent.

The constable in these parts has been busy. We'll need to stay out of anywhere you'll be easily recognized.

I wonder if the two hundred people at that wedding last winter will recognize me..."

There was never a dull moment in the service of Cardinal Faheud

--Constable_caine

"Absolutely, sire", Caine nodded in perfect agreement. "Even though it would have been... a pleasure... to extract a confession from Pagan and her little boyfriend, she is unfortunately much smarter and more efficient than the rest of her late trashy family, and this incident here proves it. She is too dangerous to be kept alive. I assume your... security consultants... don't have qualms about that sort of thing? 'Encounters', that's how I call them. I'm only asking because some of my own underlings have certain amount of qualms over such methods because of misplaced pity for the wrong-doers. There is a select few people I can assign for encounter jobs."

Do you want to be dead?

Destini

"Stay out o' anywhere I'll be easily recognized?!" Destini quoted back to Allan with a voice rising on its way to hysterics. "Allan! This is my home! I was born here in Imleach! I've been tryin' to get home fer months! O' course I'll be recognized!"

Fearful hysterics gave way to determined anger and she ripped the wanted posters from the barn wall. "I willnae stand by whilst my kin are poisoned, tortured, an' murdered." The contents of Pagan's many letters went through her mind as she recalled all that her clan sister had written about.

She looked down at the poster with Pagan's name on it and recognized Jerro's name from one of Pagan's letters. So, he'd stuck beside her even through Pagan's poisoning. Good. Destini looked forward to meeting this man ... assuming he and Pagan were still free and alive.

If they were, where would they be?

She thrust the wanted posters at Allan and headed for the road into town. "Stay here if ye'd rather hide than help ... though where I'm goin, I'll most certainly be recognized an' need all the help I can get." In an instant, her pistol crossbow was in her hand. She checked her remaining ammunition in preparation for what would certainly be a fight. Her Irish temper flared at the indignity of being suspected of committing the very crime she had tried so hard to prevent. "I'm goin' to the MacKenzie Circus. E'en if Pagan isnae there, her bartender Grunt may know where she is."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan let a rare tone of annoyance filter his words, "Well, by all means, blunder down the road in a huff.

Or.

Perhaps pick something in between the obviously stupid idea of hiding and the equally daft idea of trundling up the road looking for an arresting officer.

I think either extreme is doomed to similar bad ends.

Obviously this is d'Argent's work--trying to take those capable of stopping him out of the game--"

Allan realized that she was not listening, hadn't been, and was a dozen yards up the road.

"Right then. Come, lads, we're off to be arrested."

With that he readied weapons and followed.

--Viscomte_dargent

"Of course, d'Argent smoothly replied. "I will be sending you a trio of associates who have exactly that sort of talent and experience. I will go arrange for them to report in."

D'Argent headed back up and out of the bailiwick to select a few operatives to load to the Bailiwick. Operatives more loyal to d'Argent than the county, to be fair, but the Viscomte was all right with that as well..

--Constable_Caine wrote:

Destini

For all her anxious anger, for all her desire to help her kin now that she was close enough to do something, she was still listening to Allan.

She stopped walking, hooked her hand crossbow back to its tether at her belt, and turned back to Allan. "I'm doin' it again, aren't I? I'm doin' the same thing that got ye hurt on the ship." She felt her cheeks once flushed with anger, now flush with embarrassment. "Ye're right o' course. 'Tis daft to march into the waitin' arms o' d'Argent an' whoe'er in the law he's corrupted to his side. Yet, where my kin are involved, I amnae clear thinkin'. I know that."

She hesitantly met his gaze. "I s'pose d'Argent was countin' on that." She cleared her throat of the tears that were gathering there, tears she didn't dare shed for fear of losing all control. "So, we cannae stay here an' we cannae launch an attack on Imleach alone. What do we do?"

--Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"We do have options. We can move into town, but slightly off the roads--shut it Richard--and not be obvious. By the time we get there it would be dusk and we can check out the MacKenzie Circus like you said.

Let's not stop moving, let's just be careful. The closer we get to saving Pagan, the closer we get to those trying to harm her."

Allan smiled to soften his earlier words a bit and pointed out what appeared to be a hunting trail running parallel to the main thoroughfare.

"That looks like it might suit us..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn had, indeed, opened his mouth to complain at the suggestion (or was it an order?) to go through the brush rather than the road ... again. He found he actually agreed more with the lady MacKenzie than with Brightpoint. Why not go barrelling in with crossbows and throwing daggers doing what they were designed to do? There were four of them, after all. A sudden attack might undo d'Argent before he had a chance to react. This sneaking, however, gave the viscomte time to plan and plot again. Grimthorn liked chess. He was good at it. But even he had to admit that d'Argent was better at the game.

Since Brightpoint's comment had stifled his complaint, he ended up silently miffed as the party began to move through the underbrush along a so-called path. He rolled his eyes and grudgingly followed. He chanced a glance or three to watch the lady MacKenzie with a degree of interest. Interesting behavior from her over the last several hours. Very interesting indeed. After a moment or two, he paused his stride to reach out to carefully touch Brightpoint's forearm to get his attention. "Brightpoint, if you don't mind falling back a bit, I'd like a word, if you please." His suddenly genteel and subtle manner hinted that what he had to say was worth listening to.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint was pleased that Richard had stifled whatever complaint had been brewing about that clever mind of his. Miraculously, Allan had managed to stifle mirth at the war occurring in Richard's expressive face...

"Indeed...certainly.....Corwynn...please take second position."

Allan fell back to hear what Richard had to say...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn waited until they had fallen back a bit from the lady MacKenzie before speaking again. He kept his voice low so only Brightpoint would hear him. No sense in getting the others in an uproar. "I worry for the lady MacKenzie. No, no, don't bother making useless accusations that I care for her when you clearly have that fox well chased." He paused, upset that he had even spoken those words, but if that was what it took to stifle what he guessed would be Brightpoint's predictable response, then there it was. "Still, I am concerned. Her kin have been murdered and tortured, yes. It's tragic. Her worry is extremely understandable. Honestly, who can blame her?

"... Still ...

"Six hours ago I watched her torture a soldier with as much gusto as I would expect from you or I ... do recall that I saw your handiwork on Elias, mm? Just now, she was Hell bent on causing d'Argent, the constable, and any in her way as much trouble as she possibly could ... even at the expense of her own life. Oh, you might have been able to pull her back from the brink this time. But what of next time? If I'm to follow someone or trust they have my back, I want to know they're up to the task."

Grimthorn got to the point. "So, what say you, Brighpoint? Do you honestly believe - given what the lady is going through - that she is up to this?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"You raise a fair point," confided Allan, "We need to keep a weather eye on it. I watched her catch herself this time, for which action I am greatly relieved.

When we approach the outskirts of Imleach, we will have a war council, so to speak, and all four will voice their views regarding planning and such.

The Cardinal is a native Irisher, Grimthorn, and I have learned much on how to deal with the temperment if you gather my drift.

Still... You and Corwynn need to keep watching for any outside force that can undo us. My great fear is a random interference by the local constabulary costing us lives...."

Pagan

They had managed to escape the guards of the Bailiwick unnoticed and Pagan had lead the group in the abandoned warehouse Oddman had mentioned her about. It was situated in the edge of the town square, and really only Oddman (and Airiana and Narehme) knew about it, so it was safe. There was a secret passageway to a basement that had a secret corridor to Oddman's mansion, but the best news for them was the basement. It was filled with salted foodstuff and most importantly, a large stock of whiskey. It even had running water for washing themselves up.

Once they had gotten in, Pagan had a good glimpse of them in the mirror on the wall and couldn't help but to chuckle. Some bunch they were! Pagan and Jerro were both still masqueraded as old people, even though Pagan's make-up was pretty much ruined by the guards who had beat her up. Add to this the spears they were carrying and Deirdre's pink hair they didn't look that inconspicuous at all but rather like a weird bunch heading out for some strange carnival.

"Awwww, I think they ruined yer work, Deirdre!" Pagan said. "I think I'll wash me face out of the remnants of the mask, I will look less suspicious without it now!"
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Banner by Raella

--Dierdre_o_meadhra

Dierdre pouted. "And it was some of my best work too!" She looked over to Jerro, who's own face had become smudged. Then she thought about it some more. "I'll have to fix my hair too, huh? I wonder how I'll look with green hair? No, somethin less obvious this time."

"How about yer own hair color? That's somethin that hasn't been seen before." Jerro added, in line to wash his own mask off.

Her pout deepened. Jerro had a point, that would be the best choice. He couldn't have that point easily. "Yeah? Well... well..." Alright, so maybe he could. "What do we do now?"

Jerro_oconnor

Good question. What did they do now? "Well, we can't go out any time soon. What about the people that ye said were comin, Pagan? What do we do about them?" It's not like they could hold up a sign saying, "WE ARE HERE, COME RESCUE US". With no way to get to them, how would they know where to find them?

He scratched thoughtlessly at the make up. They needed to find a way to keep moving outside. They couldn't risk disguises again, look what had happened when they tried. Besides, Dierdre didn't have any of her equipment. How would they be able to clear their names if they couldn't even look for evidence to prove their innocence?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

First thing Pagan walked to a shelf loaded with whiskey, grabbed a bottle, opened the cork with her teeth and pulled a giant draught that laid waste to about fourth of the contents. She really needed that. Then she walked under the stream of perpetually flowing water next to an underground pond and stepped under the shower, fully clothed, letting the water wash away the remnants of the make-up. When she was ready she stepped back to the little room built inside the underground cave and looked around. Pagan was soaking wet but didn't care. The rush and joy of the knowledge that they were still alive overtook her. Like a dog she shook her head to dry out her hair.

"I think the first thing we do is take a little breather. Nobody knows of this place, it is well-stocked and we could hide there fer weeks if we wanted to. So today we rest, make plans, gather our strength and try to get some sleep if we can. After sunset I will venture above ground to the abandoned warehouse. It has a clear view to the Circus, and when it's dark it's not likely anyone would spot us inside staking out. I want to know what is happening in the home front now."
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Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro rotated his shoulder that he had dislocated trying to get out of prison. He had pushed it back in on the way here, but it was still bothering him a bit. "I don't think ye could leave. At least not quite yet. Let me go, I'm used to this sort of thing." He stopped moving his shoulder and moved to get into the shower next. "Think about it, I'll be out in a couple minutes. Ye can tell me what ye decided then." Without giving Pagan a second to respond, he walked into where he saw Pagan disappear into.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Where are ye going, Jerro?" Pagan wondered. "I hope ye are not thinking of going outside just yet. We are all tired, and the sun is up by now. We all look like we've been through a meat grinder. I seriously think we should lay low down here and rest until it's dark. Even if it is kinda hard to estimate the passing of time down here."
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Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm goin to wash this make-up off my face now. Ye two girls aren't the only ones who get to pretty themselves up, ye know." Even though he was hoping to get out there eventually, he'd still need the time to rest up. One person can only go through so much before he needs a nap. Or maybe a decent coma. He continued to walk to the shower, then thought how he could set up a modesty curtain or something. If he couldn't then all he really needed was to wash his face anyway. He just hoped neither one of them would do something stupid while he was gone, or they would at least wait til he got back.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan moved back up in the line of travelers to where Corwynn was keeping pace twenty feet or so behind Desti.

"You can fall back now. Richard had some concerns about Desti's temperment at present given the proximity to those who harmed her kin. I think we are fine for now.

Frankly, I am perfectly fine with her killing the idiots, as long as neither she nor us get killed in the process."

Brightpoint looked ahead at the steady, skilled progress Destini was making through the wooded deer trail. These were clearly her woods and her home. She was right about that one...

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn did not fall back at once, for he was wresting with his own concerns.

"A moment, Arch-Deacon. As commander of this mission, how do you propose that we should proceed? So we find d'Argent and any of his cronies. What then?

Is it to be quiet murder or the Pike man's Surprise after tea?

I cannot say I either fancy or recommend the bull in the goblet-shop approach..."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint's eyebrows arched at the use of his title.

"Well, Brother Corwynn, we plan to stop on the outskirts of Imleach at dusk and make plans based on what we see and hear. In short, if d'Argent is there, he dies. The Cardinal withdrew his protection from the Viscomte years ago and has granted 'Absolution en Absentia' for whatever we must do to end the threat to innocent lives..

Now take your place, if you please."

Allan turned and sped up to draw nearer to Destini.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn chuckled and dropped back to where Richard was.

"Seems we are all on the same page here. Did you get Arch-DeaconD as well?

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn frowned at Corwynn's words. "No, strange though it may be. He actually agreed with what I had to say. Stated we should keep an eye on the lady and watch for outside influences. Personally, I could not agree more." He looked about the woods as if searching for an enemy before smirking and confiding in the brother. "If Brightpoint is agreeing with me the apocalypse is certainly immenent. We should be on the lookout for horsemen, I think."

Destini

Destini's acute, minstrel's hearing might have been able to pick out some of the conversation happening behind her if she had been paying attention ... she hadn't.

She pressed onward, moving silently through the brush as Allan had taught her and counting the many different ways she could kill d'Argent. She was at thirty-six when she heard Allan's footsteps behind her. He wanted to be heard, then. Else, his footsteps would have been as silent as her own. She glanced back at him and tried to judge his mindset by his face. She couldn't.

"Is all well?" she asked him quietly as they walked on toward Imleach.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled.

"Aye, an it tis. We seem to all be on the same page now and are thus more likely to accomplish our goals, which are (In reverse order):

We have three very strong factions in the three counties...each of which despise the others.

The next Irish king will have a very hard time I think.

Allan paused a moment as they walked, noting the sun angling in a mid to late-afternoon stream across the path.

"So how are you doing? This cannot be easy..."

Destini

In the hopes that he would not see through her lie, Destini did not meet Allan's eyes when she answered his question. "I'm fine." Even as she said the words, she knew it was abundantly clear she was not. She silently prayed to Jah that Allan would not press the matter. She wanted to finish this business. She needed to finish this. Allan would not let her continue if she was not fine. So, for the moment, at least, Destini was 'fine'.

Instead of focusing on herself, she turned the conversation to what Allan had said about the counties. "'Civil War,' hm? Allan, this is Eire. I donae know how much time ye spent here before I met ye at Oddman an' Airiana's weddin', but 'on-the-brink-o'-civil-war' is the way 'tis here in Eire. 'Tis the status quo. Always has been an' prolly always will be.

"I believe the king o' Eire, if he is a good man, as Zan was ..." here, she paused to collect herself. A part of her still couldn't believe he was gone. She bit her bottom lip and focused her mind before continuing. "A good sovereign will have a hard time if he tries to rule. If he does nothin' but keep the throne from the hands o' criminals, then he has done enough. This isnae England, Allan. The people here donae believe in a monarchy. An' they will tear the throne an' each other apart if a good monarch tries to govern."

A chill ran down her spine as another thought occurred to her. "I shudder to think what a criminal in the place o' king could accomplish. An' I pray to Jah it doesnae come to pass ...."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan could see the NOT SO MUCH WITH THE FINE, REALLY screaming subtly across Destini's face. He admired her ability to attempt to cover it up. He'd just leave it be for now.

"Civil war. It is elective. Eire embraces Springtime and Anto by not chucking them out. If they cannot do it themselves, there are a world of places to go for help. I admire Irish stubbornness as being kindred to my welsh stubbornness. Comes from living in rocky soil I think. You have to be sod all stubborn to stay where starvation is a common outcome.

Still.

Eire invited a criminal king by not empowering good ones. If you will not led good men and women lead, you are asking evil ones to oppress.

Just my tuppence and not related to our mission I expect.

Let me know when you want to talk about the odd Irish definition of the word 'fine,' won't you?"

He smiled to soften his words.

Destini

Destini looked to Allan as he spoke his last phrase. He'd seen right through her. Still, how could he not? Somehow, he was letting her continue even as she was. Good. If she didn't address it now, maybe she wouldn't have to later. It was a long-shot ... especially with Allan. But maybe Jah had heard her silent prayer, after all.

She nodded and smiled wryly to Allan in response to his final sentence. "Later, Allan. Much later." She'd talk about it after d'Argent was dead. Another method of killing d'Argent popped in to her head. Thirty-seven. Destini silently swore she'd find this so-called 'viscomte' and send him back to the Nameless One's firey chasm from whence he came.

A sound through the brush came to her minstrel's ears. Her head cocked to one side and her vision unfocused as she turned all her attention on her auditory senses. "At present we donae have the kind o' time 'twould take to talk." Destini hunched down low and motioned for Allan and the others to do the same.

They had visitors.
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn stopped listening to the conversation ahead of him and perked up at the sound of someone on the road his own companions were avoiding.

More than one someone.

One....two...three someones.

One of them had a crossbow by the way he kept fiddling, noisily with the levers.

Damn.

Wonder who they were?

Corwynn motioned to bring Richard to ground.

This lot would either choose the other side of the road, blunder ahead, or wander over to where his own group must respond.

With Jah hating our team, thought Corwynn, there was little chance of a free pass.

Sigh.

Destini

Destini watched, noting the three soldiers did not bear the green armband of Springtime. That was well since they were in An Mumhain. They also did not bear the forest tones and blue insignia of the NMA. Not An Mumhain soldiers then ... which meant not the constabulatory. That was both bad and good. Bad that they were not friends of An Mumhain, but good that they were not after her and Allan.

Who were they?

She reported to Allan in a whisper. "They donae bear Springtime's armbands, nor are they NMA ... uhm ... An Mumhain soldiers." She translated the last bit for Allan's benefit. As a Welsh and Englishman, he would have no idea who the NMA were. "I donae recognize these soldiers."'

They were not headed to Imleach, a relief, but nor were they keeping to the north side of the road. The soldiers were bearing down on their position. "Allan," called Destini, readying her crossbow. "What do we do?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan felt time stop. He hated when it did that.

Number of hostiles headed their way - 3.

Likelihood they were friendly or neutral - 0.

Likelihood of Springtime's idiots ...since they had not her arm-bands and were being fairly competent at stealth...chances were 0.

Likelihood of being An Mumhain constabulary--lack of right colors or ribald commentary equals chances of 0.

Likelihood of random cut-purses - too organized for such nonsense - chances equal 0.

Hostiles move like scouts.

Anto recently activated at least one army due to An Mumhain incursion into the northern county. Check.

Likelihood of Anto sending NNGO scouts to determine threat? 100%.

Answer: Must eliminate threat.

From prone position fire bolt into eye-socket of lead hostile. 1 second.

Roll right and up behind tree for re-load. 3 seconds.

Crossbow bolt to left temple of second hostile who has turned to look at fallen comrade. 2 seconds.

Roll right again and tumble forward into bush cover for re-load. 4 seconds.

Roll right and fire bolt under helm of hostile commander, severing arteries in throats. 2 seconds.

Time to neutralize enemy force - 12 seconds.

Allan stood up and began to examine the bodies....

--Richard.grimthorn

Richard's mouth fell open. "By the trigger of Christos' mighty crossbow, where the hell did you manage to learn that?!" His words made no sense ... he knew it ... but still he'd expressed his awe in the only way he'd known how.

Destini

Destini stood.

She looked on the scene with wonder and pride. A slow smile bloomed on her face as she went to Allan's side. "Teach me to do that someday?" she asked him.

She looked at the soldiers Allan had taken out in a matter of seconds and found a commonality between them. A belt buckle on one, a necklace on another, a patch on the uniform of the third. Skulls. "Anto's boys." said Destini. They were armed, but lightly so, able to move stealthily through the brush. Scouts, then. Anto had been busy.

Destini glared at the corpses.

One enemy at a time. D'Argent was not part of this internal squabble. Based on the briefing she'd had back in Hastings with the Cardinal, d'Argent might use the dissension amongst the counties of Eire to his advantage, but he was not the cause. Anto was not their mission here ... d'Argent was.

"We should keep movin'," Destini suggested to Allan.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"You lost a second in the briars," commented Corwynn, "you'll want to work on that. I will take point while you recover."

Corwynn walked ahead, wondering how the hell his sword-brother could go from calm toi slayer mode so infernally swiftly....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Correct in one, and I can teach you this technique" agreed Allan. "This lot are Anto's scouts. We can tell your clan when we solve the d'Argent problem. I agree on keeping moving.

By the way...there is no identification on these scouts. Anto sent in his Secretzia Stilleto--or his Secret Knife. They had more of a mission than poking around."

He sighed. This day just kept getting longer.

Destini

Regardless of Anto's supposed mission, Destini nodded to Allan's direction and pressed on. In her mind, they had one motive here, one mission. Anto did not factor into their mission unless they had proof he was specifically involved. Destini's ire was planted squarely on this elusive d'Argent. She wanted his blood.

All these thoughts went through her mind as she led her party closer to Imleach. They had crossed the Western road when they'd examined Anto's scouts and were now coming at Imleach from the Northwestern side.

She hadn't even considered the direction they were traveling as an issue until she saw a familiar structure. Destini stopped short. They were at her home ... the land she owned ... her parents' home. It was grey and mournful. It cried out of all that Destini had left behind. In the time that Destini had fled to England, weeds and thorns had sprung up in the place of what had used to be a livingroom and kitchen. Destini looked at the scene with wide eyes, taking in all that this home had been and how little it now was. She knew that in the rear of the house were two graves marked by her own hand, despite that the bodies themselves had been burned. Her parents lied here on this land.

"Allan" said Destini looking about at the desolate landscape. She did not want to relive this pain ... not again. She certainly didn't want to re-live this in front of Allan. "This was here before I left with ye back to England. This is nothin' to do with what is happenin' now." She fixed Allan's gaze with a poigniant expression. "We have a mission to accomplish. Please," she prayed to Jah he would understand. "Please, Allan, let's move on."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"... Yes." Alan answered slowly. The scene of forgotten devastation hit him with memories of a pile of cinders in Wales.

"Lets. Um.

Let's go on. how far to town, then?"

He needed to stay on point. On mission. Not here. Not......there...

Destini

"Twenty minutes." said Destini. "Give or take." In the past, her friends Oddman and Pagan had often found their way to her home. Zanditin, too, before he was king, had owned a property near here. He had often showed up duirng random military training sessions with Oddman. Memory upon memory bombarded Destini with more force than should have been allowed. Her brow furrowed and she shook it away. She'd tried to move on, tried to be something more than these desolate walls.

Destini took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She tried to focus. They had a mission to accomplish. And they were not far from Imleach.

The sun was slanting towards evening. The afternoon was gone. Night was moving to hold sway over Imleach. Night brought the darkest of creatures into the open. Mentally, Destini tried to prepare. She looked to Allan. "In twenty minutes, we can be at the MacKenzie Circus."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

As he had been since inception, Corwynn was the ever silent shadow....

He glided up, unseen, unheard to the poignant display before him.

Waiting until his revelation would not startle, Corwynn spoke.

"We are twenty minutes out. May I recommend we make ten minutes further down the road and then plan our attack/surveillance efforts?"

Corwynn felt the import of this moment, this place, but he knew that a higher mission called them all forward....

Destini

She startled at Brother Corwynn's voice. In the pain of the moment, the shared atrocity with Allan, Destini had forgotten Corwynn and Richard were there.

"Aye," she said, nodding in agreement. "Five minutes puts us fifteen minutes out o' Imleach. We can easily plan there. I know the location like the back o' my hand. We can hide in the forest there. I can lead ye." She turned to Corwynn with an over-pronounced mannerism of confidence in her own competance. She had not expected to come upon the graveyard of her former home and was not feeling confident about this at all. But, still, she tried to project confidence to the best of her performer's ability.

"This way," she said, moving away from the ruins of her former life and down to the the trail to Imleach. The evening was closing in.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Let's stop here," began Allan as Richard and Corwynn caught up to where he and Destini were looking down the small valley leading into Imleagh.

"I think we should talk here a bit. First we need to look at what we know, what we suspect, and what we have no idea about.

Allan broke off at that point because a pigeon fluttered down to a stone near him and looked up expectantly. It had a message tied to its leg.

Looking up at the others with surprise, Allan set about retrieving the note. He flipped the little bird a few bits of corn while he perused the note.

With wide eyes he looked at the others.

"Good Cristos! Faheud is running for King of England!"

Destini

"King?" said Destini with a wide-eyed stare. The news shocked her out of her earlier thoughts of plans and plots. She looked off in the direction of Imleach as she tried to imagine working for the king of England if Faheud were to actually win the election.

"We'd best attempt to finish this mission as soon as may be, then." she said quietly. "If Faheud becomes king, he may be needin' our services more than e'er."

She turned her mind back to the task at hand. "I agree that we cannae take the direct road. But we may be able to swing wide around the town an' come in from the West. There are no roads there so we willnae be spotted if anyone is watchin' fer our arrival." The idea sounded good, but there was one problem with it. Destini frowned. "Gettin' o'er the wall from that direction may be difficult, howe'er ..."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was flummoxed by the revelation about the Cardinal running for King. "Well, then, that's good enough. Because Kings are rarely beset with folks trying to kill them. O. Wait."

He trailed off and went on to consider Destini's plan. It was a very good one.

"Aye, that is a good plan indeed. Is the wall made of rough-hewn stone all the way around? If so, we can get a couple of us up on top and help those less skilled at climbing sheer rocks. How are you at walls, Richard?

West is a very good idea. Well done, Miss MacKenzie"

--Richard.grimthorn

Good grief. So Faheud might be king? Grimthorn began to think that he should have stayed in place in Hastings. His observations of the cardinal were always enlightening. Certainly, the man had some political experience with being count or judge on occasional lists, but this was a turn he hadn't forseen. Given the general surprise of the attaches, it wasn't something they had seen coming either. That eased his mind to a degree. At least Grimthorn wasn't totally losing his touch. "Climbing?" said Grimthorn to Corwynn. "Do I look like I'm good at climbing?! No, no. My name was not on that wanted parchment. I'll take to the gates, if you don't mind."

Destini

"No, Richard," said Destini. She turned a dark stare in Richard's directon. "Ye're comin' with us an' climbin o'er the wall just like the rest o' us. Do ye think that after ye've changed sides, d'Argent willnae be lookin' fer ye? He may nae know that ye're in Eire with us. But he will when ye waltz through the gates. It could jeopardize our mission. 'Tis a risk we cannae take."

She turned as if the conversation were already finished and looked to answer Corwynn's question about the walls of Imleach. "There was a rumor o'er a year ago that Zanditin arrived in Imleach by climbin' o'er the wall. No idea if 'tis true. If 'tis, then 'tis possible to climb them. I cannae say I've e'er tried myself. Still ... I think we're 'bout to put the rumor to the test."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn clapped Richard on the back with gusto. "Come Richard!! We're going to save Pagan and her friends!"

Corwynn ducked any attempt at an offhand swipe that might come his way from the grumpy member of the team.

"You know Allan. I had a thought. Would you and Destini be willing to be guilty of a minor offense in order to prevent a series of major crimes?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan frowned. He had heard that tone before.

"Define minor offense for me, Corwynn. You are sometimes a bit loose on such definitions. I hope you won't be offended by my skepticism..."

--Brother_corwynn

"Not offended at all, my good friend. I have--like you--met me." Corwynn grinned to show there was no offense taken.

"What I am referring to would be my using skills at forgery to create a letter from the Cardinal empowering us to see the extradition and arrest of Viscomte d'Argent on counts of fraud, attempted murder, and actual murders of Arch-canon Alberic Montegue, Earl Sir Falcie Norton, and King Geoffrey Viceroy Mortimer of England.

I can make it match His Grace's hand perfectly, and reproduce the seal since you have examples of both on your person.

We hold it back until we get inside the town and use if as a second plan if we cannot find Pagan and friends--or if she has been arrested already."

Corwynn failed to hide the look-how-smart-I-can-be expression.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was very impressed.

"Bloody insanely brilliant. It would either be success without a fuss or the hangman's drop. What do you think, Destini? You know the constabulary of these parts better than we could."

Destini

The moral question was of no issue at all to her. In this mission, to protect her kin, she would do anything, absolutely anything at all. She had committed murder already ... even if it was only in self-defense. What greater crime was forgery when compared to that of taking a human life? Her voice took on a low, determined quality. "Jah may damn me fer it, but I have no qualms at all with the act o' forgery if it saves my kin."

She considered Allan's question a moment before replying. "The constabulatory changes here as it does in England. I donae know who currently holds that office here. But I can tell you that the people o' Eire donae appreciate outside influences goverinin' that which they see as their own issues. If d'Argent has managed to convince the constabulatory that ye, Allan, an' I are wanted criminals, we maynae e'en get a chance to state our case. Still ..." her tone changed as she considered the flip side of the situation. "I do think it could work."

Destini looked to the brother. "Brother Corwynn, ye would have to keep the letter on ye. It cannae come from Allan or I. An' it certainly cannae come from Richard. As far as we know, ye alone are unknown here. Ye can produce the letter an' be believed in the way none o' us can."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"I need twenty minutes. Richard, you have a gift with words that convince. Your wording for the warrants that nailed the Finisher in Holywell were priceless. I will set up my kit on this flat boulder if you will craft the right message...."

Corwynn went about the business of setting up for his work.

--Richard.grimthorn

"My," exclaimed Grimthorn with the mock aire of one who was completely undone. "Two compliments in one day! However will I manage to contain my ego?" For all his words, he was pleased with Corwynn's statement of his ability. He was adding value here in a way he had never done in his previous contract. He was strangely proud of a job well done. Not that it mattered at all if they didn't continue to gain ground toward the milestone of defeating d'Argent. To that end, Grimthorn would do anything if it would secure him the freedom to return to England. Because he really didn't care who won or lost, the crafting of this missive wouldn't be as easy as crafting the letter that left The Finisher on the docks, but he'd do his best. "Of course, I'll assist as I can." Grimthorm followed Corwynn.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As Corwynn and Richard set to work, Allan moved over to Destini.

"Dear, would you like to take this pigeon, which is obviously one of the Cardinal's finest, and use it to let Pagan know we are imminently appearing?

I recommend a coded story you know she will understand."

Allan fed some more corn to the little bird and set it down beside Destini.

Destini

She managed a vauge, weak smile to Allan and ran a gentle finger down the bird's spine as it greedily gulped the kernels. She saw by the bird's anklet that it was not Peck, Destini's favorite of the cardinal's birds, but the pigeon would certainly suffice. "Aye," she said and took out her own parchment and pen to write.

Pagan, bartender of the MacKenzie Circus,

The promised supplies for the tavern have landed from England. The bulk of requested assistance should be at the MacKenzie Circus before midnight. If the lingering pests that you described in your last letter are still at large, my company can easily front the bill for their eradication. I hope to meet with you later tonight to discuss a longterm contract of mutual benefit.

~ D MK

Destini handed the letter to Allan for his inspection and thoughts before she sent the bird to the MacKenzie Circus with word.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint perused the proffered parchment and nodded in approval.

"This is well done. Let's send it straight away to give her maximum warning."

Allan tied the message to the bird's leg, offered the pigeon a final treat and then whispered "Find Pagan MacKenzie" and tossed the bird up into flight.

As it vanished, he turned to Corwynn and Richard and asked, "What have you lads got?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn ensured that Corwyn had finished affixing the cardinal's worldly signature to the parchment before snatching it from his grasp and reading it aloud to Brightpoint. He was rather pleased with what he and Corwynn had come up with:

Unto whom it may concern within the law of An Mumhain, Ireland:

Know this:

A man last seen in Ireland calling himself the Viscomte d'Argent is impersonating a French nobleman for the chance to escape an English hangman. He is wanted in England for the murders of Arch-canon Alberic Montegue, Earl Sir Falcie Norton, and King Geoffrey Viceroy Mortimer of England.

By the power vested in me by the Aristotelian Church, I, One Cardinal Faheud, deem this to be so.

Signed this twenty-third of May in the year of Christos 1459,

Faheud
Cardinal Primate of the Church of England, Scotland and Ireland, Speaker of the English House of Parliament, Judge of the County of Sussex, Earl of Horsham, Baron of Westgate, Guardian of the Hospital of Saint Thomas, Archbishop of Southwark, Bishop of Brighton, and ... humble philosopher at large

The latter, Corwynn had added. But the rest was a derivation of both Corwynn's and Richard's devious minds. Grimthorn looked up from the parchment to judge the arch-deacon's opinion.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well flipping done, lads. Please remind me--in the unlikely case of you ever jumping to the other side--to slay you immediately as a matter of self preservation and common courtesy to those I serve.

So. At dusk we climb a wall."

Allan handed the note to Destini so that she, too, could enjoy the fine work of their comrades. That done, he popped out one of his never-ending supply of whiskey flasks and took a pull.

Destini

Destini looked at the parchment and acknowledged the skill with which the forgery was done. It was a nod, only, as she handed the parchment back to Corwynn for the affixation of the Cardinal's seal. She hoped the brother would take the forged missive into his care until its presence was required. She hoped, further, that the parchment would never be required for the fulfillment of their mission. At the same time, she feared it would be needed.

"'Tis well done," she commended them in as few words as possible. "Finish quickly, Brother. As Allan says, we are off to climb a wall ...."

As Destini looked off in the directon they would be travelling, she wondered what Pagan and Jerro were up to ....
_________________

Pagan

After Jerro had gone to wash himself up Pagan took a bottle and sat on a crate of salted foodstuffs. She hadn't taken too many nips before the burdens of previous days overtook her and she tumbled on the floor, dead tired, and was sound asleep before she had managed to fix herself a bed of any kind. She was waken up by a bird that was pecking her hair with it's beak. A carrier pigeon! Jah only knew how it had managed to find it's way in the underground tunnel, but there had to be a narrow cavity somewhere where the air came from. Pagan saw a note attached to it's leg, so she released it and rolled it open:

Pagan's mind went blank for a second or two before she realized what the message really meant. She stood up and yelled:

"Jerro, Dierdre, wake up! Destini is coming tonight - she will be looking fer us in the MacKenzie Circus! Now we really have to be out stalking in the warehouse after sundown. I hope Caine hasn't arranged an ambush in the Circus, but I'm afraid that he probably has. I know I would if I was in his shoes. Ummm... does anyone have any idea what the time is?"
_________________

Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro had walked out of the shower, seen Pagan and Dierdre sleeping and quickly followed suit. He was awoken by Pagan's outburst after what seemed like only a short time. He groaned loudly, "Just five more minutes!" Wait, what had she said? He was upright and completely awake in a flash. "She's comin tonight? Argh! Daft..." He let the rest mummble out incoherently as he got himself put together. He couldn't really blame her, she probably didn't know the full story, but he still would have liked a little more rest.

He noticed the bird, sitting on a box and looking at them expectantly. "How did... Never mind that. We need to go. I'll scout on ahead, ye two follow me in a couple minutes. If I see anyone, I'll double back to tell ye. If I don't come back, expect an ambush... I don't plan to get caught though." He contemplated grabbing one of the spears, but decided against it. It would only slow him down for what he was planning.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan didn't hesitate. Jerro wasn't obviously planning to commit a suicide. Pagan had learned to trust his wits, so if he had a plan, it must have been a good one.

"All right", she said.

After those short words it finally got through to her completely - she was now an outlaw, a chased animal that anyone could snuff out to make a few coins. It was very possible that the local criminals would ally themselves with the army and the constabulary to hunt down the 'conspirators'. The future for them was so uncertain that there was no good options of any kind for them.
_________________

Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

"I'll see ye in a bit." Jerro rushed out of the basement and looked around him quickly to get his bearings. It had been a while since he had done this, and he wanted to make sure that he didn't get lost trying to get there. If he were right, then they would never expect him to go there this way. He was glad that Imleach was big enough to do this in. Otherwise, the buildings might have been too far apart. He would have to run along the rooftops to get there.

He chose a decent, two floor building (some sort of shop from the look of it) and began to climb using the wooden frames of the doors and windows, or anything he could get his hands around or feet on. He chose the side away from the street to avoid attention. Since people rarely looked up, there was little chance of him being spotted unless he jumped over a main road. He was worried that his arm might pop back out of the socket if given half a chance, but he wound up on the roof with little trouble. He found the general direction of the Circus. Then he backed up to the edge of building. He took of like a shot, arms and legs pumping to get enough speed to make the jump across the alley. Right at the opposite edge, he leaped off, flying towards the opposite roof.

His arms windmilled as he went through the air. His blood began to pump, as the air rushed past his face. He began to feel the old thrill that made him feel as if he could fly. Then he touched down on the other side. He hit the ground running, having safely made the approximately eight foot jump across the twenty foot fall. The next few rooftops were spaced close enough together that he could make them without breaking stride, or with tiny hops. Then he'd have to make a few consecutive long jumps. It would be a piece of cake.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan felt quite curious and at the same time a little bit baffled about Jerro and his - often alluded but never discussed - shady past and the colorful acquaintances of the underworld he knew. Who was Jerro? How had he made his living in the past? And what was that tragedy he so desperately attempted to forget that had made him give up the life? Even though Jerro had never talked about his past with her Pagan was a good judge of character and had concluded quite a lot from his reactions and random remarks of those who had known him in the past.

Pagan looked around her in the underground storage room. She was getting impatient. She knew she had agreed to wait down here until Jerro came back, but just waiting around doing nothing didn't fit her nature. She had to do something! And it was dark outside already, she had seen that when Jerro had exited through the hatch.

"I think I go out to snoop around a little bit", she said to Deirdre. "There's no chance that anyone can see me if I stay inside the warehouse unless I do something stupid like light a torch or something. The street lights will illuminate the front of the Circus and I can easily spot whoever comes out or in. I think ye'd best wait down here, Deirdre, all right?"
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked up at the massive outer wall of the darkened city of Imleach. He was a team player, but really, this was too much. "I am NOT climbing that wall." He craned his head to look at the sheer height of the stacked stones. "Nor, do I think are any of you. I don't see how anyone, even a king could climb this wall. I apologize, Lady MacKenzie, but I think that this is one rumor that is busted right off the bat."

--Brother_corwynn

"Good heavens, Richard, you sound like my 5 year old niece. Put your bloody foot on that stone jutting out in an ever-subtle 5 inches, and climb up to the ledge.

Pretend there are alligators considering reducing the size of your sky-darkening backside...."

Corwynn wondered if a dagger might not be a good simulator for alligator teeth.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn crossed his arms across his chest. "Alligators? Honestly? That's the best you can come up with? This isn't a moat, brother. It's a bloody wall." Still, Corwynn was right. There was a stone toward the bottom that jutted out far enough to offer a boost to the top of the wall. Grimthorn glared at Corwynn before turning to attempt what would probably end up as a foolish endeavor. Stepping onto the rocky ledge was easy, pulling himself up to the top was not. He didn't have the upper body strength to do it. "Good Grief! Well, I certainly regret telling you lot that I was ever a man at arms." He complained as he tried to pull himself up to the ledge again.

--Brother_corwynn

"Well done, Richard, you have out-climbed my mother's blind dog. Up you go now lad!"

As Richard was grumbling and making a strong pull to raise himself to the top, Corwynn simulated the promised alligator attack with the point of a dagger to the largest target present.

It looked like Richard *could* get to the top of a wall. Who knew?

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn, standing on the wall, rubbed his backside. He was about to make some rude comment to Corwynn when he realized that he was the first one to the top of the wall. "Well," he said, looking about at his new surroundings. "That wasn't so difficult, now was it, brother? You really need to stop complaining so much and just do what's required, you know." He grinned and motioned for the brother to follow. "Up the rest of you lazy lot come, then."

Destini

"Rumor confirmed then," said Destini watching Richard strut about the top of the wall like a robin showing of his breast in the spring. "After all, if Richard can do it, anyone can."

She looked up at the wall with a far away gaze. She'd spent a lot of time on those walls during the Laighean War. While the rest of the army was off to war, she'd stayed behind to guard the city and defend it from revolters taking advantage of the lack of city guard. The tickle of old memory squirmed its way to the surface. There were four entrances into Imleach. Not three. The gates from the North, East, and South were obvious. But there was another entrance ... subtle and hidden, if she recalled correctly. Was it here on the West side of the city? Destini's eyes scanned the darkness and she found it fifteen feet from where Richard had climbed the wall.

It was a very subtle door in the stone wall that lead to the little-used guard post on the West side. Most the guard posts watched the roads, not the forest. Destini tried the door. Locked, of course.

"Allan," she called. "Can ye pick a lock?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"If peter piper picked a peck of iron locks how many iron locks could Allan Brightpoint pick?" He grinned as he sung out the question.

"The answer is none, unless someone has a set of tools--in which case we're through in thirty seconds."

He looked back at Corwynn

"Corwynn. Do you still carry The Tools about with you?"

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn rummaged around his pack. "Yes. I think I do. Here they are..."

He strained to get something out of the bag.

"Down at the bottom. Got you!"

He threw a roll of leather at Allan who deftly snatched it out of the air.

"There you go!"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan untied the leather bundle and rolled it out on the ground, thankful there were not regular sentries in these parts. He set out some tools and components for the quick work this needed to be.

Of course there probably usually were sentries a plenty, which meant either a shortage of guards today or they were arrayed elsewhere.

Now to that rusty lock.

Universal grease.

5 seconds

Number four tong

2 seconds

Blasted and eradicated fork

6 seconds.

Number two tong.

2 seconds.

Magician's Key (Skeleton).

5 seconds.

Lock Depressor.

. 2 seconds.

Magician's Key (skeleton).

3 seconds

Elapsed time to unlock and open door silently - 25 seconds.

Allan looked at the others and said quietly as he put away the tools. That should do it."

Destini

She watched Allan pick the lock and tried to commit what she was seeing to memory. After all, one never knew when such a skill would come in handy. She smiled as the lock clicked into place and the door swung free. "Ye ne'er cease to amaze me, Allan," she said quietly, aware now of the need for stealth and silence.

Destini looked up at Richard. "See ye on the other side, Richard. I expect goin' down 'twill be easier than goin' up." She didn't bother to wait for his response. She moved through the open doorway and emerged on the other side into the streets of her hometown.

"I always said I'd return home someday," said Destini in a quiet voice to Allan. "But I ne'er thought I'd return home this way." Her fingers nervously fiddled with the pistol-crossbow at her hip as if she might need to draw it at any moment. In the distance, she could hear laughter and revelry of the evening tavern-goers. Some things didn't change.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Thanks for these, they helped a great deal." Allan grinned as he handed the bundle back to Corwynn.

"They'd be of more used to you, but you never studied..."

He followed Destini through the door.

--Brother_corwynn

"Right," scoffed Corwynn quietly, "And yet I have the tools whereas you do not. At least I studied the part about not losing my things when ships get shot out from under me."

He looked up at a grumpy Richard.

"See you inside, mate, I trust you will not need Alligators to fall down?"

Ducking a thrown stone, he scampered in side and silently closed the door.

Quiet claimed that little bit of wall.

--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Cunning Damsel of Darkness, and Ruler of the Irish Night!

Dear Diary,

So, I know what you're thinking: How did I get out of Liverpool? Well, I'll tell you. It, like, totally wasn't easy. For lo! I was all pwnd and stuff by that stud-muffin hostel heartthrob from Holywell. It seems our love was not meant to be. At his first opportunity to take advantage of me he did and left me stranded on the shores of the Liverpool bay area. Sob! So I had to watch him sail away.

What made matters worse, is the puffed-up pincushion Grimey was all waving at me from the boat as it all pulled away and stuff. And I'm all, "No way!"

And he's like, "You're so pwnd!"

And I go, "Pssht! What-evar!" and held up my hand so he could talk to it instead of being all in my face. Then, of course, I had to set about finding a new ride to Ireland. For lo! Once The Finisher has taken a solumn duty to obey the commands of The Red Duke, she never goes back on her word ....

... except that one time in Hong Kong when I totally had to have these OMJ fab hairstcks and used up the money I was supposed to use to purchase a new dagger because mine were kinda all like made in England and supposedly the blades made in the orient are all better and stuff. Personally, I think it's all propaganda and the people of England are being pwnd by the man. But, I digress ....

Anyway,

So!

I found myself a captain who was totally willing to, well, you know, give me a ride even though he wasn't initially going to Ireland. So, we all stepped into his cabin and stuff where he died happy. Then I all told the crew that the captain made me his first mate and I got to give the orders to, like, go to Ireland. They agreed ... after I paid them better than the stingy captain was paying them. Shut up! Money talks! Kay?! Geez.

So ... After five days of the sea breeze in my face and having a killer seasalt exfoliation, I finally set foot on Ireland! Score!!!11 Daddy Dukie would have been so proud of how cool I was as I descended the gangplank in this town with a frenchy name like Port Lingerie ... or something. Shut up! I'm no good with French! ... well, except for kissing ... that's different.

Anyway! Geez, Diary! Keep up here and stop getting me distracted!

So, I went into the tavern there and met up with this totally wealthy merchant-y dude and he was all into me and stuff. He was all, "You want to come see my mansion?"

And I'm all, "Whatever, dude, you totally don't have a mansion."

And he's all, "Yeah, I do. I'm wealthy."

And I'm like, "Really?"

And he goes, "Yeah."

So I'm like, "I don't believe you, poser. Show me."

So he takes my hand and leads me outside and shows me his uber-cool black-as-night carriage pulled by two of the most sinister black horses I have ever seen. And I'm all, "K. I belive you."

And he goes. "You wanna?"

And I'm all, "Let's!"

So he totally treats me like the Queen of the Night that I am and helps me into the carriage. We chatted for awhile until I got bored and had to kill him. Shrug. I just wasn't that into him.

So I screamed like a girl ... which, you know, I can do, because I, well, am. And the driver is all OMJ! and stops the carriage to see what's wrong. The carriage door wasn't even fully open before my daggers met his pasty-white Irish throat.

And then! I threw out the bodies to get rid of the weight and took the reigns of the horses in my own hands and spurred them into action! The Finisher drove into the town of Imleach on a black-as-night carriage pulled by two of the Nameless One's own horses! Yeah! Just wait until d'Argie sees me now! He is totally going to be surprised!! The carriage pulled up to this little tavern that called itself The MacKenzie Circus, and I pulled on the reigns of the horses.

You gotta admit. The Finisher knows how to make an entrance!!!!

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro had been sitting on a roof across from the Circus for a couple minutes, trying to scope out any one waiting to ambush them. He couldn't see anyone on the other roofs, so either they were hiding really well behind each other, they were inside the buildings (or the Circus itself) or there was no one there. Probably the second one. He was about to leave and report back when he saw a dark carriage pulled by black horses. He couldn't tell, but it looks like a ghost was driving the carriage. The figure practically glowed in the night. Jerro hunkered back down to see what all the fuss was about, things had to get interesting.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

So this was how the Finisher complied with a directive to use stealth and subtlety in arriving at Imleach. Lords below this was typical.

The Viscomte stepped away from his concealed window--well glad to have these rooms no one knew about.

If things got too interesting he could just sit in for the night with a decent book.

There was that directive from the Red Duke to not let his misdirected offspring get killed.

Sigh.

Duty was other than fortunate.

And where the hell were his targets. Poisonous Ivy had a way of turning a garden into someplace in which none could tread without peril.

And what had been that very distant screaming of whining outrage earlier? It sounded so much like that pious, foppish git Grimthorn. Couldn't be though. He'd never willingly come near the Red Duke's lot again.

Where was Ciar Indigo? That would keep the finisher busy for a span. Perhaps long enough for his operatives in the Bailiwick to take care of some business.

D'Argent looked down at some papers. He had two different confirmed passages back to England. Even if things went badly here, he was assured safe passage elsewhere.

It would be better if he came back with evidence of a pack of dead MacKenzie trollops and the better-off-dead Doltpoint.

For certain, it would not be a dull night in Imleach--something unheard of in decades from the look of the place.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn had found a way down from the wall involving a pile of hay that had not yet been bailed in twine to be fed to the livestock, but he had not yet jumped when the tell-tale sound of carriage wheels on cobblestone caught his attention. Grimthorn looked up and saw a dark carriage pulled by two dark war horses at least 15 hands high. The driver was pale with long black hair. He realized he recognized her with such a shock that it actually had the force to drop his jaw. The Finisher had somehow made it to Ireland after all. Damn. Grimthorn jumped from the wall into the pile of hay below. He clambered out of the pile and brushed himself off as best he could. Brightpoint, Corwynn, and the lady needed to be warned of their impending peril. With The Finisher's arrival, things had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

Pagan

"They are in there", Pagan thought. "Jah and the Ancient Gods in heavens, they must be in there!"

She couldn't explain this instinctive certainty that overtook her as she was peeking through the little window in the abandoned warehouse diagonally over the town square. She hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary - the tavern was open and the normal drunks were in as usual at this hour, Grunt undoubtedly working as the bartender. But still she couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong in this picture. Pagan had developed this instinct during the Laighean war and she had learned to trust it. If Destini and her English friends would go there they would be walking straight into lions nest much like when she had entered the Luvafair with Jerro! But what could she do? How could she warn them? She stepped in closer and tried to see inside the tavern. It rose two-story tall and (thanks to Oddman) well-maintained on it's place next to the town-square like it always had. This side didn't have many windows. Should she venture to attempt just walking straight in and see what happens? Armed only with a spear and a knife she had found inside the storage and tucked inside her boot?

While she was still pondering her options a hellish sound on the cobblestone caught her attention. It was a sight you didn't see every day in Imleach - an enormous black carriage pulled by two dark war horses. This couldn't be Destini and her friends from England - or could it? Pagan prayed Jah and all the other Irish gods she was aware of it wasn't. Certainly Desti was aware that the climate in Imleach was very unhealthy for grand entrances like that!
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Brother_corwynn

"The Finisher, you say?!" exclaimed Corwynn. "Generally when I strand a little strumpet in jail and sail off I expect to not see them straight away."

Corwynn took out a small parchment and made a note, speaking as he wrote.

"Note to self, strangle anyone left alive at the Liverpool jail."

He put it all away and looked up.

"So what now? A trollop-tastic tart-tastrophe surprise rather changes things, eh?"

Destini

"I doubt 'tis cooincidence that this finisher lass shows up in the same county as d'Argent." She wondered what this so-called finisher's duties were in d'Argent's plot. "What do ye suppose their plan is?"

She snuck a look out of the back alleyway where they had all gathered after crossing the wall. The streets were empty. Most of the citizens were likely in taverns or in bed. This would either make their mission harder or easier. Destini wasn't certain which it would be.

There were too many unknowns here. Destini had no idea what they were walking into. Still, whatever they did, they cerainly had to remain quiet about it or risk being caught by those who had distributed the wanted posters. "I would bet good money that where'er this finisher lass is, d'Argent will be. If we follow where the carriage went, perhaps we can find d'Argent." Her eyes narrowed at the thought. An' if we can find d'Argent, we can kill him, she added silently.
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--Ciar_indigo

Ciar Indigo had been sitting in a corner in a dark hidden corridor, sleeping. Indigo slept with his eyes open. He had always slept like that, even when he had been a little kid. A sudden change in the rhythm of nightly voices of Imleach woke him up. A sound of carriages on the cobblestone. He rose up on his feet and peeked through a little hole on the wall. d'Argent hadn't said anything about visitors, yet it was obvious that cart was somehow connected in their business here.

And suddenly Indigo knew. This was it. The night of Final Silence. He couldn't explain how he knew it, but by doing his work for a long time he had learned to see patterns in movements and seemingly random happenings. There would be a battle tonight, and nobody would walk out alive. Nobody except Ciar Indigo.

Indigo was just about to step back when his eyes locked on something. It would have been impossible for anyone else to spot that figure sitting on a roof opposite to them, but Indigo's night vision was abnormally good and he could see clearly in almost pitch black. The downside was that his eyesight could never adjust to daylight. Light hurt his eyes.

Indigo smiled faintly and stepped back. No point in warning d'Argent about the stalker in the roof. The more unpredictable variables would take part in the battle the better. Indigo's plan was to stay on the background as much as he could... and finish off the survivors. All of them, regardless of what side they were on.

Indigo went to look for d'Argent. He never stepped inside the room where the Viscomte was, but the sphere of faint candlelight in the room illuminated his horrible, pale as death face that seemed to be floating in the air. He attempted to lock d'Argent's eyes in the hypnotic gaze of his own black, gleaming eyes. The effect of Indigo's inhuman gaze to most people was that the scarred, cruel features surrounding those eyes seemed to fade away until all that was left was that unblinking stare. And that's when he usually killed them.

But d'Argent's time had not come - not yet. Indigo's deep, angelic voice spoke from the darkness:

"Good evening, Viscomte. Are we expecting visitors?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"I concur. Let's get to the Circus. Weapons out. Triple-red alert. Safeguard us first, ask questions later."

Allan quickly armed up, daggers ready, throwing knives ready, crossbow loaded and re-loads easy to hand in boot-bands.

"Destini...lead on..Corwynn rear-guard. Richard you are with me...that fancy sword of yours has work to do."

It was time to end this chapter of harm inflicted by the Red Duke's minions..

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked around. He saw another shadow enter the Circus. It seemed it was a really popular suddenly. At this time. Under these circumstances. Well, it looked like d'Argent, if he was indeed in there, had some guest. Whether they were Destini's group or not, he couldn't tell. He was about to leave again when something caught his attention. A flicker of movement from one of the windows of a nearby warehouse. Could that be part of the ambush? He looked again closely. There it was again! A patch of shadow that was darker than the rest of the windows. That meant someone was watching. He would have to investigate.

After a couple hops and some well timed drops, he found himself at the door to the warehouse. He silently slipped inside. He had learned to scan the ground, looking for spots that would give him away, like puddles, or loose boards. Deftly avoiding these, he snuck over to the room that he had seen into. He quietly turned the corner and looked in. There was a shape at the window, still occupied looking out into it. The shape seemed familiar though. Sudden realization hit him.

"Pagan!?" He said, louder than he had intented. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "What are ye doin here? Where's Dierdre?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent heard the footsteps and snuffling breathing.

Should I kill it now or let the Finisher have him?

The latter. Do not change the plan until it was time.

"Indigo."

Just a word, and all of the venom of the Legions Infernal within it.

"Let us do some counting shall we. And then we can discuss....visitors."

Viscomte d'Argent turned slowly to face the intruder at the door.

"One. This is the number of souls--or soul-less--permitted in this hidden corridor. I am that one. You are not.

"Two. The number of hostiles likely on the grounds of the circus right now, whilst you are where you should not be."

"Three. This is the number of people I have already harvested for even trying to find these quarters."

d'Argent took a step forward with his hands stretched slightly to the sides palms out as though leading the Nameless psalms.

"Four. The number of hostiles who likely are about to enter circus in a minute or so, whilst you are still where you should not be, down in the corner of the common room."

"Five. The number of heartbeats you have to get back in place and help the Finisher dispatch most of the visitors. I will harvest a hostage to gain answers from.."

Daggers flung forward at a twitch of the wrists, glistening with deadly poison and hovering scant fractions of an inch from Indigo's eyes.

"Are.We.Clear?"

Destini

Destini nodded to Allan with a fiercely determined expression. She drew her own pistol-crossbow and loaded it. She adjusted the extra ammunition at her belt so it would be near to hand when she needed it. She longed for a knife or some other non-ranged weapon, but then, she had used her crossbow bolts themselves for that purpose before. The sight of the first man she'd killed came unbidden to her mind and she recalled how she'd stabbed him through his jugular vein simply for attacking her out of the night. She shook the image away. Shewould do again what she had done back in Holywell if given the chance.

As Allan directed, she took point. She knew these streets. This was her home. But they would not be safe if they took the most direct path to the town square and the MacKenzie Circus. No, there was the road along the back of her old weaver's shop. They would not be seen there and they would appear from the alley two blocks from the MacKenzie Circus.

Silently, she led her party along this alley. She tried not to react as she saw the shop front of her old weaver's store sitting dust-ridden and vacant. The dust gave it a lonely, almost haunted aura in the night. Destini tried to ignore it. Her weaver's shop could wait. They had a mission to perform.

When they reached the end of the road, Destini peaked out from behind the corner and laid eyes on the MacKenzie Circus for the first time. The large carriage was standing outside it. They were definitely at the right place. If this finisher lass was a member of d'Argent's team, then she was an enemy. The MacKenzie Circus was now hostile territory. Inwardly, Destini cursed.

"Where now?" mouthed Destini to Allan in lieu of speaking. She did not want anyone to hear them.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Hand-signal down and right behind a barrel. Richard complies.

hand signal left rear and cover from a water trough. Corwynn complies.

Allan shadows up to Destini and listens to her, nodding.

"You have done very well. Is there a back way into the circus? The Finisher will have drawn all eyes to the front."

Eyes scouting all around the roof-tops looking for movement. Possible movement on the roof-edge of a building adjacent to the circus. Not in range yet.

Waiting for answer...

Pagan

Pagan startled when Jerro's voice suddenly spoke from behind her. Instinctively she had almost thrusted her spear into the figure that had snuck up behind her, but managed to stop her hand in a nick of time.

"Jerro!" she frowned. "What are ye thinking sneaking up on me like that? Ye could get killed doing that!" Pagan looked outside the window. "I just couldn't sit and wait there any longer when I don't know what's going on! Dierdre is still down there", Pagan pointed out the floor hatch leading into the secret passageway. She looked at Jerro and bit her lip.

"They are there, I just know it! We got to get closer! We got to be close in case Desti and her friends appear! But... do ye think we should take Dierdre with us or would it be better if we just left her down in the storage room? Is she up to this kind of thing? Down there she would be safe fer as long as she likes, while we are most likely heading towards a possible or even probable death!"
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Ciar_indigo

Indigo didn't bother to answer. The horrid face that had been hovering on the doorway simply disappeared like a ghost.

d'Argent truly was a rude man, and Indigo disliked rudeness. He was happy that such ill-mannered being would seize to exist in a matter of hours, perhaps faster. Indigo almost hoped that d'Argent would be one of those left standing for him to harvest in the end, but truthfully it didn't matter to him that much. All that mattered was the exciting anticipation of the impending battle and death. Tonight world would become a little bit emptier.

But first he had to see who was this guest d'Argent was waiting for, so he descended the stairs and slipped in the common room, drawing his black slouch hat down so the customers wouldn't see his face and be frightened. He hid in a dark corner table and hung his head, pretending to be asleep while in reality he was keeping an eye on the door.

Nobody approached him. Even though they hadn't seen him they could still sense he was somebody that was best leave alone.

Jerro_oconnor

"I agree, we need to get closer. There have been a couple of shady characters goin into the tavern recently. " He stepped further into the room. "I also agree that it is too dangerous for Dierdre, we should leave her here. Umm... ye didn't happen to bring the other spear, did ye?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--The_finisher

Behold! These Pages Chronicle the Life and Times of Ivy, The Finisher, Forefront in Fashion in the Irish Wastelands, and Afficianado of all that is Dark and Dismal!

Dear Diary,

K, so. I've been to, like, countless taverns, right? So, I'm like a -- what's that French word that means 'fan'? Oh, yeah. I'm like a croissant of taverns. This place, seriously, took the cake. I mean, wow. I don't think I've ever seen so much alcohol stacked up behind the bar before! The sign near the door said this place was run by two chicks. They must seriously be lushes! I mean, wow, dude, no, seriously!

Still, you know, I like totally couldn't let all that delightful alcohol go to waste -- Duh! So I sauntered up to the bar with a sashay in my hips to totally entice anyone watching.

So! I ordered a drink and, like, my eyebrows all almost fall of the back of my head when the bartender grunted some sort of sound. And I'm like, Dude! Like that's totally rude and stuff! Ugh. Whatever!

Thus! The Finisher waited for her drink and lounged near the bar with arms splayed out and shoulders back to show of all my magnificent assets. I always get better intelligence when people want to talk to me.

But Lo! That's when I noticed this creepy guy over in the corner. And he seems all drowsey and stuff and I, like, totally wondered if he was like one of those guys I'd seen in the opium dens in the Orient. So, I'm all imediately-like 'ew' and stuff and started looking around for d'Argie. Because, dude. He was, like, totally supposed to meet me here!

Yeah, I know, loyalty much! Daddy Dukie's totally going to hear about my reception -- or, you know -- lack thereof! OMJ!

--Viscomte_dargent

All was in Order.

Two messages written to send to the Red Duke depending on how things turned out.

Either he and the Finisher had carried the day and message one went out....or things went to hell and the other was sent.

Either way he had ways to get to both ships for the escape.

But

There was an option he hardly dared think about.

Could it work?

It could.

WHAT if he just disabled Brightpoint or Destini and took them to the Red Duke? The Finisher could take care of herself. She always did, after all.

Yes.

No time to waste.

The Viscomte threw some papers into his fireplace and swept out of the room on a cloud of malice.

Down the Stairs.

Into the Common room.

Over to the Finisher who was strutting her not undesirable--and yet not the point--assets by the bar.

"Walk with me." intoned d'Argent as he turned to the door and walked out the front."

--The_finisher

For Lo! You're totally reading the Diary of Ivy, The Finisher, Dealer of Despair, and Instigator of Imleach!

... no, really, you're reading my diary ... like, get out! Geez! Do I have to put a lock on this thing?

Dear Diary,

So.

There I was.

I was all waiting for my alcohol to be all delivered and stuff, when this sweeping, dark figure appears in my peripheral vision. A slow, smirk of a smile crosses my face as I realize who he is.

OMJ. It's d'Argie. So, Lo! My mind is all thinking of moonlit night walks on the banks of whatever river is around here. And I can totally tell by the way he's looking at me that he totally wants me. Well, duh, of course he does! For Lo! The Finisher is the finest thing this French Vicomte has ever seen! Yeah! You know it!

But then he's all, like, terse, and stuff and totally, like, commands me to come with him like I'm some kind of dog. And I'm all, oh no you didn't! "Nice to see you too, Vickie!" K, so ... in my defense ... I was totally trying to say 'viscomte' and 'd'argie' at the same time, but it came out as 'Vickie' instead.

You know, I have to admit, I think I like the new nickname. And if he hates it, *shrug* whatever. It's not like he can do anything to The Finisher, you know.

... well ... I suppose there are things he could do, but let's not go into that, K?

So.

Anyway.

I followed Vickie outside and when the door closed behind us, I pushed out one hip and crossed my arms across my chest so my assests were even more pronounced and all in his face. He wants me. I know it. I just have to get past that stupid temper of his. Geez. He seriously needs to relax. "So, Vickie," I say in my best strained I-know-you-want-me voice. " 'Sup?"

Pagan

Pagan nodded and pointed at a spear leaning on a corner. "Fortunately, I did. Come on, let's go! Time's a wastin'!"

Pagan slipped out of the warehouse and started sneaking closer to the Circus staying in the shadows of alleyways and dark corners. Now they were only fifteen yards away from the tavern. Suddenly she spotted a group of people lurking in a dark alley. Two, three, four people! Who were they? Pagan nestled against the wall. Did one of them just stiffen? Were they looking on her direction? Had they seen Pagan's or Jerro's silhouette? It seemed like they were discussing with each other. Pagan didn't move a muscle.
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Viscomte_dargent

He considered the three letter question.

"My blood pressure, my credit limit with the Red Duke, and the likelihood you and I rule Flanders by Michaelmas.

Now listen up.

I will kidnap either Mackenzie or Doltpoint and get them to the Red Duke for immolation and interrogation.

You will slay That diseased Yak the tavern at once.

Do. Not. Play. With. Your. Food.

Meet me in Port Lairge or at the Red Duke's castle.

Kill anyone you wish as long as the aforementioned tasks are complete.

Savvy?"

D'Argent looked for signs of likely compliance.

Destini

Destini shook her head. There was no back way in the MacKenzie Circus that she knew of. Of course, it was possible the tavern had undergone some renovations in the six months she had been gone, but that would be a longshot.

A thought occurred to her. A memory. A windy night in the MacKenzie Circus. Air pressure coming below the raised floor of the tavern kept opening the trap door in the floor near the bar. Patrons occasionally falling through that door. Oddman trying to nail down the trap door. Somehow, despite all his incredible carpentry skills, Oddman had never quite been able to fix it. "The trapdoor," said Destini quietly. "Beneath. It comes up near the bar." She'd fallen through once or twice herself. Falling through the trap door was almost an initiation. You weren't truely a tavern-goer unless you'd fallen through at least once.

Destini glanced out at the town square. As far as she could tell, it was empty. They were on the same side of the street as the MacKenzie Circus. Minimal danger of being spotted from the tavern windows until they got close. Once they were near the tavern, however, they would have to drop and crawl beneath the floorboards in order come up beneath the trap door. There was a chance of being spotted at that time, however minimal.

There was no other stealthy way inside. It was a risk they would have to take. She raised her right hand to simulate a count-down of sorts. Five fingers.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Destini emerged from the alley with her pistol crossbow prepared to fire on any hostile that stood in her way. Stealthily, confidently, she led her party toward the MacKenzie Circus and beneath in a matter of seconds.
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--The_finisher

Thus Chronicles the Happenings in the world of Ivy, Teh Finisher, Distraught Damsel of Doomsday.

(... so ... really, what's more cool? The Finisher or Teh Finisher ... I totally need to think on that ...)

Dear Diary,

So, Vickie all lays out my mission and stuff. He was always good at providing, well, you know, insentives and stuff. And, honestly, ruling Flanders is a pretty good place to start. Now, if he'd mentioned pretty corsets, countess boots, and OMJ fab gloves, we'd be in business .... well, in more business than we currently are.

But! I digress.

Teh fact was, I was more than willing to take out creepy sleeping dude in the corner of the best-stocked-tavern-known-to-the-Nameless-One. I totally have to come back here when I have a paid week off ... or something. Hm. Maybe I need to talk to Daddy Dukie about not just an allowance but a vacation bonus as well. Yeah, totally need to think on that.

Anyway!

The bit about not playing with my food was kinda sad since that's usually what I do. I might have pouted a bit. For Lo! The Finisher gets bored with random killings. Honestly? What's the point. But, whatever. What Vickie wants, Vickie usually gets, so I'm okay with that. Besides, Creep-In-The-Corner is totally not The Finisher's definition of play-worthy food. Ew!

So, Yeah, I was totally down with whatever Vickie was saying and I'm all, "K."

My hips sashayed as I walked back in the tavern and looked at Vickie's so-called 'diseased yak.' I gotta hand it to Vickie. He's usually not so good with the metaphores, but I think he's got this one, totally pegged. Still, there was nothing for it.

Vickie wanted him dead.

I wanted Flanders.

So I sashayed over to the sleeping Creep-In-The-Corner and I'm all, "Hi."

--Ciar_indigo

Ciar Indigo had seen the woman enter the tavern. Her scatterbrained doll act didn't fool Indigo for a second - he immediately recognized a fellow predator. It was written in the way she moved her body and looked around. He could see it in the position of her legs.

Ciar Indigo didn't move. When Viscomte d'Argent fetched the girl and took her outside, something that could have been a faint smile distorted his face.

Indigo was just about to slip out of the chair and disappear like a ghost when the girl came back. That had been fast! And sure enough she came straight at his table, and Indigo knew it was not because she fancied his pretty face. Indigo didn't move a muscle. The girl sat next to him and said simply "Hi."

Slowly Indigo raised his head and fixed the stare of his pitch black eyes into the eyes of the girl. His magnetic voice sounded gentle and almost sad as he said: "Hello, miss."

Pagan

Pagan left out a sigh of relief. She had just imagined it - they hadn't spotted her or Jerro. But who were they? Destini and her friends? That was possible! Suddenly the group just seemed to disappear in the thin air. What had happened? A second later it struck her - the trap door! It was on that wall and the group had entered the tavern using the trap door!

Pagan took a desperate risk and ran those few yards to the wall and pressed herself against it next to the trap door. What now? Should they follow the group inside the tavern the same route they had used? But what if they were hostiles and stalking them inside? No way - if they were hostiles they wouldn't have used the trap door to get in! They had to be Destini and her friends. Pagan glanced at Jerro to see if he had kept up with her before crawling through the trap door herself.
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Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro had been following Pagan when she had suddenly stopped. Curious, he followed her gaze. There were four more figures hidden alongside the Circus. That made six now, didn't it? Suddenly they disappeared, and Pagan did her best to follow afterwards. Where was she going? Oh! Another way in! That was perfect. Now if only the people they were following were friendly...
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent had wandered silently around the shadowed outside of the tavern.

He saw people go underneath the raised floors and knew his suspicion about the trapdoor was accurate. He needed to sneak behind them and nab either Brightpoint or Destini MacKenzie from the group before all had gone up into the tavern.

He was halfway across the under-flooring towards his targets when he heard another person slinking in. Gods it's getting crowded! The Pagan or her toy no doubt. Not to worry. Timing was everything. He would paralyze and remove his prey before Pagan or her toy got there.

The enemy would be completely baffled at how one of their own disappeared from their midst!.

D'Argent crept closer and it looked like Destini MacBrat might be the last through

--Richard.grimthorn

Under the MacKenzie Circus, Grimthorn took a rare moment to offer a suggestion as to their course of action before proceeding above the floorboards. "I think Brightpoint, as the most experienced, goes through first. Then myself, then you, Corwynn. We can secure the topside before you come through, my lady." A part of him still liked the lady and wanted to ensure that she was kept in the safe. "There is no offense intended, lady, but this is combat we are involved in and if you are killed before a shot at d'Argent is presented, our entire plan goes to the birds, as it were." He looked to the others for their response.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked in the direction of Destini in the gloom.

"Richard is right. Move off a bit, Desti, so they can follow me up. We need to hit them hard and fast.

I will shoot the first target I see, Richard and Corwynn leap up and take the flanks, after a short count, you come up behind to secure the trapdoor."

Allan moved into position, ready for whatever happened.

"Take care every one!"

He bounded up into the Tavern.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn listened to the instructions and watched Allan dive up into the room.

He counted to three and grinned at Richard.

"That's us, then, let's go!"

Corwynn was next up into the tavern, weapons at the ready, rolling to the side as soon as he cleared the gap.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn was pleased that they'd accepted his idea so readily. Perhaps he wasn't as bad at this as he had thought. He waited for Corwynn to jump up through the opening before climbing through himself. It was a tight fit at the end, but he managed to emerge more or less stable and ready for a fight.

--Viscomte_dargent

If he had written the script himself, d'Argent could not have made the play run better. The three idiots were up into the tavern and the Finisher's loving embraces before Pagan could possibly spot d'Argent snake forward with uncanny speed.

He nicked the neck of Destini MacKenzie with the paralyzing blade, rendering her unable to move or make a sound for an hour at least.

The smiling Viscomte pulled her quickly off into the dark a full minute before the Pagan could get in range to see the trapdoor area clearly.

Destini

She moved to join her compatriots topside, but was halted by the sharpness of a point of metal at her throat. Before she could react, the metal had punctured skin, but not in a cutting or slicing motion. It was more of a stab. What startled her most is that there was no pain. There was no pain at all.

Her pistol-crossbow tumbled from her hand and Destini's eyes went wide. Her legs which had been ready to launch her into action buckled beneath her.

A strong hand around her pulled her away from the light. The face of her captor was in darkness when it came into view, backlit against the brightness of the light streaming through the still-open trap door. She could see the light as she was dragged away. She could feel the sand grate against her skin. She could smell the essense of alcohol that had dripped through the floorboards above and the foriegn cologne of some sort that her captor was wearing.

But she could not move.

She had never known such fear.
_________________

Pagan

Pagan slipped through and was soon crawling under the flooring. She could here muffled whispers from farther away, and somebody crawling ahead of her, but she couldn't see who it was. Pagan crept behind him or her. That person was so close she could have touched them with the tip of her spear if she wanted to. And obviously that person could hear her coming too. Could it be Destini? If she only could be sure that it was her and tell her it was Pagan! Could she venture speak up? Would she yelp? Startle? Would she or the people in her group skewer her with their weapons before she had managed to say anything?

Pagan kept on crawling, tried to estimate distances, attempted to imagine the location of everyone under the floor. It was all useless. She had to see.
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--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent, was finding the MacKenzie victim fairly light as he finished bundling her into the far corner of the sub-flooring. He stopped to examine the pistol crossbow he had snagged up as they went. Good job that had not been left behind. It felt like a deadly little device. Just add some poison...

Movement stopped his idle thoughts as he saw someone moving into the edges of the light below the tavern. As soon as they went up and into the tavern he could take his captive roundabout the sub-floor and back out towards the carriage. Nothing in this town would catch him ere he was away.

Destini

She could watch. She could listen. But she could do nothing.

The sounds she was hearing suggested someone else was moving through the crawl-space beneath the floorboards. It was not any of her party. They were all above. A rare fraction of light through the solid flooring struck upon blonde hair too perfect to be real. It had to be Pagan.

Jah!

It was so dark under here! Could Pagan see her? Her captor had seemingly chosen the darkest portion of the crawl-space.

Destini wanted to cry out, scream, warn her. She could not see her captor, but she had heard him pick up her pistol-crossbow in his strong hands. He could easily shoot Pagan from this distance. Again she tried to cry out. Again, she failed. She was completely paralyzed, a prisoner in her own body.
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Pagan

Suddenly Pagan realized that she couldn't hear the person who had been crawling ahead of her any longer. They must have gone through the trapdoor already, although Pagan hadn't seen the shadow on the dim light that was emanating through the trapdoor nor heard any sound of the trapdoor opening. Pagan shrugged. That didn't mean anything, except that the person must have been moving fast! She decided there was no point in wasting any more time under the floor. Pagan crawled to the trapdoor as fast as she could, took a deep breath and slipped through.
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--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent saw the fifth attacker slide up into the tavern above.

No time to waste! The pistol bow in one hand, armed with poisoned bolt, the wench-paralytic in the other hand, he moved purposefully towards the side exit and a clear path to the carriage.

twenty five feet to the exit...

If a sixth attacker materialized, he would paralyze them and move on. No time to waste killing idiots when he did not have to. Business before pleasure, as it were.

Fifteen more feet to the exit....

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stood at the end of the path, right before it led to the ladder. This seemed too easy to him. Then he saw it. If he were to lay seige to, or from, an unknown location, he would find out every little bit of information there was about the place. A trap door would be one of the first things he looked for. In the dark, they could wait nearby until they climbed up the ladder, then attack from behind. Pagan's rescue would be meaningless if they ended up with a knife in there back.

Jerro's mind raced as he thought of the alternatives. With the rectangle of light so close, there was little chance that anyone nearby was had developed enough night-vision to see him yet. If he were to charge in recklessly, there was no one to watch his back, which would leave himself, Pagan, and whoever went up before her exposed. He wouldn't let them down like that, they had to survive. He took a couple silent steps back, then flattened himself against the wall and waited. If no one came after them, then he would follow Pagan up. If someone did, he'd have to take care of them, then follow Pagan. He just hoped he wasn't making a mistake.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Dealer of Death, Doom, Gloom, Misery, Sorrow, Fear, Distruction, Heartache, and Epic Tragic Loss!

Dear Diary,

So, there I was having an epic conversation with Vickie's Yak. You know, I actually found him kinda intelligent. Not my cuppa, but, you know, not a bad sort really.

It's always such a shame when death comes between two like minds.

Sniffle.

Anyway, so, I was in the process of fiddling with my knives so I could totally strike him between his ribs... when Lo! My epic powers of extreme observation, like, totally kicked in and I watched schoolboy emerge from a trap door in the floor. I'd never seen him in person before, but I'd seen a sketch once about a year ago. You know, I totally thought he'd be taller.

So I'm all OMJ! No frolicking way! I totally thought Grimey had killed him! But alas! He had not. So now Grimey's epic failure of a task fell unto the sweet capability of The Finisher.

Bring it.

But then! Schoolboy was joined by Hostel Hottie and I'm all! No way! Why do the good guys all have to be goody-two-shoes! Woe!!

Grimey was the third one out. Ugh. I should have known that Captial-L Loser wouldn't have the balls to stick with the contract and kill the schoolboy. Whatever. Now, he gets to die too.

So, I know it sounds like an old soldier's story, but I am so not kidding! There I was, reaching for my blades and they were still coming out of the trap door! I mean, sure this tavern was called the Circus, but I didn't think there would actually be dinner and a show! This time, it's a girl and she's all blonde and beautiful, but it looks like she's been through hell. Well, if she's with schoolboy, then her hell's not over yet.

Now, I'm like totally outnumbered and this is soooooo not cool. So, all I want is an escape route. Turns out, I've got one. Yeah, I have an escape route. Why are you so surprised?! So what if in this case my escape route turns out to be the front door! Shut up! It has an epic carriage there! Duh!

So, I move for the front door, but not before taking a stab at Vickie's Yak. After all, I had to say I at least tried to kill him or Daddy Dukie would have my head. I didn't even look to see if I'd hit him before running for the door.

Yeah, I'm totally out of here. Wish me luck! K, thanks, bye!

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent almost blew it.

But then he saw the shadow of a human for moving fifteen feet away, against a wall.

He had thought there might be one more out there.

Nothing for it. he aimed center mass and put a paralytic crossbow-bolt at the torso of whomever was there. If it hit, they were out for an hour. If it did not, they'd be ducking for cover for ten minutes.

No time--or frankly need--to sort out who it was.

The Viscomte grabbed his prey more firmly and roughly dragged her to the side exit and out into the night.

No sounds.

Good

Over the shoulder with a duck and lift, around to the carriage.

No sounds.

Good.

d'Argent threw the motionless wench into the back of the carriage and re-loaded another poisoned bolt in time to see the Finisher scurrying out the front of the Circus.

"Went, well, then, did it?" he asked drily.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan leaped up into the light and rolled. He saw two targets by the bar

Target one, freak girl. Shoot later.

Target two. GAHHH uglified freak man. SHOOT NOW!!!

He fired a bolt at the skeletal figure as the freak-girl scampered out of the tavern.

Looking around he saw Corwynn and Richard taking up positions on either side of the room.

Destini was next up, after a short delay.

Wait

Destini did not have blond hair!

Brightpoint re-loaded in a second and leveled the bow at the newcomer

"WHO the ruddy hell are you?!?!"

--The_finisher

This being the Shortest Diary Entry Evar from Ivy, The Finished ...

So, I'm all running out into the night when I ran across Vickie beside the carriage. He's all mocking me. "Shut it, Vickie, and get in! We have to scram" In moments, I was all in the drivers seat with the reigns in my hands and urging the horses out of town as fast as frolicking possible!

Pagan

Like a cat Pagan pulled herself through the trapdoor... and froze. She was staring straight at an arrow aimed at her head. For a moment she thought her time had come. Then she recognized the man doing the arrow-pointing. It was Destini's friend from Oddman's wedding, Allan Bright... something. Brightbolt. Pagan replied to his query:

"Pagan MacKenzie, Colonel of the 5th Imleach regiment, 'Rough Riders', and contrary to the popular belief not guilty of poisoning King Zanditin! Where's Desti?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro heard the sound of a bolt being fired nearby. Luckily for him, in the dark, his attacker couldn't see him. Also on his side, the spear he held changed the shape of his body. Unluckily, the bolt still glanced across his side. Almost immediately he felt light headed. It was the paralytic from last time! If a scratch made him feel this way, then he'd hate to see what a direct hit would have done. Oh, wait, he already knew. Nothing for it, he had to keep moving.

His legs were already turning to cooked pasta as he gave pursuit. A few feet was all he managed before he collapsed. On the way down, he threw (for lack of a better term) his spear at the receding shadow. It came no where near, and barely cleared the entrance to the path. Great. Now he had no weapon, and he couldn't move. Well, if he couldn't move, the weapon would be of no great help anyway. Well, he wasn't completely immobile. He could twitch a bit, but that didn't help him much. So much for watching Pagan's back.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked blank for a moment and then realization slammed home.

"Ahh, Colonel Pagan!! Sorry! I was so much expecting it to be Destini that popped up next, I completely failed to recognize who you were.

Did you not see Destini down there? She was right behind us. How could anything have happened?! Corwynn! You were down there., man!..what happened?!"

Allan was beginning to feel the strangulation of [panic and suspected loss wrapping tight, snake-like tendrils around his chest...

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn had nothing. He hated bad surprises, hated having no answer and hated the look of loss beginning to blossom on Allan's face.

"I have no idea," he admitted, " She was right bloody behind us! Richard?"

He also realized, then, something else was amiss.

"Colonel... I was under the impression you were working with and traveling with an associate. Where is he?"

Jerro_oconnor

Well this sucked. Stuck in a dark place, unable to move more than his fingers, and now he lost whoever it was he had been chasing. He had to wonder, what was that person holding. Whatever it was, it looked big, but he couldn't tell without some light.

This was some potent stuff! He hadn't been hit with the full dose and he still had trouble moving. He wondered if the paralytic hampered his voice too? He tried to yell up for help. "Neeeeeh!" It came out as more of a groan. Plus it was so quiet that no one probably heard it. Well, that's out of the question. He'd have to wait until the poison wore off. Wouldn't this be fun?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn thought about what Corwynn had said. Ah, yes. He sized up the little spitfire of a woman with a glimmer of curiosity. She certainly wasn't what he had expected. "So, you are the infamous Pagan MacKenzie. Finally, a face for the name. Honestly, the lady, that being your friend, of course, talks of little else." He looked to Brightpoint and shook his head. He honestly hadn't seen anything amiss. "The lady was directly behind me, Brightpoint. I swear it. Granted, it was dark, but I neither heard nor saw anything."

Pagan

Pagan looked from Allan to his companions. Both men seemed very competent for this line of business judging the first impression she got. Corwynn had this glimmer in his eyes she associated with certain type of people, usually serving in the military - laughing at the face of death, never taking anything seriously and building up courage on troops by their sheer indifference and death-mocking attitude. People like that made fine corporals, sometimes even sergeants, but had no desire to rise above that. And Richard, on the other hand... well, Richard had very honest and trustworthy eyes and sympathetic look about him. Pagan liked and trusted all three immediately and decided that Destini had chosen her 'agents' wisely. Speaking of whom...

Pagan frowned and looked behind her at the trapdoor. "I don't know. There was somebody crawling right before me, I was kinda thinking it was Destini, but I lost the sight of her. If she didn't come up here, she must have crawled in a corner to wait... but why would she do that? And Jerro was right behind me, he should have come through that door too by now."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sprang into action.

"right then.

Corwynn, you and Richard search below.

Colonel, will you come with me and search the rest of the Circus. We might find d'Argent, or we might find evidence.

At any rate we need a better picture before the local constable shows up.

Where is the cloaked figure we shot at on arrival?"

Allan looked over at the bar area for any sign of the creepy denizen at whom he had fired.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn heaved a put-upon sigh. He didn't want to go crawling about beneath the tavern again. "Brother, why don't you go have a peek below." Grimthorn said to Corwynn. "Certainly, one of us should see where The Finisher got off to, mm? Since you're the more capable soldier, you should deal with the mystery below whilst I, who know The Finisher best, should go deal with that annoying little tart. Don't you think?"

Pagan

Pagan thought about Constable Caine and shivered. "To be honest, I'm not sure if it's worth our while to be waiting fer the Constable to find us here at all. I know Caine and his mindset from the past - to him the question is never 'who did it' but rather 'where can we find a suitable scumbag to pin this on and how can we make them confess it'. And it seems he is rather taken by Mr. d'Argent - no surprise really, those two have a lot in common."

Pagan had seen a glimpse of the dark, tall figure that had fell down on the corner. She grabbed her spear with both hands as she approached the corner table, ready to impale whoever was lying there from the tiniest movement. But she couldn't see anyone.

"There's nobody here!"

She squinted her eyes and leaned in closer. "But I do see a little puddle of what seems to be blood, and little specks of the same substance..." she turned her head to follow the trail of red specks on the floor, "leading towards the door and straight out of it."
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn grinned at Richard, knowing the robust man did not want to squeeze back into dark places.

"Not to worry, my friend, I am on it. " He pulled out a small torch and lit it before clambering below.

It was dark and dank, but it did not take long to spot a satchel with a torn shoulder-strap near the trapdoor.

Corwynn snagged it up and kept looking.

Over by the wall there. something barely moving.

Dagger ready, Corwynn crept over to the moaning form. It was neither d'Argent nor that skeletal creep from upstairs.

"Are you with Colonel Pagan? I am with Destini MacKenzie" he asked the figure, who had a smallish amount of blood oozing from a grazing wound to his side.

Corwynn listened for an answer or some other sign of recognition.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan held his temples briefly, wondering when this evening was going to just stop.

"So let me re-cap.

We need to figure out for sure what happened to Destini--although I suspect d'Argent or his friends nabbed her. When the teeny tart ran out of here I heard that mucking great carriage hauling horseshoes out of the area. I will Presume the lot of them got away on it, with a kidnapped Destini in tow.

Colonel, let's follow this blood trail and see if it tells a more-detailed story, shall we?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn nodded gratefully to Corwynn and watched him disappear down the hatch before turning to the door to determine what had become of The Finisher. He kept a handy reach on the throwing daggers at his back as he peeked outside. Silence. The perfect Irish evening. He peeked further outside before cursing and turning back to Brightpoint. "I suspect you are correct. For one, that monstrosity of a carriage is certainly gone."

Pagan

Pagan nodded at Allan and rushed towards the door following the trail of blood like a bloodhound, nostrils shivering. Outside the specks of blood turned right and became more scarce and harder to follow. She spotted a few more specks turning right to a narrow alleyway until they finally disappeared completely. Pagan stretched herself up and turned around.

"I suppose the guy isn't mortally wounded based on the speed he has been running and the fact he seems to have been able to stop the blood from flowing. There's little chance we can find him at all - he could be anywhere."
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Jerro_oconnor

Rescue! Maybe, were they with d'Argent, or with Destini? He said that he was with Destini, so if he wasn't lying, then Jerro was saved. In any case, the answer was the same. "Aaay." With some stretch of the imagination, it could either be, Aye, or Yay. He was sort of stuck out on this, though. The voice sounded Irish enough, but he couldn't turn his head enough to look at the voice. Hopefully, he would figure out that Jerro was poisoned. Jerro tried to explain, but it came out as a series of monosyllabic grunts and groans. How long would he be stuck like this? Last time it had been at least several hours, although he had been knocked out the whole time. Who knew how long it would be this time.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

"I am going to try to pull you under the trapdoor so that Brightpoint and Colonel Pagan can get you up to safety."

Corwynn hoped he was not causing more harm than good by moving the disabled man, but it seemed the best course of action. At the very least it would alert those above that someone had been found.

Dragging the moaning man with occasional apologies for bumps and jostling, Corwynn got him into the square of light below the trapdoor.

"Allan!" he exclaimed "I found one!"

Once the others came over to get this fellow, Corwynn would search the under-floor for signs of struggle or someone moving Destini the same way

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's heart leaped at the sudden cry from below. Corwynn had found one!

Wait.

Not Destini or he would have said that. Damn.

Still, Brightpoint bolted over and saw a figure slumped beneath the trapdoor. he turned to Pagan.

"Colonel, is this your friend?"

Allan wondered what this meant for the recovery of Destini MacKenzie...He did not like the subtle meanings in the data he had to hand.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn went to assist Corwynn in pulling the gent up through the trap door. "Easy, gent, up you come." When the limp form was above the floorboards, Grimthorn laid him carefully on a bench near one wall. The gent seemed a young lad, but not a child by any stretch. Goodness, these Irish were rough and tumble folk to be involved in plots against the Red Duke despite being so young! When the gent was settled, Grimthorn moved away so the 'colonel' - as Brightpoint kept calling her - could see him.

--Brother_corwynn

As Corwynn watched Richard lift the limp form up into the Circus common room, he began to look around for more evidence.

There! A second body had been dragged across the width of the expanse under the building, towards that side entrance.

It must have been a strong person to pull another along at such a bad angle.

Over out side the exit, there was evidence of the dragging turning into lifting. Dusty bootprints led off around the side of the Inn.

Corwynn followed around and arrived quickly at the front of the tavern. The bootprints ended neatly next to where the wheel marks of a large carriage had recently rolled away.

The Finisher and d'Argent--or his agent--have Destini and are making breakneck speed away from here.

Damn.

Allan was not going to like this report, but it had to be given.

Corwynn stepped in the front door of the tavern and spoke to Allan.

"Arch-Deacon, a second person, presumably Destini MacKenzie was disabled below, dragged to the exit, and carried to the waiting Carriage. They are half way to Corcaigh and Port Lairge by now.

Sorry..."

This last felt lame, but he was sorry to not have better news.

Pagan

Pagan recognized Jerro immediately and saw that he was wounded. She bent over him and checked his pulse and fingernails. When she was finally satisfied she nodded with a relieved yet gloomy look about her face.

"He will be all right - we've both been introduced to this item from d'Argent's inventory before. Kinda nasty feeling but I very much prefer it to the other one... anyway, Jerro will be up and about later - though I have no idea how long it might take this time."

Pagan took advantage of this little breather to dig up her massive hipflask and pull an equally enormous swig out of it. She screwed the cork back on, placed the flask back in her pocket and said to Allan, who obviously was in charge of the group: "So what do we do now, Sir Allan?"

Pagan didn't have the faintest idea if Allan was of nobility or not, but his last name was just too long and too English for her to remember. She figured nobody would be offended if they had a noble ephitet attached to their name, so that sounded like the safest way to avoid any faus paxes or what the French called them - Pagan hadn't met many Englishmen before but she had been told by everyone that they were very uptight people and she didn't want to offend Allan at this point.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

A Gutteral snarl issued from Allan's throat, born of rage and frustration. and worry.

"GaaaaaHHHHHHH Jah DAMMIT. How COULD this happen?!?!?!"

His right fore-arm smashed down on a table with unplanned force--a blow learned from the oriental teachers, splitting the heavy oak in twain.

Allan ran his hands through his hair in frustration before answering Pagan. he could not yet look at Corwynn.

"Let's get a plan together while Jerro heals up. Is this place defend-able? How long will it take for us to search it?"

He looked over at Corwynn

"Taken? And away on a fast carriage. We'll need horses to have a prayer to catch them.

Would they go to Port Lairge, to Springtime, or to Anto?"

So many questions were spinning in his head he really needed at least one answer to focus on...

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn suddenly seemed to remember something and examine the contents of a satchel he was carrying. Other than a broken shoulder-strap, it appeared intact. A familiar glint of silver and blue sparkled in the firelight.

"Allan, one bit of good news. I did recover Destini's satchel. We still have the variety of antidotes Mother Mary sent her off with. and her spare bolts... I wonder where the crossbow got to..."

Corwynn looked at the bar more-clearly and noticed it did not look put away for the evening.

"Has anyone seen the bartender for this place? He does not appear to have tidied up much..."

Pagan

Pagan answered to some of Allan's questions.

"We probably could hold on our own fer a little while, but I'd prefer us not to fortify in here. The regular militia would call in the NMA to help them, and that would mean hundreds of soldiers with a lot of experience in sieging whole towns would come through doors and windows to get us. As to where d'Argent might be heading, does anyone know what gate they used? If they went through the south gate, they would reach Port Lairge in two days. East - they could be on Laighean side of the border in one day. North - reach 'civilization' up in Chonnacht in two or three days."

Pagan looked at Corwynn and then around her. "That's a good question. Grunt should be here, taking care of things fer me and Kadie. I hope he's all right. Gruuuunt!"
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--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn took the momentary search for the barkeep to speak his own thoughts on a course of action ... even though no one had asked him for his opinion. "Actually, I have a suggestion I know has not been considered." He looked to Brightpoint as the leader of their little party and laid out his thoughts. "I propose we do not go after the lady Destini. Before you completely disregard me outright ... again ... do have the decency to hear me out.

"The only reason I can think that d'Argent would want a captive is to get information. The lady Destini has nothing to tell. You, however ..." He looked at both Brightpoint and Corwynn, " ... do. Should you go after her and get taken yourself, you will only place your precious cardinal at risk. D'Argent is very skilled at information extraction.

"Furthermore," he continued before they could cut him off. "Your mission, as best I understand it, is complete. You were to discover why your agents here in this dismal country had gone silent. Now you know d'Argent has entangled his way in here quite a bit. With d'Argent on the run, your cardinal can dispatch agents back to these shores at will."

He gestured to the satchel in Corwynn's hands. "And now that we know d'Argent has none of the antidotes the lady Destini was carrying, there is no need to chase after her to recover either them ..." he fixed his gaze on Brightpoint as he finished his sentence, "... or her."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Logically," began Brightpoint as this was the last approach Richard would ever expect from him, "We must analyze your proposal on its merits.

In favor of it are--in no particular order:

Against it are--again in no particular order:

.

You bring up points that are noteworthy and very much encourage me to thorough planning.

You fail to convince me to let the enemy run off scot free--excepting they are working for a fairly nasty bunch of them."

Allan turned away, dismissing Richard for the moment to address Colonel Pagan.

"Milady. If you were fleeing for a ship what direction would you take? Knowing our lot would be heading your way in short order..."

Pagan

Pagan frowned and glared at Richard. As sympathetic and possibly competent 'agent' he might have been - and probably was for all she knew - but his sense of humor was horrible and terribly timed. This was certainly not the place or time to be spewing out ironic jokes! Pagan decided to let it go this one time, but if Richard didn't improve his act she would have to give him a good smack on the top of his head! She turned her eyes to meet Allan's.

"I would go to Port Lairge", she said without hesitation. "Even if the port in An Gort is bigger, Port Lairge is to my knowledge the 9th biggest city in the whole world, and it has constant maritime traffic with ships coming and going all the time. Besides, it is the shortest route there. So, if they want to vacate the island as fast as possible, Port Lairge is definitely the way to go."
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--Richard.grimthorn

To say that he hadn't expected his idea to be completely discarded would be unfair. Still, there were two things he had not considered. 1) Brightpoint taking him seriously and actually walking him through the logical reasons ... in the Arch-Deacon's mind ... not to do what Grimthorn had suggested. 2) The lady Pagan's glare, but not action. He had expected to be killed outright for his suggestion. Any agent of the Red Duke would have certainly taken to the task with delightful glee. Still, somehow, here, he maintained his position despite his disagreement? Fascinating.

Still, it seemed his opinion had been heard and not needed at this moment in time. Very well. Grimthorn sat next to the paralyzed chap. "Well," he said to the immobile body on the bench next to him. "You'll listen to me anyway ...."

Pagan

A terrible premonition was slowly starting to take a hold on Pagan. She said to her new allies: "Excuse me while I check something."

Having said that Pagan took off and scurried up the stairs. She stepped on the familiar corridor and saw... the door to her her room on the left, slightly open. Pagan sneaked closer and slowly pushed the door forward. The hinges creaked slightly. Pagan almost stumbled on something lying on the floor. She lit a lantern.

It was Grunt. Pagan knelt down next to him and took a closer look at his face. He was breathing but totally unresponsive. She grabbed his hand and checked the fingernails. She noticed the blue stints.

"Allan! Corwynn! Richard!" she shrieked out from the bottom of her lungs. "Get up here now and bring some of that blue stuff of yers with ye - QUICKLY!"
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn sprang into action. He was up the stairs before anyone could so much as gasp.

Rounding the corner he found Pagan standing over a semi-conscious man who showed all the symptoms of the trinary poison.

Corwynn pulled out a vial from the satchel he still carried and removed the stopper.

"STAND BACK!" he demanded, as he went up to the prone man and forced the contents of the vial down the stricken man's throat.

Corwynn did not so much as breathe until he heard the poisoning victim gasps and start to breath more in a fashion of those alive...

Pagan

Pagan felt tremendously relieved as she heard Grunt's abrupt breathing and the color of his face gradually shifting back to normal. He would pull through. Grunt had been in their household for so long he had practically become a family member.

But her relief was short-lived as she remembered Destini. Her name pounded incessantly in Pagan's subconscious mind: Desti... Desti... Destini...

She remembered the tall (from Pagan's perspective), dark-haired lass wearing a black cloak over her brown travel clothing. She remembered her brown-black hair and sparkling hazel eyes that seemed to change color by her mood. She remembered that last time she had seen her in Oddman's wedding what seemed like years ago and the letters from England.

And now... now she was in the claws of d'Argent! Perhaps he had slain her already. Her mind traveled back to that horrible sight she had encountered in that little cottage on the outskirt of town - street girl Síle - her brain punctured with a dagger. Would her friend Destini fall victim of d'Argent's inhumane madness?
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Jerro_oconnor

If Jerro could have sighed, he would have. From his unique perspective, he had been able to glean a bit more from the party. Allen obviously had feelings for Destini, and he knew some tricks too. He had never seen someone do that before, and silently thanked Jah that it had not been the table he had been layed upon.

Corwynn seemed to be the goto guy for whatever there was. He had been the one searching the trap door and he was the one to notice Grunt's dissapearance. He also reacted the fastest to Pagan's yell. He seemed like a Jack-of-all-trades. Jerro wouldn't know until he could take the time to learn more (once he could move, anyway).

Richard had a trusting face. Too trusting for Jerro. It looked like the kind of face one would practice in the mirror to get right, rather than one that comes naturally. In Jerro's experience, the ones who looked trust-worthy, often weren't. Then again, neither were the ones who didn't look trust-worthy. But more often than not, those were the ones you trusted. So a liar and a cheat? Another reformed criminal? Obviously not that reformed, but regardless. He wondered if Allen and Corwynn knew this. They must, they had traveled from England to here.

Still not enough that he would like to know, though. Judging from their reactions (aside from Richard, anyway) they were truly dedicated to the task of saving peoples lives. Now if only he could move. Wait, was that a tingling in his hand? Was he getting movement back? Oh, no... wait. It's just falling asleep. Wonderful. He was glad that he could still move his eyes as he rolled them.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

Tool or toy?

There was a lot to think about as the grand carriage thundered towards Port Lairge. Virtually no chance to be overtaken by Doltpoint at least.

And if he did, chuck his wench out of the Carriage with a mortal wound to slow down pursuit a bit.

Much had gone wrong, thought d'Argent, but not all.

The enemy was in disarray for now at least

Anto's slug had limped off into the dark, bleeding

Caine still blamed that whole lot for Zandatin's murder and should be turning up for an arresting party any moment.

The Viscomte had a pretty little package for the Red Duke. More than enough to avoid the final Red Wrath.

Tool or toy?

Either or both, really.

Probably both.

He looked down at the alert eyes that were beginning to find a bit of movement.

"Hello there.

You are going to meet a new friend soon, and find out whether the Red Duke will make of you a tool or toy. Or both. That is what [b]my/[b] shilling would be bet upon.

The Red Duke does not believe in wasting either tools or toys..."

Destini

If the muscles along her spine could move, a shiver would have run down it. As she was, only the icy, stone of fear settled in the hollow below her breast. 'Tool' implied she would be used against those she served, against her kin, against the cardinal, against her fellow attaches. 'Toy' implied some sick pleasure would be gained from her. She could do nothing, as she was, to fight him off if he should choose to act.

She was wholly in his power.

Even now, she was being used. Allan would come after her -- if he was alive. She did not know what had occurred above the floorboards of the MacKenzie Circus. Crossbow bolts had been fired. At least one body had struck the floor with a loud thump. What if it had been Allan? What if Pagan had been hurt in the Circus? Maybe she was dead too.

No. Stop. Focus.

She had to believe they were alive. Or surrender all hope.

Until help arrived or she could escape herself, she would fight.

Some rescue attempt this turned out to be.
_________________

--Constable_caine

Constable Caine was approaching the MacKenzie Circus with the three 'security consultants' Lord d'Argent had graciously assigned to him. The Viscomte had said that he and his people would take care of the tavern and Caine shouldn't waste manpower on that before he got a word from him, but he really should have heard from him by now. So Caine had made a decision to go check out the place anyway, there was no harm in being extra vigilant as Caine always stressed to his people.

Do you want to be dead?

--The_finisher

Thus continues the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Uber Scram-tastic Getaway Driver!

Dear Diary,

Behold! The hooves of the Nameless One's own horses thundered down the dark, forest trail. The reigns of these mad beasts were held by none other than our heroine, The Finisher! For Lo! No other would dare to tame them! My black hair was all flowing in my wake as the carriage was pulled through the narrow road and gloomy darkness of total midnight!

I kid you not! It was totally just that fab! I know! Right?

So, now that my uber driving skills had left schoolboy and his loser friends eating my dust, I decided to pull over and ask Vickie for directions. Not that I didn't know where I was going, because I totally did. I just thought I'd get his opinion before I actively discarded it.

So!

I pulled the horses to a stop and they obeyed my whim instantly. It took some doing getting off the driver's seat because, you know, countess boots totally weren't made for climbing carriages. But, whatever. I managed it. So, shut up!

And then, I pulled open the door of the carriage so I could talk to Vickie. And that's when I saw the chick all dead and stuff. And I'm all, "What the Hell?!" and stuff. Because, seriously, where had she come from? The only chick I'd seen back in town was the blonde bombshell. And this chick was totally not blonde.

She might have had hair as cool as mine if it were, you know, totally completely black instead of cut with streaks of brown and stuff. But, alas! Not everyone can be as flawless as The Finisher!

Still! What the Hell was she doing here? "Dude! No, seriously! I was just going to ask you where we're going. But for real, Vickie! What the Hell do you need a dead chick for?"

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent was busily attending to needful tasks when Ivy slammed open the door and began a nattering that shared the levels of comfort and pleasant tones of coarse stones on slate roofing.

He held up a hand.

"Silence." A single word spoken softly but with tremendous menace wandering its silken depths.

The Viscomte had just administered a strong dose of the paralytic and something to knock out MacBrat while he searched her thoroughly.

A Vial of antidote

A few letters on parchment

A dagger.

Spare bolts.

He removed these. And her boots as insurance against escape.

With that d'Argent took the bootlaces and used them to tie hands behind, linked to ankles.

Whether tool or toy, there was no need for it to travel in comfort.

He turned to face Ivy.

"Now, then, Lenore. Please recall that I, not you, am in charge of this operation. The part you were in charge of did not go too well given that my last sight in town as we drove off was Anto's dolt escaping the Circus...

So. What caused you to stop our speedy trip to Port Lairge where a fast ship awaits?"

Destini

The carriage came to a stop and the door was flung wide by a very strange lass. Destini could move her eyes enough to look at her. The lass must have been the one driving the carriage. Wait! Was that a movement of her head? It was! If she was regaining her ability to move, maybe she could run soon!

Her captor must have spotted the movement. She watched the knife bearing what she knew was more of the paralysis poison, but she could do nothing to stop its scraping into her skin. Jah! No, Please! Not again! she thought as the paralysis began to strengthen its hold on her again. A single tear escaped her frozen eye and rolled down her cheek. All thoughts of possible escape fluttered from her mind.

A second potion. Locked in a motionless grip, she could not even look away as the blade approached again. This was different than the paralysis potion. In seconds, she felt like she was falling down a black hole.

As the second potion took hold, she felt large hands search her. They found the antidote vial Mother Mary had given her. It had been on a necklace around her neck. The hands found her knife, Pagan's letters, and spare bolts, too. Her captor was thorough.

As he tied her wrists tightly, painfully, the potion took its final hold, and she was exceedingly grateful when she lost consciousness completely.
_________________

--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy (NOT Lenore), The Finisher, Emergency Backup Villain of the Irish Countryside

OMJ!

He did NOT just use my day-slave name! You know, the name that parents think will bring their child wealth, fame, or snacky crown jewels, but un reality (you know, that place where we all live), the name only gets the kid beat up in school?

Yeah.

I was unlucky enough to get pegged with the day-slave name of Lenore. I mean, seriously? "Lenore, The Finisher" totally doesn't sound as good as "Ivy, The Finisher"! I still havent forgiven Daddy Dukie for that bit of serious mental issues he saddled me with.

Ugh.

I can not believe Vickie used my day-slave name! So I'm all totally peeved and stuff, so I go, "Well, IDK! It's not like I knew where we were going, ViscomTe!" I tsked the 'T' just to annoy him.

I looked at the dead chick. She really did have killer boots. Maybe when Vickie's done being angry at me, he'll let me have them. Before slamming the carriage door shut on him, I'm all, "Now that you've, oh, you know, told me where we're going, I'll leave you to your dead chick, then, ViscomTe."

I slammed the door, turned, and sashayed my hips back to the driver's seat and whipped the horses into a frenzy towards Port Lingere.

Sigh. I don't think Vickie wants me anymore. Shrug. Whatever.

--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent rode in silence for a while, watching the shadows outside flicker past as the carriage careened up the road.

Was it time to look at some new options?

This arranged marriage thing was nice in the level of inheritance involved, but if there was a more high-maintenance soul on the planet than Ivy, he hoped they lived in China. On a mountain.

He could just paralyze the finisher and leave her tied to the carriage, taking ship to deliver the package to the Red Duke. The ravens rarely obeyed Lenore, so small chance of untimely interference that way.

The Viscomte could collect the huge reward for killing two kings and destroying Faheud's secret service and begone into central Europe to either rebuild a better organization or just retire...

What to do...what to do....

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn was still downstairs in the tavern's common room with the paralysed chap. He was pacing the room, partially out of boredom, partially out of anxiety for Brightpoint's daft plan. D'Argent was best left alone. Why couldn't he see that? A glint of metal outside caught his attention. Odd. Why would there be something metal in the middle of the street? He peered closer. There it was again! Closer this time. What could it be? It was moving, so perhaps it was one of the townfolk? But it was after midnight. Who would be about this late? And what could they be carrying that glinted dully in the light? Suddenly, it occurred to him. "I think we may have company," he stated loud enough for the tavern's occupants to hear.

Jerro_oconnor

After a long period of not moving, laying on his side, Jerro was left with the pins and needles in most of his body. His legs in particular were getting really itchy. He scratched at it absentmindedly while trying to figure out what the first thing he did once he could move would be. Wait, what? He partially turned his head sluggishly to look at his hand. It had moved! So had his head! The poison was wearing off! He tried moving his arm, but only succeeded in knocking it off the table. So he could move his extremeties and head, the rest was still too heavy to lift yet.

Still it was a start. Next he tried his voice. It was gravelly, quiet, slow and it slurred in places he thought were impossable to slur, but it worked. "Aha. It'sh wurin uff." With his new excitement, he completely missed Richard's warning. He was just glad he'd be able to move in a few minutes.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"What kind of company?" asked Brightpoint in a hissed question.

He looked at Pagan. "Are you expecting company?"

"Weapons up, triple-red, people!"

Allan edged over to the side of a shuttered window and peeked out.

Pagan

Pagan leaped on the window and peered outside through the curtains.

"GAHH!" she sounded. "I don't know the other three, but the one leading the group is definitely Caine! I could recognize that posture in a drunken coma!"

She looked at Jerro who was leaning on the bar mumbling something incomprehensible and cursed like a sailor: "Figures! He will be all right in a few more minutes... too bad we won't have few more minutes. Caine will be banging the door in about fifteen seconds..."
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"RIGHT!" Allan snarled. Everyone down the trapdoor!"

He opened it so the others could dive through and motioned Richard to get Jerro down.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn scooped up the weakend Jerro and stumbled into the open trap door as carefully as possible. "Welcome back, chap." he mumbled quietly to the gent once they were below. "I do hope you have some skills at fighting that don't involve getting shot, because my guess would be that we're going to need them."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro tried to laugh sarcastically, but it ended up more as wheezing gasps. It felt weird, he could actually feel himself grow stronger each second. Slighlty creepy, but cool at the same time. Besides the getting shot at and being wrongfully pursued parts. By now, he could stumble al0ng a little by himself. He was just glad he made it down the ladder by himself, the bumpy ride up would probably be less pleasant in reverse.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn could hear them now. Four pairs of boots stomping across the yard toward the Circus with a purpose in their gait.

Time to take a powder. Brightpoint was right.

Corwynn followed Richard down below, hoping Allan and Pagan would get below quickly.

Letting his eyes get used to the darkness, he readied weapons for action...

Pagan

Pagan shook her fist at the window, grimaced and cursed Caine again, but that didn't make him go away. So there was not much more else to do for her than to follow the example of the others as they dived through the trapdoor.

Pagan was having a very bad day... week... month... LIFE and there was still no light at the end of the tunnel. What the hell had she done to make gods so angry with her? Seriously... she had tried her darnest to appease them all, the White God Jah, the Old Gods, but still it seemed like somebody up there was pissed at her and had made up their mind to snuff her out!
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Constable_caine

Constable Caine stopped in front of the main door and raised his hand as a signal for the others to stop as well and be ready for anything. He raised his shillelagh to bang at the door, but quickly changed his mind. This was a tavern after all and what kind of impression would it have made to d'Argent if he'd be banging at the door of an open tavern like some kind of a village idiot? The answer: A very poor impression indeed.

So he pushed the door open and stepped inside, motioning for his 'consultants' to follow.

Do you want to be dead?

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Assailants inbound. 4 beating hearts, three in oiled chain. One smells of whiskey.

Lower self into trapdoor 1 second

close trapdoor 1 second

listen to assailants entering tavern which now looks like it has been idle all day

waiting to see if opportunity to reduce opposition presents...

elapsed time from given order - 13 seconds

--Constable_caine

The room was empty. Nothing to indicate anyone had been here all day. How could that be? d'Argent had promised to cover the tavern. Sure, it was not likely that Pagan would be stupid enough to come back here, but still - cover all bases, that was basic stuff. Surely d'Argent hadn't just took off, just like that, and without telling him, Caine, anything?

"Hello!" he shouted. "Anybody in here?"

Silence.

Caine frowned. He pointed at two of his accomplices. "You two", he said and pointed towards the stairs. "Go check upstairs. Give us a holler if you find anything, eh?"

Caine waited with the one that had left downstairs with him. Before long he heard a shout: "We found one, boss! Seems to be in a bad shape - not hurt or anything but like he has a really bad hangover or something!"

Do you want to be dead?

--The_red_duke

The silence of the weeks recent was profoundly unhealthy

For his staff

The Red Duke was not doing well with hearing nothing from his senior operative, d'Argent

Nothing from his daughter....styling herself the Finisher.

Would he need to have them both slain and seek better progeny and more-effective operatives?

Time would tell.

In the meantime, Egremont's finest were dying very quickly....

--Constable_caine

"Well what are you waiting for - bring him down! I haven't got all night you know."

When he saw who it was that d'Argent's accomplices were walking downstairs Caine tilted his head back and looked at the man with disdain:

"Bleh, it's the bloody mute village idiot! He couldn't possibly know anything, and even if we did, there would be no way to distract that information out of him."

Caine looked around in the room, dissatisfied. "All right, since d'Argent is away on his businesses and nobody is keeping an eye on this place we will have to do it ourselves! We will stay right here, waiting for d'Argent's return for the whole night if we have to. You, idiot", he pointed at Grunt, "go fix us something to bite, will you? That's a good chap!"

Do you want to be dead?

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn listened intently to the conversation occurring over his head. They were going to stay here all night? Good grief! Had the constabulatory nothing better to do in this town? And how were they going to get out of this dismal hole in the ground with soldiers over their heads? He very much disliked the idea of fighting his way out of this. At that moment, a thought occurred to him. Yes, he hated fighting. Especially when there was a better way. He leaned in to speak in a low tone to their rag-tag little party. "We cannot sit here. Out the side where we came in, do you think?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Agreed," Allan nodded at Grimthorn.

"Colonel Pagan, we need to get clear of this tavern, to the stables, on horses, and the heck out of Imleach towards Port Lairge.

Can you get us horses?"

Pagan

Pagan thought about it, then nodded. "We have some of the fastest horses in the County in the NMA staples, but we might have to knock out the guards to get to them since we are all outlawed now", she whispered. "d'Argent will probably have to wait a couple of days to find a ship to England, so there is a good chance we can find them there. The only problem is that the city is so damn big - very hard to find anyone who doesn't want to get found. But we can think about that later - follow me!"

Determinedly Pagan started crawling towards the exit. If only she could get herself a better weapon than the spear! It was fine weapon against horses in open areas but miserable when it came to fighting in close quarters. She would have preferred a sword and perhaps a shield to go with it - that was the fighting style she excelled in.
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Banner by Raella

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn listened to the discussion and followed when everyone started moving quietly to the exit.

He caught up with Colonel Pagan just before they stepped out onto the street.

"Colonel, if you can get us to Port Lairge in one piece, I am very skilled at finding those who do not wish to be found."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded and followed, murmuring to the others "The Colonel leads, I have rearguard."

It was time to get out from under the enemy's blundering agents.

It was time to get out of Imleach

It was time to get moving on the road.

It was time to find Destini before she ran out of time...

Pagan

What the little group didn't know was that Constable Caine had, after careful consideration, decided to tell the NMA about the prison break and to give them the descriptions of everyone they should be on the lookout - including Allan Brightpoint who had been described to him pretty well by d'Argent. The NMA had ordered a large party of soldiers on horseback to patrol the streets of Imleach and apprehend everyone they saw in this late hour when every decent citizen should have been asleep already anyway.

While they were sneaking towards the NMA staples along the outskirt of the town square all hell broke loose. Suddenly a group of horsemen rode out from behind the church and galloped in the town square. They were all carrying torches. The situation was very dangerous, because they had brought enough light with them to spot the shady figures sneaking on the edge of the town square.
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan heard the hooves before he saw the riders.

"Follow ME!" he shouted, and led the group towards that tiny side gate through which they had entered the town walls.

"We'll get to the woods and lose them, or take their horses. We cannot get captured!!!"

Allan bolted, urging his fellows along.

Pagan

They heard shouting, and the horses stopped as the soldiers were shouting and making a lot of noise.

Pagan ran for her life behind Allan along the narrow alley towards the town wall. The alleyway was too narrow for horses, but the commanding officer had realized where they were going and commanded some of the soldiers to go around and try to stop them at the gate. A couple of arrows bounced off the wall of the building over their heads. Most of the torches fell down on the ground on the commotion but a few soldiers had jumped off the horseback and were chasing them by foot holding torches. The arrows shot by archers in the square flew blindly here and there. It was clear that the chasers were not veterans of the Laighean war and didn't have any actual combat experience at all, and that they didn't like this nightly chase of suspected assassins who had been described to them as armed and extremely dangerous.
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan decided it was time to slow down pursuit. He took very careful aim at a soldier chasing and shot a bolt into his leg. Nothing life-threatening, but it would take two of his buddies to carry him out of there.

That action complete, Brightpoint turned and sprinted after his companions, hastily re-loading the hand crossbow.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn had never seen a land so torn by war that they would attack their own with only the barest shred of evidence. Fascinating, really. He couldn't help but be impressed. Grimthorn fell into step beside Brightpoint as he returned to the group.

"We will never escape if we try to run, Brightpoint. There is another way," said Grimthorn seriously as he tried to keep up with Brightpoint's long strides. "Give me the letter of marque and the forged letter. Do it quickly, and you may yet get away. Do recall. My name was not on the wanted posters. I can buy you lot time, but I want something up my sleeve, so to speak, if things do not go according to plan."

He couldn't believe he was offering to do this, but, well, there it was. He kept pace with Brightpoint and waited anxiously for his response.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan listened. he heard the tones of sincerity and tones of a fast one doing battle in Richard's voice. This would work initially, but doubtless there woul be some heavy price to pay down there road...something between endless' I told you so' all the way to a betrayal.

"Corwynn, give Richard the letters.

Richard, we'll wait outside for three hours in the woods. If you get them to stand down, come and alert us. If you do not, thanks for the blocking.

The rest of us will need to get moving now!"

Just up the way was the small gate out of the town.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn followed the orders and handed over the letters.

He looked at Richard and said, "Good luck Brother!" and embraced him.

No one but Richard heard him say "Carefully, brother, I can find anyone anywhere. Cheers."

Then he followed the others out of the town and left Richard to his own devices.

Such as they were.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn took the parchments and tucked them away. "Corwynn," he called before the brother was out of earshot. "Save her." A rare, poignantly honest expression came into his eyes as he watched them go. Then it was gone as he turned back toward their pursuers. He turned down a side street and purposely knocked over a couple iron hoops near a blacksmith's stall. They clattered to the ground noisily. Grimthorn jogged away from Brightpoint, the Colonel, Jerro, and Corwynn. He hoped he was drawing their pursuit.

--Dirk_regan

Sergeant Dirk Regan (yes, he had screwed up big time again and demoted from Captain to Sergeant this time) was the leader of the four horsemen that were circling around in an attempt to block the escapees before they would slip through the side gate to the forest where they would no doubt easily divert the pursuers.

Regan was torn. He remembered the time when he had been just a lieutenant in the ranks of now disbanded ICDF (Imleach Citizens Defense Force) organization, and had been caught taking bribes from a known criminal (because he had a wife, fifteen weens and a serious gambling problem). That could have cost him his job if not his head, unless Pagan - the Captain of that organization at that time - hadn't made the evidence disappear. Since then he had felt heavily indebted to Pagan, and Dirk Regan was the sort of man who tended to be more loyal to his friends than institutions and flags.

Could Pagan really have killed King Zanditin? Regan felt seriously doubtful for that - surely this was a mistake. But even if she had, she must have had a good reason to do so! Maybe Zanditin was evil? Anyway, this was a chance for him to pay back his debt to Colonel Pagan. He wanted to help her escape - but how could he do that? He was just one of four soldiers trying to get to her - even if he was in charge of the other three pursuers he couldn't just order them to let them get away. He had a wife and fifteen children to think about!

They galloped around the corner just in time to see the group nearing the gate. Then it hit him! Regan pulled the reins violently, making his horse to suddenly stop and raise to it's back feet as if had startled a rat or something. Regan fell off his horse, and the other horsemen bumped into him and fell off as well. Now there were four horses without riders galloping towards the small group that had just reached the little side gate.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Whether it was a blessing from Jah or dumb luck, or both, Allan was not wasting it. He grabbed the reins of the approaching horses, calmed them, and started handing out reins to each to jump aboard for a quick exit from the town.

When everyone was through, he would jimmy the lock shut to keep the gate from being easily used by the pursuit once they re-organized.

"Get on a horse and let's get out of here. Richard is running interference with the constable!

Let's MOVE!" he shouted this last to spur his companions into motion.

Allan threw the gate wide and led his horse out so that the others could follow.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched with gape-mouthed awe that anyone, nevermind supposedly trained soldiers, could be so abysmally devoid of intelligence to not only miss his loud clattering attempts to get their attention, but also to fall off their horses simultaneously seconds before overtaking their suspects. He briefly considered walking out the town gates in full view, waving to the soldiers as he passed them, then rejoining the others.

But that would not stop the soldiers from chasing them all the way to Port Lairge.

Damn. He hated this new honorable streak of his. Grimthorn pointed his finger accusingly to the sky and stated, "I blame You, Jah, for this new sense of honor. No, really, I do." Well, nothing for it then. It was back to that tavern, in the front door this time, to have a word with that constable. As he walked, he tried to plan what he was going to say.

Jerro_oconnor

It was amazing what a sobering affect the mixture of fear, adreneline and anger had on Jerro. With his blood pumping so fast, he was almost to peak condition now. He might get those few extra seconds thanks to Richard and the seemingly incompetent guards. Maybe Richard was more reformed than he thought. In any case, now was not the time to dawdle and daydream. He grabbed the reins of a horse at random and expertly swung himself up into the saddle. Semi-expertly anyway, it took some scrabbling to get the last few inches into the saddle. Not one to look a gift horse (literally) in the mouth, he righted himself, turned the horse and spurred after Allen.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Constable_caine

"Well, well, well", said Constable Caine as he spotted a new face walking in the tavern. Caine knew everyone in Imleach from their appearance at least and this one was certainly not a local. "Feelin' thirsty, are we? It's way past the closing time, but let's not have such a minor detail stand in our way, eh? Come, sit down and have a drink, good chap."

A soldier in the NMA uniform rushed in and stuttered: "T-this one was with them! The group of conspirators! The rest of them snatched our horses and got away!"

"Was he now?" Caine mused, secretly pleased that the irritatingly self-conscious NMA had blundered as well with this lot. Now nobody would have the nerve to blame him for incompetence. He looked around, making sure that d'Argent's 'consultants' had their crossbows aimed at the fellow. "Well, in that case I'm really interested in hearing about your life story if you care to share, my good man. Come, sit down with us and have a pint - it's on the house", Caine motioned at the man and winked at him condescendingly.

Do you want to be dead?

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn smiled genteely at the Constable and did not even turn around to look at the weapons that were aimed at him. "Do you greet all your guests this way? I was under the impression I had traveled out of Laighean." Again, that genteel smile, as if sharing with the Constable a private joke meant only for him. "I am Richard Grimthorn, deacon and attache to the Cardinal Faheud." He produced his first pice of evidence to prove that he was what he said he was. A flick of his wrist produced the deacon's medallion Brightpoint had given him in the tavern where he'd killed one of d'Argent's ravens. The metal disc, about the size of a coin, spun in a circular motion on the table between them before settling into silence.

"Your lad is quite right. I was helping your so-called 'conspirators' ... as you should have been ... And.Yet.You.Were.Not." Grimthorn acted as he remembered how his father, an English Noble, had behaved when Grimthorn had received poor marks in school: disappointed in one who was so promising. Each word was punctuated with a step closer to the constable and the bar. He shook his head gravely, even sadly, at the constable. "The Nameless One's servants are everywhere, Constable. It grieves me that a man of your obvious talent and strength has been so deceived." 'Deacon' Grimthorn took a moment to sigh at the way the world was decending into death and chaos with so little room being left for the faithful.

As a gambler, he had learned never to reveal his entire hand in one round of betting. Amusing to find it applied here, as well. "If you truly wish to speak with me, I have in my possession documents that prove what I have to tell you is truth.

"Disregard what I have to say, and it is not only your life at risk, but your immortal soul.

"I will tell you more of my mission in these lands. But I will not do so under the threat of death. Your immortal soul is worth so much and deserves far more consideration than that."

--Constable_caine

Caine squinted his eyes. So, this slimy bugger, this attache of Cardinal whatever was trying to get sweet with him? Oh, Caine knew this type and in his opinion Viscomte d'Argent had more class in his left pinkie than this impostor could ever dream of achieving. But, there's one born every minute...

"The Nameless One, eh?" Caine asked mockingly. "Sounds... ominous. Well, I certainly wouldn't want to put my immortal soul at risk, so let's have a look at these 'documents', shall we?"

Caine reached out his hand and wiggled his fingers impatiently, as if to let the Deacon of whatever know that while saving his immortal soul was as important to him as it was to any man, he didn't have all night to do it.

Do you want to be dead?

--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent at best tolerated long rides in a slow carriage. His back was never pleased with a wild ride in a fast carriage driven by a criminally insane tart. A criminally insane tart with some very pleasing and amusing qualities. And a nice dowry.

He was cleaning his fingernails with a dagger point when he stopped to ruminate how the razor tip could quickly simplify matters.

He looked down at the unconscious prisoner, trussed up like a chicken for the rotisserie.

A small slash just there....or there....and he could just deliver it for the reward and not have Lenore nattering on.

They could honeymoon in Europe for years on the reward fees he was going to collect.

Doubtless Ivy would be very....appreciative....

Yes...

Or

He could let Ivy kill her. Slowly.

Then appreciative would seem like an insufficient word.

D'Argent smiled and wondered when they'd arrive in Port Lairge...

--Richard.grimthorn

The Constable's words hinted that the man didn't seem to know enough about religion to even care about his immortal soul. Grimthorn was suddenly puzzled. 'Sounds Ominous'? Honestly?? What kind of backwater little world was this where men didn't even know about the Nameless One? In any case, he was stuck with his story. 'Deacon' Grimthorn had introduced himself. He had to play his own game now.

He allowed his true surprise to show on his face. It always worked best to mix truth with lie. "Ominous? More than ominous." Grimthorn looked behind him at the weapons still aimed at him. How would an attache handle this situation? Brightpoint and Corwynn would probably just kill them. The lady MacKenzie, too, was more rough-and-tumble than he would have expected. Grimthorn, however, was not. He chose to play this the way the Constable expected a churchman to act. Better to surprise him later if he had to fight his way out of this one.

'Deacon' Grimthorn swallowed. "...but I won't bore you with the details. We can talk doctrine at another time. I can see you're a busy man." He pulled out the first parchment, the letter of marque penned in the Cardinal Faheud's own hand. When Grimthorn had pursued and killed the Cardinal's most trusted Archcanon, he had never thought that he would be the one to use it. 'Jah, You have a twisted sense of humor,' he thought silently as he handed the parchment to the Constable.

"This letter extends to those in my party. Archdeacon Brightpoint and Attache Destini MacKenzie, and to those who aided us. Colonel Pagan MacKenzie and Jerro aided us, so they, too, are under this letter's protection." Grimthorn wished he knew more about Jerro. It would have helped to at least know a last name. But the chap had only just woken up with the constable had decended on them.

"As to our mission..." Here, Grimthorn produced the second parchment, the one that stated the Viscomte d'Argent was a traitor to the English crown, that he was wanted for the regicide of King Viceroy and King Zanditin, that he was to be taken back to England for trial.

He waited, trying to appear patient as the Constable read the signed and sealed documents.

If all he was doing here was buying Brightpoint time to catch up to d'Argent and save the lady MacKenzie, then he was succeeding at his goal ... however minimally.

--Constable_caine

This disgusting piece of human trash was saying a lot of stuff Constable Caine didn't really want to listen to... like that equally disgusting tart Pagan was somehow innocent of her crimes and that the gentleman Viscomte d'Argent was the real culprit... surely nothing but a fabrication! But still - if it was done well enough, it might fool some of the simple-minded so-called law in this County, given how well-liked that tart was in the first place, so... best get rid of those ridiculous forged documents before any fool got a hold of it, eh? Caine grabbed the parchments and, without reading them, waved them near the fireplace.

Do you want to be dead?

--Heber_kelly

The door was kicked open with a mighty blow that nearly detached it from it's hinges and made it fly over the room. A big man with black flashing eyes and NMA uniform entered the premises.

"What the hell is going on around here!" the man roared so loud the whole tavern trembled. The man immediately spotted Caine waving some papers near the fireplace, rushed over to him, grabbed the papers from his hand and while doing it Caine as well, flying him to the other side of the room. Captain Kelly didn't even notice. Instead he leaned in to Grimthorn, waving the papers under his nose and roaring so hard a glass or two cracked:

"You tell me what the hell is this all about right this second or I WILL make you sorry!"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn's view of the situation seemed to hover around those parchments. Time itself nearly stopped as the papers fluttered over the fire, only to be saved in slow motion by another blustering, angry Irisher in a uniform of some kind. Good grief! Did all these Irish communicate through screaming? Grimthorn took a moment to analyze the situation and the place 'Deacon' Grimthorn had in it.

The clarity in the way the second bellowing Irisher pulled rank on the constable said something about the two men's relationship, both professional and personal. Clearly, he was in charge. 'Deacon' Grimthorn began by calmly explain the situation to this second man. "What's going on here is a serious breach in your security. I am a deacon of the church. Those papers, that medallion," he nodded to each object in turn, "are proof of my mission here.

"I and my colleagues are in pursuit of a Viscomte d'Argent who murdered both your king, and mine. The Cardinal of all England, Scotland, and Ireland wants justice. We have orders to take the viscomte back to England with us to stand trial.

"I was attempting to prove all this to the Constable, but as you can see, he either does not believe me or he's actively trying to stop the success of my mission. Which makes me wonder if he's involved. Perhaps he's even on the viscomte's payroll. If I am right and you are in charge here, you either have some explaining to do, or you have trash to remove." This last was directed at the constable with the glimmer of a smile.

--Heber_kelly

Captain Kelly took the parchments and read them through carefully. Then he read them again. When he was satisfied his perpetual frown seemed to mitigate barely noticeably.

"All right, sir, I thank you for this information", he said in a calmer tone. "General Morden will be pleased of these news and that will make life easier to all of us. He never believed Pagan could have been involved in it, and frankly, neither did I. I am confiscating these documents", it was a statement, not a request, "and take them to General Morden who has the authority over this matter now. He will no doubt give me the orders to put Constable Caine under arrest until this matter is resolved."

Kelly barked orders at the NMA officers who were gathering in the tavern, asking them to make sure Constable Caine and his accomplices didn't get away. Then he turned to Grimthorn:

"Ye are not under arrest and of course free to come and go as ye please, sir. But I would appreciate it if ye stayed in town until this matter is resolved and come to my office tomorrow to clarify some things."

Having said that, Captain Kelly turned on his heels and marched out of the tavern with the documents.

This was the Irish way of doing things. In Ireland passion ruled over reason, personal relationships and politics over the law. In the end the most popular opinion triumphed, no matter if it was truth or not. In this case Pagan's innocence was the truth, even if the documents were fabricated. But nobody would ever question the authenticity of the documents as long as what was written in them told them the version of the truth most people wanted to believe.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched the officer leave with a degree of satisfaction. How long had it been since he'd tasted victory? Too long. Of course, d'Argent was still out there. The lady MacKenzie, too, was still in danger. But Grimthorn had managed to get them to call off the man-hunt on Brightpoint and the Colonel MacKenzie. They may be riding into danger, but they, at least, would not be pursued. It was a shame to lose the parchments, though he completely understood. The deacon medallion had been left behind. Grimthorn picked it up and smiled down at it a moment before putting it back in his belt pouch. He decided it was rather nice to have the protection of the cardinal and Jah.

Ordered to remain in town, Grimthorn suddenly had a free night to rest. My, what a blessing that was! With a flourishing bow and a grin at the constable, Grimthorn left the tavern and went in search of a cozy hostel in which to sleep for the night.

Pagan

The distance between Imleach and Port Láirge was about 50 to 75 miles. It would have been considerably shorter as the crow flies, but the shortest way to Port Láirge was impenetrable, marshy wasteland, so everyone going to Port Láirge had to go through Lios Mor about 20 miles southeast of Imleach and then turn east to a long road to Port Laírge following the coastline.

A mile after mile disappeared in the dust behind the riders. They followed River Siur for as long as it flows along the road and continued towards southeast across the forested terrain to Lios Mor. They reached Lios Mor three hours after they had left Imleach behind.

Pagan was in a bad mood. Her whiskey had ran out and she was feeling very thirsty. She licked her dry lips and stared longingly at the walls of Lios Mor. Weren't her new companions going to offer her a drink?
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sped his horse up to come apace with Colonel Pagan.

"Ma'am. I recommend a stop at the Abbey ten miles this side of Port Lairge. My brother is the abbot there and will be able to give us news as well as my being able to report to His Grace Faheud via Pigeon that you and Jerro are safe and we are en route to rescue Destini."

Allan took out a silver flask and offered it

"I also recall from that wedding I was at that you have a taste for good whiskey... Seems like a lifetime ago now..."

Pagan

Pagan grabbed the offered flask gratefully, lifted it on her lips and poured the contents down her throat - all of it. Little by little the color of her eyes deepened as life lit behind them. Pagan sighed, straightened herself up and handed back the empty flask, smiling apologetically:

"Sorry about that, but I was starting to run dangerously low on fuel. I should be all right now fer a couple of hours at least. So, ten miles to the east, right? I agree, the horses can't manage the whole trip without a good rest. d'Argent must stop somewhere too unless he wants to kill his horses."

Pagan spurred the horse and the riders started moving again, going around the city walls through a small forest path until they arrived to the comparatively fit road from Lios Mor to Port Laírge:

"Say, this brother of yers - he wouldn't happen to have any decent weapons with him? I'm not sure how wise it is to try to ride through the gate of Port Laírge wielding a spear..."
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled and finished off his own flask.

"May have another somewhere about...The Abbey owns a distillery, so I expect we can replenish ere long. He will also be able to find you something less....monolithic to ride into Port Lairge with."

As they took up the road again, he asked a question that had burned in him ever since he had heard Kin Zan had been slain.

"Colonel...How is it that I left 3 vials of antidote with your Clan Chief and none of them found their way into His Majesty when he fell ill? I apologize for tearing open wounds, but I have to know why I failed...."

Allan did not know if the question was too much, but it really had to be asked.

Pagan

Pagan was relieved the hear about the distillery and the prospect of refilling her hipflask there. It contained 18 ounces, and that should last her a whole day if she was careful. The chances to get herself properly armed lifted her spirits as well - she really should start stockpiling swords and shields the way she had been losing them these past weeks.

"Oh, just call me Pagan, no need to be formal with me. Just don't call me lady! I prefer 'Colonel' over 'Lady' any day - the word 'lady' makes me think of old fat women with dozens of cats!"

Allan's question made Pagan serious. They rode a while in silence as Pagan remembered her old friend, now passed away. "The vials found their way to him all right... but Zan declined taking them. There was talk about Zan being worried that it was just a ploy - another sort of poison that would kill him instantly, but personally I don't think it was that way at all." Pagan got quiet again, remembering the last discussion she had ever had with Zan, the weariness, frustration and anger she had seen in his eyes and heard in his words. "No, I think Zan was just... tired. He felt angry and frustrated with life he felt had betrayed him. I think he just wanted it all to end, and that he consciously committed a suicide by not accepting the cure."
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"I thank you for your directness, Pagan. I have always wondered if those in high places understand the far reaching impacts of the most insignificant selfish act."

Allan rode on, wondering how many lives would be different if Zan had taken the antidote and seen his charge through...

Pagan

Pagan didn't say anything. He really couldn't be angry with Allan for his judgement, because, to tell the truth, she had been angry with Zan's decision as well. Not because of the 'far reaching impacts' in politics - in Pagan's opinion the world was always in the verge of destruction but still somehow miraculously managed to pull through as it always had and always would - but because Zan had been her friend! Pagan couldn't understand people who committed suicide for any reason. To her the will to life was the only thing she took for granted, the only thing she never doubted. The will to live, the will to fight and the will to survive...

They rode the following ten miles in silence. Pagan perked up when she saw the walls of the abbey rising in horizon.
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Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro was worried, but he was careful not to let the concern show on his face. As they approached the abbey, he was trying to figure something out. The poison he was hit with was probably used on Destini, and that batch was obviously different from the one he and Pagan were hit with. Destini must be terrified, she could still see, hear and even feel what was going on around her. But should he let Pagan and Allen know? They were both close to Destini, and should know, but would it do them any good to let them worry about something that they couldn't control? He just couldn't find out which was the right thing.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

Sunlight was threatening to peek over the rise to the east as the Carriage approached to the coastal town of Port Lairge.

D'Argent could hear murmuring sounds from the MacKenzie woman even as the carriage pulled to a stop off the road. They were going to have to abandon the stolen carriage as it would be spotted in a trice and get all the wrong kinds of attention.

They had been riding full tilt across the Irish countryside all night, with a brief spot to coordinate what they needed to do when they approached the town. The Viscomte had given Ivy instructions on when to pull off towards the encampment where some of his operatives awaiting with fresh horses.

It would be easy enough to quickly alter the appearance of the carriage and change out the horses to allow them to finish the ride into town in a less conspicuous fashion.

He noticed a bit more deliberate movement than was common for unconscious people.

Good.

He spoke to the woman with the nonchalant tones one might use when examining a tavern menu...

"Well hello there, Miss MacKenzie. I am glad you are waking up. We can discuss the means by which you can avoid death and torture..."

Destini

Consciousness returned in much the same way the sun burned through an Irish misty morning. She dared not open her eyes lest she alert her attacker she was awake. She tested her surroundings. Movement was possible now, though her hands were still tied with a sharp cord. Her feet were free. He had taken her boots? Undoubtedly to prevent her from running. Still, what Irish soul hadn't wandered the woods and climbed trees without shoes? It would be slower going over rocks and through brambles, but if she could somehow loose her bonds, she could still run without her boots.

The carriage was pulling off the road. She tested her bonds. Tight. Far too tight to escape right now. But maybe if she kept at it she could loose them.

Her captor sensed her movement, her alertness. Damn. He was good at his work. His tone chilled her. His words angered her. She needed time. Time for the poisons to wear off, time to work her bonds loose, time for Allan to find her-- if he was still alive. If her captor was giving her an opportunity to affect her situation, the offered delay might prove useful. She gave up the ploy of unconsciousness to weakly turn her head to look at him.

Seeing her captor clearly for the first time, she studied him him with a performer's ability to judge her audience. Cold, dark eyes stared back at her with a subtle hint of amusement at her situation. The icy disregard expressed therein frightened her enough to make her want to stop her observation there and give into the despair that tickled at the back of her mind.

Instead, she kept watching him. She needed all the information she could get, in the hopes she would be able to use something to her advantage. Black hair, black facial hair, each manicured with a foriegn fashion. He spoke excellent English, though it had a subtle hint of an accent. French, perhaps. "Ah gahther ye're da Viscomte d'Argent?" she asked, stating the question. The lingering poisions thickened her Irish accent on the English words. Fear added a tremble to her voice she didn't intend to express. Somehow, her gaze remained steady as she watched her captor carefully.
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--Viscomte_dargent

The Viscomte smiled cheerfully, a look that was profane and hideous on his cold face.

"Correct in One.

Please notice a few things

One. Aside from the need to make you no more difficult than any other baggage in the carriage for this little ride, you are unharmed.

Two. There is nothing you can tell me that I care about and which I do not already know.

Three. Your friends are not near. If they managed to escape the jail and the gallows in Imleach, Brightpoint will doubtless detour to the Abbey we already passed. And there a Very special Surprise awaits him that will delay them until long after we are at sea.

Four. If you behave, you will be delivered to the Red Duke alive and unharmed. If you do not, you will be delivered as deceased proof I have closed the leak between Eire and England.

It is up to you. Argue and debate and cause trouble, and you will be dead right.

But.still. dead."

The tone of his voice got softer and softer as he spoke, until the last sentence was nearly a whisper.

Destini

As he spoke, she kept her face a performer's blank mask, an expression that could have meant anything. She hoped d'Argent would read fear in that expression. She had no intention of telling him anything, verbally or non-verbally.

His words told her many things she did not know. Allan was alive! Not only alive, he was coming after her. Her friends, too! ... did that mean Pagan and Jerro as well as Corwynn and Richard? Though he did not specify, she hoped it meant they were all alright.

She recalled Allan had stopped at the abbey near Port Lairge on their trip out of Eire last time to deliver antidotes there. Why would he go there again? And what was this Very Special Surprise?

Not that it mattered in the end. Even if she figured it out, she wouldn't be able to warn Allan.

Another question came to her mind. The Viscomte had said there was nothing she could tell him. Then what was keeping her alive? "Whatisit ye want from me, then?" she asked evenly.
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--Viscomte_dargent

"It is a matter of elegant simplicity.

You will sit there quietly. You will keep your mouth shut unless spoken to. You will do as you are told..

In return for this good behavior your trip will be less uncomfortable and you do not go over the side of a ship attached to the anchor.."

D'Argent opened the door of the carriage to step down as he heard voices and horses and work going on to ready it for the last leg over-land of this journey.

Destini

To underestimate the Viscomte seemed unwise, but she could not believe her stroke of luck. It seemed she had the time she needed. The poisons were wearing off, which was in itself a bit of freedom she had not hitherto had. Allan was coming for her. The carriage was stopped. Boots or no boots, it was possible she could get away.

... if she could just get these damned bonds loose!

Do not speak until spoken to? Do as she was told, hm? He wanted the perfect servant. She was a performer. She could perform this role ... at least as long as it took to get free.

When the Viscomte left her alone, Destini looked out the door and gauged the situation. They were in a camp of some sort. The carriage was being worked on, probably disguised. That would make sense. If all these men worked for the Viscomte, she couldn't escape here. But maybe she could try once the carriage was on the road.

She sat up on her knees and remained there for a moment with her head hung as if she were nothing more than a humble penitent. With her wrists tied together and bound in turn to her ankles the two bonds were near one another. She subtly began to work her nimble, harpist fingers against the knots in the bonds at her ankles. If she could get those undone, she could open the carriage door and make a run for it even if her wrists were still tied.

The cords cut into her as she worked. She used the pain to focus her mind. She was frightened, but she needed to not feel that fear right now. Focus. She had to get free now and be ready to act when the carriage was moving again.
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--The_finisher

Behold! Herein are the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Betrothed Bombshell, and Future Black Widow!

Dear Diary,

I know, you're prolly wondering why in the world I would marry someone who was so totally mean to me when all I did was stop and ask directions. You know, if it wasn't for the whole arranged marriage thing, I probably wouldn't even have spared Vickie a second look. Although! There are few men who have the stylish black wardrobe that Vickie does. No, seriously! I think he rivals my own wardrobe!

Still, the whole being mean to me part had kinda ruffled my uber slick ravenesque feathers.

So, when I stopped the carriage at this old lumber camp for refurbishing, I was all miffed at Vickie and stuff. So I'm all decending from the carriage like a queen in all my dark gloom which would have been dark splendor except the sun was all coming up and that was like, totally ruining my grand entrance. But whatever, you can't control everything, I suppose ... *sigh* too bad, too.

But then, like, I'm standing there waiting for Vickie to come out and he's all talking to the dead chick, who I guess, is not so much with the dead anymore because I can hear a chick-like voice asking questions. Honestly?! Why do we even need her? For one thing, she's totally cramping my style. And plus! That's like my fiancee in there! Hussy!

I totally wanted to, like, you know, interrupt and stuff by throwing open the door. But that didn't exactly go over well for me last time, so I didn't. No! The Finisher is totally not a coward. But she does learn from her mistakes.

So I huffed and sashayed away from the carriage instead, which stopped work on the disguising and stuff for a moment because the workers were all oggling my dark splendor and stuff. For Lo! The Finisher's dark beauty draws many a gaze. Yeah, I am that pretty. Seriously.

There I was in the middle of my pout and glare over my shoulder at the carriage when Vickie finally opens the door of the carriage and comes down.

As he comes away from the carriage, I'm all "So, are you, like, going to tell me what's up with the dead chick, or not? Because, I gotta hand it to you, Vickie, this whole keeping me in the dark thing is totally not cool!"

--Viscomte_dargent

The Viscomte grinned at the pout he was being thrown, unsurprised by the truths hidden in the flaky sarcasm.

"The not-so-dead-chick is our hostage. The very hostage the Red Duke so desperately wishes to meet.

The very same hostage that triples our reward when we get back to report in and collect.

The plan is this.

We travel into the Port, with full rider escort, bearing the arms of the Viscount of Penrith, and we board the ship, Anemone's Heart, currently in the docks waiting.

We set sail as soon as the sea-gates open to clear us, and off we go.

If the hostage tries to escape, she goes back under poisons with a sound thrashing to season the lesson.

If the hostage is a problem at sea, we drop anchor. With her attached.

Elsewise, you and I collect a dowry of fifty thousand pounds...

Her Friends are either in jail in Imleach, or dead, or entering the Abbey just to our west to find a surprise waiting for them. If they come near us or our ship, we have a very talented escort with us to kill the lot.

Enough information, my dear?"

d'Argent knew of Ivy's love of fine shopping experiences, and that kind of welath opened a lot of shop doors...

--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Bodacious Bride-To-Be!

Dear Diary,

So, there I was ready to totally take Vickie to task, when he explains his plan to me. And it's all, you know, so perfect I could pee myself! 50,000 pounds are waiting for us if we just deliver the not-so-much-with-the-dead-chick alive!!

OMJ!! SQUEE!!!!111!

I mean, seriously, Diary!! Think about it!

Remember that OMJ Cuute(!) Bodice back in Liverpool I couldn't afford? The one that was black as sin with pink lacings enough to fry the eyes of anyone daring to gaze on my beauty! Yeah! Totally, affordable!

I know, Right?!

Plus, with that kind of money, I could buy Flanders if I wanted! Forget killing freaky dude! Score!

So, I'm all throwing my arms around Vickie's neck and trying not to kill him with my squeeze, because, you know, that'd be totally bad form and all. Then I can tell he's totally enjoying the embrace too much. So I slapped him, so he wouldn't think I was a slut. And then I bounced around the old lumberyard and squeed a bit just 'cause it seemed like the thing to do at the time.

After I'd all calmed down and stuff, I realized I was being a bit too perky, and stuff. For Lo! The Finisher is NOT perky! So I fixed Vickie with a smouldering look and, basically told him that he had to come with me or else! And I took him to the old lumber shed.

Let the workers finish the remodeling of the carriage on their own. I have work of my own to do .....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan followed Pagan over another rise after they had turned off the main road to Port Lairge. The lane was familiar, as was the Abbey they were fast approaching. Allan had not spoken to his brother, Abbot Conal in over half a year. he was looking forward to catching up a bit while the others re-supplied and prepared for the push into the nearby port town.

As they approached the gates, he nodded to the two brothers in brown habits watching them silently.

"Greetings Brothers! Allan Brightpoint, Archdeacon, here to see the Abbot at once!"

The two monks looked at each other and headed back into the Abbey close.

--Abbot.osgar

Archdeacon Brightpoint was here. The abbot knew it before the Brother Porter arrived at his door to tell him so. He was staring out the abbot's office window - his office window - when the party arrived.

Abbot Osgar arrived in the abbey's outer courtyard. He greeted the Archdeacon warmly - and yet with - hesitation. He clasped the Archdeacon's hands with both of his own.

"You are most welcome here, Archdeacon. These are troubled times. Troubled times indeed.

We were - concerned. The pigeon we sent to you came back."

His voice was grave as he intoned. "There is much we must discuss."

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My Life for Jah's work

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was confused. This did not add up. When last he was here Osgar was the Prior, second in command...

"Where is my brother, Abbot Conal? I need very much to speak with him!"

Allan did not like the vibe he was getting here and looked at the others in confusion.

--Abbot.osgar

In a low tone, he managed, "It is best - if I show you."

He waved for Brother Porter to tend to the horses and for the party to follow.

He led them through a stone arch to the side herb gardens.

"Abbot Conal - your brother - left the grounds on business to Port Lairge five weeks ago."

He led them from the herb gardens, through a break in a series of hedges.

"In the port town, he was to meet with a French nobleman - of some wealth, he said - interested in purchasing a half-dozen or so carrier pigeons.

He led them through the cemetery

Before he would have exited the far side, he stopped and pointed gravely.

"He was found murdered in a hostel room three days later."

He could say no more. There was nothing left to say.

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My Life for Jah's Work

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn did not believe in coincidences. Largely because everything came down to cause, effect, association.

This was not different.

Abbot Conal was killed by a murderous, rich, French Nobleman.

And who was the most likely suspect in Eire these days.

And who had a grudge against the Brightpoint family.

"D'Argent. That bastard..."

Corwynn did not realize he had spoken aloud until the others turned to look at him

Pagan

Pagan followed Allan's lead in the lane to the abbey. She hadn't been there before although she had passed the road sign several times on her trips to Port Laírge. She was anxious to get to refill her hipflask because she could really need a little nip by now - those ten miles from Lios Mor to here had been exhausting to put it mildly. To keep her mind occupied she was explaining to brother Corwynn:

"Have ye ever been to Port Laírge before? Well I have, several times, and let me tell ye it really is something, yes sir, it is! Fer starters it is a huge city - there must be literally thousands of people living in there! The main road is paved, and so is the market square, and everywhere ye look ye will see carts with reel wheels and fancy wagons decorated with ruffles are driven by men wearing helmets, and their wives wearing veils and protective aprons are hanging on fer their lives! I mean, it's almost like being in Paris or some of those other big cities I've heard people talking about..."

Pagan saw how the abbot - Allan's brother no doubt - arrived in the courtyard and stifled her babbling, offering the abbot her most radiant smile and raised her hand in the official NMA greeting. Everything was not in order though - she could see it in Allan's expression. Had the abbey ran out of whiskey? Pagan bit her lip hard and hoped this was not the case...

As Pagan followed the party to the herb gardens she listened quietly and gradually got a clearer view of the whole picture. So the current abbot wasn't Allan's brother, and the real brother had gotten himself... killed? Pagan listened quietly, pondering what effect would this development in events have on their primary mission - to rescue Desti and send that snake d'Argent to the depths of Lunar Hell?
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Corwynn," the terrifyingly soft voice said, "Shut the Hell up."

"Abbot. We have a very good idea who has done this and are pursuing him now.

We need to get fresh horses, access to your armory, and other supplies as may be needful."

The outward words were so calm and collected.

But Inside

YOU DAMNED BASTARD YOU WILL DIE &^*&ING SLOWLY!

and outside

"Thank you for trying to reach me. We have been on an urgent mission. A Mission we must rejoin now if you will aid us."

inside

I WILL KILL THEM ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the many voice of Allan Brightpoint remained on point

Pagan

Pagan recognized the emotion Allan was feeling. It was the same she herself had had - and still did. d'Argent was good at waking that up in a person - blind hatred and urge to kill.

Pagan walked a little farther from the others, crosser her arms and suddenly felt stiff and dead tired.

She looked at the grey, weak daybreak in the east - the dawning of the new day. What would happen to them? Had the NMA gathered an iron ring around the whole area and alerted every town in An Mumhain? She was a Colonel - she knew how it went down.

Pagan was shivering as she stood there. She was still leaning on that spear she had taken from a guard in that jail in Imleach. Her right hand was constantly sliding towards her hip, where the hilt of her sword had been.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro couldn't believe it. Allen's brother was killed. For a moment, Jerro was brought back to a time a long time ago, back in a forest. He watched the boy he had called his brother die in his arms again. D'Argente would pay for what he had done, he swore. His fists clenched and unclenched. He could feel his breath get heavy. He would kill d'Argente, he'd kill him for every one he had killed. Every father, every son, every mother, daughter, husband and wife. For every brother and sister killed. D'Argente would be repayed for everyone. How. He. Would. Pay!
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn woke up with the sun coming through the hostel window. He stretched his muscles, grateful for the quiet evening's sleep. That loud soldier had said to come to the barracks in the morning. Hopefully, he would be less loud this morning and more inclined to let him leave town and go after the lady MacKenzie. Still playing his role, 'Deacon' Grimthorn straightened his tunic and knocked on the barracks office door.

--Heber_kelly

The duty officer ushered Richard at Captain Kelly's office. He pointed towards Kelly's office door from the far end of the corridor and asked Richard to knock on the door. Then he turned on his heels and rushed away as if he was in a terrible hurry to be someplace else.

After Kelly's door had been knocked on, there was a silence that lasted perhaps five seconds or so, then it came:

"COME IN!!!"

The roar made the door tremble on it's hinges.

--Richard.grimthorn

'Oh, Good Grief,' thought Grimthorn as he pushed open the door enough to cause it to swing open on its hinges. He clasped his hands over his stomach, uncertain what he would find within. He greeted the soldier with a genteel smile. "You said last night that you wanted to see me first thing this morning. I trust your General Morden interpreted the evidence as I stated the situation?"

--Heber_kelly

Captain Kelly stood up from behind his desk and reached out his gigantic hairy palm, grabbed Richard's right arm and squeezed it with crushing force. Then he circled around the table and - with a gesture that presumably meant 'friendly' to Kelly - grabbed Richard by the shoulder and pushed him down on an uncomfortable wooden chair. He grabbed a big bottle of whiskey from his table and dropped it on Richard's lap.

"Have a drink, sir."

Kelly circled back behind his desk, sat down, aimed at a brass spittoon next to his table and squirted out a big mouthful that darted through the air like a crossbow bolt and made the whole spittoon weave as it hit the target.

"Aye, everything seems to be in order. Constable Caine has been put under arrest and the Public Prosecutor will investigate his case to find out if any abuse of power happened. If it turns out that Caine was knowingly involved in the assassination of King Zanditin, he will be tried fer a high treason and executed. Could ye tell me again - thoroughly - everything ye know about the assassination plot, the parties that are involved in it and what is yer own involvement and interest in this matter?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Though it was a little early in the day for whiskey, Grimthorn knew well that refusing to drink, could cause more trouble than not. At least, that's how it was in England. After a decent draft of what was surprisingly decent whiskey, Grimthorn took an excruciating amount of time to re-explain the situation to the constable again using nearly the exactly the same words he had used the night before. He wondered all the while he was explaining how many times he would have to reiterate the same bloody story before it finally sunk in the exceedingly thick heads of these Irishers. When he had finished, he completed his statement by saying "If all is well here, I hope you will allow me to leave your town. A member of my party was abducted by the viscomte d'Argent last night. I am anxious to ensure her safety. My companions, including your Colonel Pagan, are out there already. I'm sure you understand."

--Heber_kelly

As Richard started talking, Captain Kelly grabbed a pen and a peace of paper and started to scribble it down. Out of all Kelly's qualities the one that astounded the most those who knew him was his ability to write down every word by dictation with amazing speed - not because this ability was especially rare but because it seemed almost unnatural when it emerged in someone with Kelly's coarse and rough manner and appearance. Kelly could also write while making a totally different speech, but that ability was not known to many. When Richard had stopped talking Kelly handed the paper over to him.

"Certainly, sir. If ye could just sign this we are through and ye are free to go as ye please. Just so ye don't have to appear in the possible Court hearings in Cork, as I'm sure a busy man like yerself would rather avoid if at all possible."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched, finally understanding, as the soldier took down his statement and asked him to sign it. Because he hadn't looked for protocol in what he had considered a backwards little town, he hadn't expected to find it. These Irishers were constantly surprising him. He took the quill and signed his statement. As he pushed the parchment back across the table to the soldier, he stated one final request. "Since you have confiscated the cardinal's letter of marque, and understandably so, we no longer have protection in these lands. Would it be possible to get that parchment back? Or, barring that, could we receive, from you, a letter of safe passage through An Mumhain as proof that my party and I are no longer being sought by the law?"

--Heber_kelly

Captain Kelly nodded somberly.

"Unfortunately we need to keep the letter of marque as evidence until the possible Court cases have ended, but I will be more than happy to give ye a document that gives ye approximately the same powers while ye are guests within our borders. And the letter of marque will of course be sent to a location of yer choosing after it is no longer needed here, free of charge of course."

Kelly dug up a form from his desk drawer, signed it and handed it to Richard.

"Have a pleasant visit in our fair County, sir. Of course ye must realize that this paper doesn't have any legitimacy in Laighean or Chonnacht - if ye cross An Mumhain borders ye will be on yer own."

--Richard.grimthorn

"You're a fair man, Captain," said Grimthorn with a rare, genuine smile of pride to have known this soldier. He took the parchment and placed it in his belt pouch for the journey. "I thank you for all you've done. Jah's blessings upon you!" With that 'Deacon' Grimthorn bowed and left the soldier's office, shutting the door respectfully behind him.

Once back out on the streets of Imleach, Grimthorn headed to the stables. D'Argent was far ahead of him now. As was Brightpoint, barring any trouble. Both parties were traveling swiftly. They would not have had time to mask their trail. He needed a horse if he had a prayer of catching up to them. Grimthorn reluctantly paid a steep wage for a suitable horse to carry him for the journey. In minutes, he was riding out the South gates of Imleach toward Port Lairge.

Destini

Her ankels were free! Destini wiggled her toes gratefully as the bloodflow rushed back into her extremities. Her fingernails ached from where she had been picking at the tight knots. The palms of her hands were sticky and slightly moist. The cord that remained around her wrists had not loosened in the time she had worked the knots binding her ankles. Instead, they'd cut deep into her wrists. She wouldn't know how badly she was injured until she could see the wounds. Craning her neck, she peeked through a crack in the curtained windows of the carriage. Two guards were lazily still working ... but not working near the carriage. Indeed, they weren't even staring at the carriage. Where was d'Argent?

She adjusted her weight carefully so as not to rock the carriage overmuch and alert anyone outside that she was semi-free. Making her way over to the other window, she saw no one. The edge of the forest was thirty feet away. If she could run that far and not be spotted, she would have a chance to escape. Despite her every intention of waiting until they were on the road, she had her chance now. She was going to take it now.

Her bare feet would slow her down, but there was nothing she could do about that. Her arms tied behind her would also be an issue. That she might be able to remedy.

Destini laid on the carriage seat and pushed her hips upwards and her shoulders down. In this manner, she compressed her spine and lengthened her arms enough to pull her bound wrists below her hips to her knees. From there, it was a quick matter to pull her bound hands around her feet to her front. Now, she could run better.

She took a brief moment to examine her wrists. They were definitely injured. Red and brown angry stripes made it look as though she'd tried to kill herself. Her bonds were coated with dried and drying blood. She looked about the carriage for her knife. D'Argent must have thrown it out the window when he'd taken it from her.

No time. She had to move.

Since she could not separate them, she worked the latch of the carriage door with both her bound hands. She stepped from the carriage as quietly as she was able. Once on the ground, she ran as quickly as she could to the tree line. Tingles of feeling in her feet made her stumble once or twice, but still she ran.

She made the forest line and dropped to the ground to check for pursuit. Nothing. Her heart was pounding in her ears as hope surged through her veins. Standing, she turned and continued her escape through the woods. Her only goal was to put as much distance between d'Argent and herself. Based on his words to her in the carriage, things would not go well for her if he somehow managed to catch her.

These were her woods. This was her home. She used that to her advantage. She weaved through the ash and beech trees, her feet thudding in time with her heartbeat on the stoney forest floor. Brambles clutched at her clothing and she pulled herself free to find herself standing in a stream.

Breathing heavily, she stopped. Looking to the sky, she saw the direction of the sunrise and quickly oriented her position. Which way did she go now? Across the stream to the North? Upstream to the West? or Downstream to the East?

Destini paused to wonder what direction would be best as her breath came in gasps and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan thanked the Abbot profusely for all his assistance and promised to stay in touch after the crisis was over. His brother would have liked knowing that the family would still keep a weather eye out for the old Abbey on the Hill.

"Pagan, Jerro, Corwynn. It is time. We are well re-supplied, with fresh horses, better weapons, and enough whiskey to keep even Pagan and I content.

Let's to the road!"

Allan wheeled his horse about with the skill of a martial artist who has spent years with horses.

"We have a MacKenzie to rescue, a finisher to finish, and a piece of french trash to kill.

very

Slowly"

Brightpoint spurred his stallion and they thundered down the lane towards the road to Port Lairge.

Pagan

Freshly restocked with a sword, a shield, a few more daggers hidden inside her garments, refilled hipflask and a few whiskey bottles tucked in the saddlebag Pagan mounted the horse feeling as well as possible under the current circumstances. She was still exhausted over everything that had happened, and it was rough to get on the saddle. She knew from experience that to a certain point she could substitute the lack of sleep with whiskey, but eventually nature would overcome everyone.

While they had been supplying themselves the sky had filled with clouds. In east - over Port Laírge - there was threatening formations of clouds, leaden grey around the edges. They could hear dull, billowing rumbling. She had eaten a little bit, had a little nip of whiskey and mounted her horse. She wondered what the others in Imleach would think of her now - her friends and family. Would they believe she was guilty of the crimes they were accused of?
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was taking rearguard in the thundering group of horses. As a result, the ensuing cloud of dust forced him to look sideways a good deal.

This proved fortunate, however, as it allowed him to spot a glint of shiny metal off the side of the road and he pulled up to examine it.

Closer examination showed it to be a crossbow and near it--well ok 15 feet away--was a pair of daggers.

These belonged to Destini!

He started in pursuit of the others who had predictably not noticed him stopped.

And then pulled up again.

There were a pair of boots hung up in a tree branch.

"Someone has been throwing bits of Miss Destini's kit out of a fast moving Carriage. I wonder if it will be a tunic and skirt next..." he said to no one in particular.

Hopefully not...Allan was already going to be stern....

Corwynn rode on like a bat out of hell to catch the others...

Pagan

"As long as it's not little pieces of Destini we find along the way there is still hope of finding her alive", Pagan said cruelly and immediately repented her words. It was the tremendous worry she felt over her friend that had made her utter those words, but she sensed that Allan was romantically involved with Desti and being so harsh had been uncalled for. Pagan bit her tongue, had a little nip of whiskey, shut her trap and kept riding on.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked over at the words from Pagan. Later, he might wonder what possessed her to say something so profoundly daft. Was it intentional?

"Pagan..." the voice was deceptively mild. "Perhaps you should spend some time figuring out how you could have a Colonel's experience, skill, wit, and caring for a member of your clan.....and not use any of it.

If our trip is over-taxing, or boring you, please feel free to retire the field. This is a task for serious folk with serious ends to achieve."

He spurred his horse far ahead of the others before something less friendly poured forth, driven by his own fears and worry...

Pagan

The insolent expression in Pagan's eyes never disappeared as Allan rebuked her, but internally she felt how a painful cramp inside her kept increasing. She had an intensifying desire to be nasty, cruel at anyone, deserving or not, just to ease the pain she was feeling inside. Jah, what had become of her! She was just like her father, hurting people just for the sake of it...

...if ye had to kill yer mother while ye were born, I wish ye would have had the common courtesy to die with her...

And still, she couldn't find it in herself to apologize or even look apologetic. But she was wise enough to not say anything more.

She rode along with the rest of the group in the complete silence that had suddenly fell over them.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro rode on in silence, listening to the exchange between the three. To be honest, he was still seething from their... discovery in the abbey. He couldn't trust himself to speak. He was shocked to hear Pagan say such a thing, was this really Pagan speaking right now? He adjusted the spear a bit to keep it from falling. He had been trained... self taught actually... in the staff, and the spear he had stolen was the closest he had found. He didn't want to fumble around with a weapon he didn't know how to use. He remained silent and watched the woods to see if he could find anything else of any use.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Viscomte_dargent

D'Argent was walking back to the carriage when he noticed that the side of the vehicle facing the woods was not being guarded at present and no one was working on the disguising there.

He raised an eyebrow and shouted for the team leader of his group of operatives.

"WILLIS!"

The man hurried up "Sir?"

"Where.is.the.guard.for the backside of this carriage?!"

These last words trailed off as the Viscomte opened the carriage and found it quite empty of cargo--of the prisoner variety.

"Who is your second in command?" came the oily question.

"Farnswirth, Sir"

Nodding, d'Argent smoothly grabbed the team leader by the scruff of the neck and showed him the empty carriage.

"Do you see anything out of place, Willis?!"

Words so soft and dangerous.

"My Jah! She's gone!"

"Do.not.invoke.that.name.in.my.presence. Your incompetence already cost us a prisoner."

"Apologies Sir, I'll get right aft-"

Words cut off in surprise. Smooth offhand insertion of stiletto into neck and twist. Body crumples to ground.

"Apologies accepted, Mr. Willis, I am a forgiving man."

Looking around for the next most competent looking fellow.

"You! Farnswirth!"

Heels clicking to attention. Good.

"Sir!"

"You are in command now. Get into the woods after the girl. She cannot get far in her state. I'll take his horse." Prodding corpse with boot.

"And throw that trash into the woods."

"Sir!"

New leader rushing to avoid similar fate. Good.

Turning to Ivy.

"We'll be a bit."

Leaping on horse and cantering into the woods, cold fury owning the morning light.

--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy, the Finisher, Mortified Mistress of Epic Boredom

Dear Diary,

I'm sure Vickie didn't mean to push me aside in order to go after the not-so-much-with-the-dead-and-now-escaped-chick, but he totally did. Like, am I not good enough for him? Maybe he's after something more than the 50,000 pounds.

I swear, if I find out he's into the escaped chick, my heart just might break into a thousand shards! And then! I'd totally have to slit my wrists with the shards of my broken heart just to get his attention!

And then! I'd go after him with my dark blades of vengeance! For lo! Noone steps out in The Finisher until she's finished!

But then! I thought about all that money that I'd totally never see if we didn't get the escaped chick back and all. Which made me feel a whole lot better that Vickie was going after her, and stuff.

I guess I'll just, you know, sit here and try not to get in Vickie's way. He's totally in a mood right now. And I do not want to be part of the total whiplash the escsped dead chick is going to get when he finds her!

Destini

Bound, frightened, uncertain, Destini stood in the bubbling creek, glancing between the West, North, and East. Which direction would bring her freedom? Which direction would bring her back to Allan and Pagan?

Thundering horse hooves sounded dully in the distance. The road? No. This was not the sound of hooves on packed dirt. This was hooves on forest floor. They were coming closer! They were pursuing her! D'Argent!

Fear sped her blood and she made a hasty decision to cross the stream and reach the other bank. She crawled out of the creek leaving wet footprints on the stones there. That would never do. They would track her for certain!

Stop.

Think!

D'Argent was on horseback. She was on foot. He was pursuing her like a noble's fox hunt, minus the dogs. She was grateful for that, at least. How did a fox avoid its hunter? It hid in a fox hole. Destini glanced about the rocky terrain and spied only boulders and rocks. Things she could hide behind, but not inside. Hiding behind them would not hide her for long. But it might hide her long enough to fight back.

All she needed was a staff and she could fight. She was in the woods. She was surrounded by possible weapons! She looked up to a nearby tree and spied a possible candidate for a staff. Reaching up with her bound hands, she grabbed onto the branch and pulled with all her weight. The branch snapped free with a crack. Placing her foot on the leafy end, she used leverage to break off all but the longest, straightest part of the branch. She examined her new weapon. It had broken unevenly. The tip of one end was sharp, more like a makeshift spear than a staff. Destini imagined stabbing it through d'Argent's chest. A vengeful smile crossed her face.

She grabbed the leafy excess and took it with her behind a boulder. No sense in alerting d'Argent more than she already had.

Destini hid quietly behind the boulder, focusing on slowing her breathing and being as quiet as possible. If d'Argent didn't find her, so much the better. If he did, she would fight him.
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--Viscomte_dargent

The horsemen halted, scanning the woods for places a hobbled woman, without boots, could go to ground.

D'Argent was focusing half on this and half on how to flush the little grouse out of hiding.

He had seen some footprints early, but since the little stream nothing. Had his instinct been wrong there? He did not think so...

The Viscomte's reverie was shattered by a shout to his immediate right.

"She's here! Got her to ground we have! Drop that little pokety poke lass, or it will go hard on ye!"

D'Argent spurred his horse, shouting, "Knock her out but do not kill her!!"

There would be time for that after she was suitably punished for this annoying delay.

Destini

She'd played the fox and they the hunters. With her back to a rockface, she now played the cornered animal. Humanity didn't even factor into her thoughts as she stared down the length of her makeshift weapon at the soldier who had spotted her. Wide, frightened eyes told him she would do absolutely anything for her freedom. At present, she was a creature of pure instinct.

And her instinct had always been one of music.

Step, step, began the song as the soldier raised his sword and advanced on her. She turned her right shoulder to him as if beginning to dance a hay with her partner. Her profile presented a smaller target. She continued her momentum with three graceful steps that turned her counter-clockwise spin behind her dancing partner. Completing her twirl, she brought the sharp end of her staff to bear on the back of the soldier's left knee, severely injuring the ligaments there.

He must have cried out as his knee buckled to the forest floor, but Destini only heard her own rhythmic heartbeat sounding the rhythm to her deadly dance.

He recovered, briefly, in time to see another graceful turn knock his legs from beneath him. Gasping, he fell backwards against the rocks.

Destini twirled her staff as if she were in a parade, whirling a flag before the marching band that played the music to her dance. She moved to stab her weapon through the downed soldier's chest.

Blinding pain exploded in her skull. The beat of her dance halted suddenly and gave way to a single high-pitched solo.

Her overture of death ended without reaching tonic as the curtains of her vision closed her stage.
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--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent re-sheathed his sword after wiping some blood off the flat where it had crashed into MacKenzie's skull.

He looked down on the injured operative in disgust as the other two riders approached. His screeching was nerve-shattering. Pathetic.

"Truss that up like a lamb for slaughter and put it back in the carriage." he prodded the unconscious woman to make clear his instructions.

"And cut that yowling idiot's throat for incompetence, remove any identifying items, and leave him for the wolves."

He scowled at the two surviving operatives after one of them silenced the screaming.

"Now get a damned MOVE on it or there will be more 'layoffs' today."

He mounted his horse and rode back to where Ivy awaited news.

--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Second Fiddle to a Dead Chick

Dear Diary,

Vickie and company were gone so long that I totally had time to redo all my makeup. So I looked uber-fab when Vickie got back with the dead-again-chick.

Not only was I was kinda miffed that he'd found her, but there was also the issue that Vickie had taken so long to get it done. I mean, seriously? How safe do you think it is to cut short my shopping time in Port Lingerie? Yeah, not so much.

So I was all, "I can haz outta here nao?" And, he's all making sure the dead chick is inside the carriage, so I get up from my comfy seat (jk, it was totally craptastic, but hush! You're spoiling the story). I all snapped my fingers to get Vickie's attention and I'm all, "No, seriously! Can we go?"

Sometimes it helps to translate things for Vickie. I don't understand French, he doesn't understand me. We have an understanding ... uhm ... that made sense, right? ... yeahhhh.

Whatever.

So, then I'm all looking at the guys that came back with Vickie and I go, "I don't mean to tell you your business, Vickie," (which was a lie, I totally did) "But didja know you're missing a guy? Whatcha do? Trade him for the dead chick?"

--Viscomte_dargent

D'Argent looked at Ivy, deciding whether to lay her off then and there. Mmmm. Waste not, the boke infernal said...

"I terminated his contract in the same manner as Willis got his terminated. I seem to be in a terminal mood with a terminal lack of patience.

Now get on that Carriage and let's get the hell to our ship. If you hear any disturbances from that wench in back, pull over and kill her."

The Viscomte turned and rode on in the lead with a horse to each side of the carriage.

--The_finisher

Being the Continuously Continuing Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Cool Courtesan of Chaos!

Dear Diary,

So!

I'm all like, bored and stuff, right? Little did I know that the dead chick had totally done a number on Vickie's calm. But! I figured it out! And not because, he all, you know, yelled at me and stuff. Because he totally didn't. Instead! He gets all whispery and stuff! Yeah, I know. Totally scary.

So despite what I wrote in my last diary entry, I was totally all understanding and stuff. No really! I'm all, "Dude, like, are you ok?"

And he's all. "No"

And I'm like, "Aww!"

And he goes, "... yeah."

And I see the dead chick and I'm all, "What's with her?"

And he's like, "Kill her if she whines." And then he goes for his horse to lead us to Port Lingerie.

So, I'm all, you know, happy to be leaving the boring lumber yard. But I'm all kinda creeped out by Vickie's harshed mellow. Because, Dude. He's, like, totally had it with the dead chick.

Plus! Get this, Diary! Now, I have proof! I totally know he wants me!

He just like totally gave me permission to kill her if she makes a sound! Squee!

So! The Finisher leaps up into the driver's seat of the carriage and summons the horses to attention ... even though the old horses were totally better. These brown ones might not draw as much attention, but, dude. They're totally cramping my style!

Mark my words, Diary! All the way to Port Lingerie, I'm going to be all listening with bat's ears, hoping for some sort of sound that lets me end the dead chick's life!

Wish me luck!!!!!111

Jerro_oconnor

As they rode on to save Destini, Jerro thought of some way to break the silence. He couldn't leave Pagan's morbid thought floating through the air, but every subject he thought of only brought them back to Destini. Left to their own devices, what would the two who loved her the most think? Whatever it was, judging by what Pagan had already said it probably wasn't all that pleasant.

Finally, he found something. "I see Richard hasn't found us yet, how do ye think he's farin?" Not exactly the happiest distraction, but at least it brought the mind away (however briefly) from whatever else they may find on the side of the road. Now that he had broached the subject, he had to wonder what had happened to Richard?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

"Richard is nothing if not resourceful," began Corwynn, "and I have never seen anyone mix truth and fabrication in such a seamless tapestry.

One has to wonder why he is not the story-teller for a King somewhere.

With any luck he has your 'friend' Caine in jail and everyone we like cleared of all charges.

And he probably got himself a comfy bed, a delightful dinner and a fast horse.

I will be well put out if he finds a way to beat us to Port Lairge..."

Corwynn knew he'd never hear the end of it if Richard got to Destini first...

Pagan

The horses were racing towards east. A mile after mile was left behind. They should be able to clear the final part of the trip in two or three hours. Pagan was crouched on the neck of the horse like a jockey. Her thoughts were twisting and rolling in her mind. The truth of the matter was that she was beyond worried. She could think of a lot of reasons why d'Argent had kidnapped Destini, but none why they would have to actually keep her alive. In fact it would be so much easier for them if they had just killed her immediately after they had left the walls of Imleach behind. It had been very unwise to say it out like that - and surely Allan had thought about it himself too - but she just couldn't shake the thought out of her mind. If they wanted to extort ransom - either money or political favors - for her, they could just shave the hair of her dead body and keep sending little flocks of it for months as a 'proof' that she was still alive somewhere. Such things had happened before...

To force herself to think about something else she turned to Corwynn and asked: "So, Corwynn, how exactly are ye going to locate them in a big city like Port Laírge?"
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn smiled and replied, "Well, Pagan, we will first visit the sergeant of the watch at the city gates. I did some fill in work there a number of years ago and know most of the leadership there. One of them will likely have been in charge when that carriage came through.

Second, It always takes a couple days to get out of that port on a ship, even if you have one standing by. I have contacts who provide food and supplies to the hostels near the docks who can be encouraged to tell us where they are holing up. These contacts were very useful to me a year ago when the Cardinal had me investigating complaints against the bishops and priests in Eire.

D'Argent, his Finisher, and Destini are going to stand out a bit and someone will know something.

I predict we'll have their location within two hours of arriving in town."

Pagan

Pagan nodded, relieved a bit knowing that Corwynn was well-connected in Port Laírge and knew his way around the town. For a moment she hadn't been sure if he had ever been there before - and no matter how good he was in locating people, it would have made things difficult.

Now all there was to do was get themselves there, let Corwynn locate their hideout, ambush them there and... kill them. No way she would let them - at least d'Argent - to face trial even if he surrendered. This was very much a personal matter to her by this stage. As to the lass - her she didn't know. She could face the courts of An Mumhain if she wanted to. Of course the law of An Mumhain was very draconian - people got thrown out of the high window for a simple revolt. She didn't even want to think what they would do to her if she was involved in the assassination of the King...

Perhaps she would be better off if she didn't let them take her alive.
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan pulled his horse to a stop and examined the road in front of him. There was a lane leading off towards an abandoned lumber camp and he could see heavy wheel ruts in it. Fresh ruts.

So...d'Argent had gone off the road here, had he?

"In here!" he called to the others and encouraged his mount down the lane. There was a ramshackle warehouse type structure and some out buildings. The carriage had clearly been pulled up here where many horsemen waited.

Dismounting and tether the horse to a branch, he examined the forested lane further. Scattered in the brush off the lane were fine fittings, brass ornaments, a wooden, painted placard with a opulent coat of arms on it. He had last seen these on the carriage outside of the MacKenzie Circus.

Damn.

"They have altered the appearance of the carriage to make it less conspicuous I expect. Corwynn, could you and Jerro follow those tracks off into the woods? Looks like one barefoot female and four horses went that way. Only three horses came back....

What's this? "

Allan showed the others a dried pool of blood on the ground where someone had likely been killed recently, given the amount of it soaked into the dust.

"Looks like they lightened the load a bit as well..."

He hoped like hell that Destini was not something tossed into the woods. He thought not, but she might have been chased into the woods on foot...

Pagan

Slowly Pagan dismounted her horse. She didn't remove her gaze from the pool of dark substance for a moment. She could clearly see the tracks Allan was pointing out.

Pagan brushed the black hilt of her sword gently with her right arm. Her nostrils were shivering as if she smelled something out of place in the air - and it was very possible that she did. Pagan's sense of smell was almost unnaturally sharp. A perspicacious viewer would have noticed the slight asymmetry of her nose. It was a consequence of an injury she had endured younger.

The whole time she was hearing buzzing from a shrub. She took a couple of steps towards it. She glanced at Allan. Now she was standing next to the shrub. The buzzing sound was clearer now. Pagan stretched her leg and kicked the shrub. A flock of gleaming blue flies sprinted in the air. She felt a foul taste in her mouth as she turned to look the others.
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Brother_corwynn

At Allan's request, Corwynn dismounted and began to follow the tracks into the woods. The female footprints vanished at a small rocky stream, but the horses had blundered on and left easy to track trails.

About 800 yards in, Corwynn could see broken branches, a discarded make-shift staff, and two dead bodies. One had left an impression in the ground, as though carried hear and dropped. the other had slid down a tree-trunk into a half sitting position. Both were killed with close-in stabs into the neck.

Some blood and long black hair had been wiped onto a broad leaf...cleaning a wound or a weapon?

A fascinating tapestry of what had happened in this camp was beginning to weave itself in Corwynn's mind.

He looked around to see where Jerro had gotten to...

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro followed behind Corwynn, glad that his stealth was preserved in the forest. He had never actually had reason to leave the city before, other than the occasional festival, and even then never in the woods. He looked around at where Corwynn had stopped. He looked over the bodies and chuckled a bit.

"Atta girl! She is even dangerous in captivity!" He applauded quietly. Then he looked over the bodies, and the weapon, again. "Wait a second. That weapon couldn't have made those wounds, their too clean. Ye're not tellin me that D'argent is killin his own people? Unless Richard did make it here before us, then who else would be here?" He looked over the bodies a third time. Destini had definately injured one of them, the blood on the makeshift spear was enough to see that. You might even see that one as a mercy killing to ease the pain. That probably wasn't d'Argente's way of seeing it, though. What possible reason could you have for killing the second one?
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn rubbed his chin, "I am thinking these were executions, to punish incompetence. perhaps this lot was supposed to be watching Miss MacKenzie and received a stern reproach for their failure?"

He looked around for more evidence and saw none.

"Let's get back before they assume the Bog Monster got us..."

Corwynn headed back up to the main camp.

Jerro_oconnor

"That's a good idea." He looked over the scene with a new perspecitve. It went from one of budding hope to one of forlorn waste. At least that meant Destini was still alive, otherwise her body would have been dumped here too. At least, he hoped that was what it meant. He followed Corwynn back to the others.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan examined the fly-ridden body and came away concerned.

"Nothing good happened here," he told Pagan," they made it harder for us to track them, themselves less conspicuous and killed some of there own here. or mayhap Destini took one out...."

Movement down the hill caught his attention just then

"Ahh here come Corwynn and Jerro....with answers I hope..."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn broke out of the woods and into the clearing which held the lumber camp. He made straight for where Allan and Pagan were standing.

"I know what happened here," Corwynn announced, with a finality that brooked no debate.

"The carriage came in off the main road as we have already surmised. They met a party of five horsemen who were awaiting them. We know this because of the large amount of hoof-prints and excrement within the clearing, but only five horse tracks in and out. The horsemen were here for several hours, which means this was a planned rendezvous and the kidnapping was a planned act for some time with acute coordination. This was not a blown mission and escape. They meant to make a snatch happen."

Corwynn paced, warming to his task.

"We see footprints leading from the carriage tracks...male and female, the female in those strange elevated heel boots most like. She was leading as you can see by the way her feet pressed hard from pulling the male behind her. The tracks lead into that shed, where we earlier spotted a makeshift bedding arrangement. A little entertainment perhaps?"

Corwynn looked at his audience and continued

"Then....the footprints come back to the carriage area, where we find a pool of dried blood and in the bushes the executed body of a soldier, fit, well-groomed, a leader type. This tells us that the leader of the 5 horsemen was executed for a failure. The wound was done up close and by someone the victim knew and respected. D'Argent is known to favor the Red Duke's habit of killing those who fail him.

What would merit such, you might ask? We see female, bare feet leaving prints as Destini escapes the carriage--probably during the impromptu lie-down by the Viscomte and his trained pet. D'Argent holds the command responsible and kills him. He and three troops head into the woods on horse to recapture."

He then grinned

"Here it gets quite interesting, so keep up or you shall fall behind! In the woods we find where two horsemen dismount having spotted someone hiding. We find a makeshift spear/staff with signs of having inflicted wounds.

We also find two dead soldiers, one with badly shattered legs and knees, both with execution wounds similar to the man top-side. We find long, black hair and blood on a leaf large enough to have wiped the flat of a blade.

This tells us that the assailant knocked out the person holding the spear, who had black hair like Our Destini. She was free and had enough wit about her to put up a hell of a fight. She was however re-taken.

Lady and gentleman we can say for certain that Destini was alive when the carriage left this place, and her actions caused the deaths of three of the Viscomte's operatives.

We must catch up to them and rescue her before they leave Eire, as no possible good can come to her after she has brought them this amount of trouble. We must also be aware that d'Argent is very much agitated and homicidal. I recommend kill, not capture."

Corwynn paused to see the looks on his listeners' faces

"Any questions, then?"

Pagan

The flies and the smell of death were suddenly too much for Pagan's nerves. Her stomach was coiling and she rushed farther away from the bush, towards cleaner air. She couldn't see Jerro and Corwynn yet, but she could hear them coming. She dug up her flask and pulled a greedy swig. Just to do something she crouched on the ground on her fours and inspected the tracks. She couldn't deduce anything more than what Allan had already said from them.

When Corwynn and Jerro appeared on the scene she stood up. She seemed absent-minded. She put the flask away and looked at them in anticipation.

When Corwynn had finished his summary Pagan felt relieved Destini was still alive - or at least had been until this point - and more than a little proud hearing how the lass had shown them Frenchies some Irish ire. Nobody messed with the Imleach ladies!

Pagan bit her lip. She dreaded to ask, but she had to: "What do ye suppose they need her fer?"
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Sad but simple....."

Allan sighed

"The Viscomte needs to show the Red Duke he had broken the link of information and collaboration between England and Eire. He needed Destini, me, or you, Pagan, in hand, alive or dead. I have feared this since Destini disappeared....."

Alan sighed a heavy sigh

"We need to get back after them. Destini bought us time. Let us not waste it..

I have a Viscomte to kill."

And he did

Destini

Rhythmic pain pulsed dully in the back of her head. The room was swaying, moving. The motion made her stomach roil sickly. Her entire surroundings were rocking in time with her own throbbing heartbeat. What had happened? Where was she? Was the room really moving?

Bulky, blurred shapes cloaked in oily darkness met her vision as she opened her eyes with a slow, thick movement. Twin images mocked her attempts to understand where she was. Weakly, she shook her head, tried to focus. Her reward was a blossom of pain and an angry buzzing in her head that threatened to capsize her fragile awareness and submerge her again into unconsciousness. That was a bad idea. No sudden movements.

Breathe. Slow, gentle breaths. The air was stale and bore scents of mold and wet wool. The smells lingered at the back of her throat and lodged there. Her stomach turned again.

The room rocked to one side then back. Destini tried to steady herself only to discover her hands were bound behind her once again. Her ankles, too, were bound. She was tied to something, this time. Her freedom of motion was hindered enough now that she was prevented from loosing the knots in the ropes around her ankles the way she'd previously done. There was no way she'd escape this one on her own.

Despair welled up inside her. She had been so close to freedom! D'Argent had cruelly snatched her escape from her grasp. How long had she been unconscious? Hours? Days? Was it day or night? Time was distorted. For all she knew, weeks had passed. Panicked tears sprung to her eyes.

Moistened eyes brought her vision clearer, but the wan light made it impossible to discern where she was. Bulky shadows stood stoically all around her. Why was the room moving? Why did she feel so sick to her stomach? Poisons? Or maybe ....

...

... Maybe what?

... ? ....

What had she just been thinking? Whatever it was, it was gone, completely forgotten.

By Jah, her head hurt! She was having trouble concentrating with the ever-present throbbing pain. She had to keep her wits about her. She had to fight back as best she could. She had to ignore the excruciating pain in her head.

Jah only knew what d'Argent would do to her now that she'd caused him so much trouble.
_________________

--Viscomte_dargent

The dark clad man flowed through the busy streets of Port Lairge, making arrangements, handing out assignments, and collecting information.

He met no one's eyes as he moved, and no one seemed to look directly at him. Viscomte d'Argent seemed to project an aura of 'I am not here' when he needed to move about without being remembered.

He came to a mostly vacant tavern on the edge of the dock district and took a seat in a far corner where he could see the door. Nodding to the bartender, he received and paid for an ale.

As he took a sip--it is less conspicuous to have a partially drunk beverage in front of one--he went over the preparations made today.

Carriage disposed of. Done
Cleaners assigned to make sergeant of the watch disappear. Done.
Cargo deposited in hold of primary ship. Done.
Confirmation Primary ship departs tomorrow. Done.
Three more squads of operatives activated and given instructions. Done.
Observation posts for early warning in place. Done.
Secondary transportation, passage for 2 booked. Done.
Status report to Red Duke. To Do.
Last of Oriental Poison delivered to targets to invoke further mayhem as a cover for departure. Done.

It seemed d'Argent had enjoyed a rather productive day since arriving. Ivy was probably out spending most of their reward, he mused. Price of entertainment is never zero.

The Viscomte took another sip of ale and waited for his next meeting.

--The_finisher

Behold! The Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Wielder of Haggling Powers of Doom!

Dear Diary,

So, because I didn't get to kill the dead chick, I decided some shopping therapy was totally in order. So while Vickie prepared for our journey, I went shopping!

You know, for a town called Port Lingerie, the merchants here are kinda lacking on black lace. I'm totally not kidding. But, I did find only the Nameless One's wife's own corset! If, you know, the Nameless One had a wife. Shut up! This thing is wicked!

So, I walked up to the shop and she's all acting like she's sweetness and light and stuff. And I'm all thinking she's a total poser. Because no way is anybody that perfect. She's all, "Can I help you find something?"

And I'm all, "Step off, poser! I found what I want."

And she's all know-it-all and stuff and goes, "Don't you want the brown one? Black isn't a good color for your complexion."

So, I'm like, "Shut up! You're not the boss of me! I want the black one."

And she all pouts and stuff like I hurt her feelings and cites a price. "120 pounds"

So I'm like, "No way. 80"

And she's all, "100"

And I go, "As if! 90."

And she's pwnd and goes, "Fine," and hands me the corset.

So I paid her and headed back to the boat. But not before spying this totally sinister skirt in the next shop over! It was so finely patterned that it looked as if it was made of spider webs. I totally had to have it. For Lo! The Finisher travels in style!

Got to go! I totally just saw something else I will die if I dont have!!

Destini

Panicking only tightened her bonds and forced her headache to pound the harder. The ropes cut deep into her wrists and ankles, intensifying the pain there as her bonds rubbed at her skin. This wasn't helping. Destini forced herself to calm down. Ignoring the acrid smell of mold, she took several slow breaths. The loud ringing in her ears briefly subsided to a low whine.

The inky darkness made it impossible to see anything but vague shadows. She closed her eyes to focus herself. Closing her eyes made no difference at all. There was nothing to see. The act focused her other senses.

The loudest sound was the gentle knocking of wood upon wood. The sound was familiar. But where had she heard it before? Knock. Knock knock. The sound came in conjunction with the sway of the room. Sway to the left. Knock. Sway to the right. Nothing. Sway to the left. Knock knock-knock. Sway to the right. Nothing. The pattern continued. The vague tickle of memory told her she knew this sound. She had been barely awake, asleep on Allan's shoulder. The thought brought the pricks of tears to her eyes. Would she ever see him again? Focus. Push it aside. Think. When had she heard the sound?

An tInbhear Mór, Laighean, Ireland. The knocking was the sound the ship had made against the dock. Sway to the left. Knock-knock. Sway to the right. Nothing. Yes, that made sense. She was aboard a ship in port, then. A ship pulled up to the right of a pier. But at which port? A port in Ireland? England? Scotland? How long had she been unconscious? Had d'Argent kept her under for the journey across the Irish Channel and was only allowing her to wake because she was going to meet the Red Duke soon? Fear broiled to the surface. No. Stop. Don't jump to conclusions. Think. She knew was aboard a ship in a port. Where? Listen.

Recognizing she was in a port made it easier to discern other sounds in the distance: a bell upon the wharf, seagulls far above her. Footsteps on the deck above her. How many? Three. One at the helm, two at the bow. Not enough to man a ship. Waiting to embark then? Where? In Ireland? Faint cries of buskers in a nearby market. Irish, English, or Scottish? She couldn't tell. The voices were too faint. No doubt, she was below the waterline, in the cargo hold. The stoic shapes she had discerned in the inky darkness were likely the barrels and crates of cargo. That was all she was to d'Argent: Cargo addressed to the Red Duke.

This thought turned her fear to anger. She was a person! Not cargo to be tossed in a hold and left to rot! Despite all that d'Argent had done to her, she refused to play the victim. She was an attache to the cardinal. She had a job to do! More than that, she was an Irish lass. And this Irish lass wanted one thing: revenge. Revenge for her king. For her kin. For her employer. For herself. She vowed to kill the viscomte and anyone who stood in her way.

Calm.

Focus.

Think.

Plan.

She would kill the viscomte and anyone who stood between her and her freedom.

All she needed was a chance.
_________________

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent was enjoying a fresh scone with his ale. He was enjoying the awkward tension of the cleaner seated across from him.

He was enjoying what he was about to order the cleaner to do.

"You will find and slay, quietly, every member of the town watch of rank corporal or higher.

Do it now.

No evidence.

No noise.

No excuses.

You may go."

The shadowy figure stood, nodded, picked up the heavy bag of gold and departed the Tavern without having ever uttered a single word.

The Viscomte adored quiet efficiency....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan Brightpoint rode into Port Lairge with little fanfare, as always, and a heightened state of mental alert.

His comrades fanned out in the street inside the Bailey, and took in their surroundings.

Nothing seemed particularly out of place, except for a boy who scurried suddenly out of a shop and into an alley.

Brightpoint waited to hear a "STOP THIEF!!" cry go up, but it did not.

D'Argent had eyes and ears posted, then. Lovely. Non unexpected, to be fair.

"We are expected, seen, and reported, " he declared to his fellows as he dismounted near the inner guardhouse and offices of the city watch.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was the second man in the gates behind Allan and saw the same runner dart off.

"Aye, the little rat is too fast for me to stop. I guess we shall see if my connections in town are good enough to help us win the day.

I suggest Jerro and I start asking the right questions of the right people and see what we can do about locating our quarry.

You and Pagan could spend some quality time with the watch perhaps and find out if anyone similar to our targets has been seen entering the city. There is a tavern near the city hall we could meet up at to compare notes .

Jerro, are you in?

Pagan

Pagan looked at the massive, three-story high stone building. The Port Laírge City Watch HQ was built on a shallow hill east side of city. Behind them was the slowly waking city and besides them the Celtic Sea, colored crimson red by the rising sun. The air was heavy with the rich, full scent of honeysuckle, jasmin and wild roses. The sea was glowing with strong colors of summer. A fountain was burbling in the silence like a bell.

She turned around. Corwynn and Jerro were gone, blended in the shadows. She looked at Allan and said: "All right then, let's go."

Pagan went to the door. Some light was looming through the thick, green glass on the door. She yanked the sturdy bellring. Somewhere inside she could hear bell ringing softly.
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan followed Pagan into the watch building and saw the supervisor at the duty desk. The man was not looking too good at present. He was sweating, face ashen grey, and when he lifted a goblet of water to sip, the finger-nails had a blue-gray tinge .

Allan reached into his pouch and withdrew a blue vial --one of the ones he recovered in Destini's things.. He walked up the the desk and addressed the soldier

"Good lord man, you look terrible...how long have you been sick?"

The Guard looked up with bleary eyes and answered, "bout a day...come on all sudden...thought it was just the flu.."

"Bad news, sergeant. The strange coloring in your fingernails is a symptom for a poison you seem to have run afoul of."

The man looked even more pale. "Jah save me!"

"Allan nodded, "Jah provides. Take this--it is an antidote"

He looked at Pagan

"Why in heavens would someone be poisoning watchmen now?"

This was getting out of hand

Pagan

Pagan breathed in heavily as she noticed - and recognized - the condition the duty officer was in. With pale face she turned to look at Allan, and said in a thin voice she didn't recognize as her own:

"Ye don't suppose they've... like... poisoned the city well, do ye? Despite all me efforts of warning people of the hazards of drinking water, there still remains a vast population that does it, even in Imleach. Ye do not have enough of those vials with ye if they've poisoned the well!"

Pagan turned towards the duty officer and - not waiting for the antedote to have a proper effect on the poor man - grabbed him by the breast of his uniform and yelled:

"Where is the Captain? We want to speak to the Captain of the Watch - immediately! It is urgent!"
_________________

Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro watched Pagan and Allen go off to look through, and probably shake up, the watch. Go look through vauge and generally seedy "connections" while the others went through the more mainstream, and probably legal, routes? Sounded just like home! "I'm in." Jerro said. With a dramatic flourish of his arm, he said, "Yer the one with the connections here, lead the way." He was curious if Corwynn's "connections" were about as reliable as his own, and whether they went about the same business practices or not.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn led the way through a twisting series of alleys and emerged with Jerro into a back end of the market.

"Here we are then!" he said with a grin. "I think we should examine the pewter wares in that shop. Come!"

Corwynn flowed across the little back market and entered the pavilion of a dealer in pewter wares. A booming voice leaped out to accost them.

"CORWYNN BOY! What the ruddy ell are you doin in MY shop? I trust ye have nae fergotten the LAST time you were in here?!?!?"

The voice belonged to a six foot two inch, two hundred pound powerhouse of a woman, in her early forties, crimson hair, ruddy cheeks, and a smile dancing in her eyes.

"Aye Miss Mollie... I believe you were last seen by me, pining away for my loving return to your delightful establishment."

"BAHHH!" came the reply

"Or mayhap you were annoyed that I had to kill a target in your Gardenias Either way...lovely to see you Auntie M."

A deep laughter cackled forth, "Ahh ye scallywag, I cannae stay mad at Yew fer long. Giver yer Auntie a hug proper then"

Without so much as a by-your-leave or even a Surgeon General's warning, strong arms swept Corwynn off the ground and did not release until suffocation was more than a mild probability. Mollie looked around and spied Jerro as well and glared at him.

"An what kind of gutter sweep are YEW, wandering into me shop without so much as a please-may-I?"

Corwynn extricated himself and held up a hand

"Easy Mollie...easy...he is with me. We need to know if the Frenchman has returned to town..."

Mollie's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Yew mean that good fer nothin limpwristed neverpayhisbills sonofafourleggedgallows d"Argent? Yeah. He's here..."

Corwynn looked at Jerro with a grin, delighted to get what they came for. Now getting out in less than an hour would be the trick...

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro smiled. There seemed to all sorts in every type of town. "Hello, I'm Jerro O'Connor." He wasn't sure whether he should hold his hand out to shake or not, but he was undoubtedly sure that the decision would be made for him shortly now. He decided to hold it out anyway, in case she decided not to squeeze the life out of him too. He always wondered why the larger people tended to be huggers. "I'm here to help Corwynn here in any way I can. Might I just say that ye have a very beautiful shop?" He looked around with an appreciative look. "Whereabouts did ye see this frenchman ye hold in so high an esteem? If ye don't mind me askin, o' course."
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn groaned aloud, "Oh NOW you've done it..." as he deftly managed to not be in the path from Auntie M to Jerro

"AHHHH Boyo!!! Yer helpin out me best lad Corwynn then?! Come to Auntie!!!!!!"

Massive arms pulled the slight Jerro off any contact with mother earth and proceeded to further his quest for a painful death.

"Auntie...when you are quite finished loving on Jerro, We rather *do* need to know what the Frenchman has been up to...."

Jerro was dropped to the ground, destined to win an award for emulating a sack of barley falling out of the hay-loft.

"OOOOOhhhhh why dinae ye say so?! That uselesstrasheatingmongrel has been sending his seedylittlebastards everywhere threw the markets and has at least THREE squads out on the docks to kill some great enemies o'his who have no doubt MET the bastard and wannae killimquick, don't ye know?

WAIT a JAHbeblarged minoot. Is that YER lot he's fixin ta ambush?!?!?!"

"Sadly, it would seem so. If it is all right with you, Auntie," Corwynn demurred, "We should inform the rest of our party and prepare to avoid said ambush...."

He looked down at the floor

"You ok Jerro?"

Jerro_oconnor

He had forgotten, taking a deep breath just knocked that much more out of you. After he took the time to recapture the breath that had escaped, he realized Corwynn had directed the question towards him. "Bring it on! Just... Just let me pry myself off the ground.". He shakily stood up and brushed himself off. Callaghan had nothing on her! Speaking of which, whatever happened to him? He'd think of that later, right now he had to survive this! Remember, breath out before the hug. Would that help? One way to find out (hopefully much later, but probably not).

"Hate to run," if I still can "but we have a frenchman to counter." He braced himself for another bonecrushing hug. "Pleasure to meet ye."
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was well impressed with his new friend Jerro. Greater men would be stock dead from that hug and he still had a bloody sense of humor!!

"Well DONE, brother, I applaud your....survivability.

If it is all right with you, beloved Auntie, we must needs SCAMPER and find out where the sodding sheepscrogging Frenchman has holed up. Ta!

Come Jerro...we must amscray like ellHray!!!"

Corwynn dodged ouside and greatly hoped Jerro was following...

Jerro_oconnor

Corwynn didn't need to tell him twice! With a somewhat servicable bow, Jerro ran after him and prayed that the deadly arms wouldn't fall again. That woman could strangle the life out of a rock! "Don't worry about me, I've been through worse. Give me a moment to remember, but I'm sure I could fabricate somethin." After that, he'd be ready for whatever d'Argente threw their way!
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn grinned at Jerro and appreciated the sense of humor and toughness beneath it.

"Right then! That was the easy one. Let's be dock-bound where the work may get a bit more....sticky..."

Corwynn led the way towards the series of alleys and streets that would land them unseen into the dock-side district.

Jerro_oconnor

"Ah, yes. I was afraid that one was too easy. Just please tell me the next spot doesn't have a hugger." Swords and threats to his life he could handle. Poison too, now that he had been subjected to it twice. Crushed bones could take a bit to get used to. Docks... were they trying to find the ship d'Argente, and by that reasoning Destini, would be on? Or a ship to follow them?
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

As the pair walked through crowds that didn't see them and into a tavern that wasn't there, Corwynn did not look around and certainty failed to spot an old information source that was never timely or reliable.

Corwynn sat at the table next to the old associate who was not there and didn't greet him, "Hey bub! I do not need any information from you today.

The man who was not there failed to pull out a fifteen inch stiletto in each hand and of a certainty did not place them in a blur at both Jerro and Corwynn's throat level.

In the continuing silence, the unreliable Bub refrained from saying, "I aint here an I don't know jack and will not fail to rifle your bodies if you do not depart from this nonexistent pub immediately."

Corwynn nodded his head at nothing and never whispered, "The Frenchman, the Tart, and a Ship going elsewhere..."

Not there did not remove the daggers which weren't at anyone's throat yet while not saying "You ain't got enough to run me crossways with no Frenchmen who ain't in town."

Corwynn grinned sadly and forgot to drop the heavy sack of coins in front of the fellow not leering from the next table. As the bag did not clunk heavily, he probably did not say "Of course I haven't enough. I just gave it to a fellow who does have the information."

Not there grinned evilly and did not mutter, "Well then, that bloke will tell you not to spend any time at all scouting out the Jeffrey's Revenge on dock five."

With that, the man who wasn't there made arrangements to stop being not there and departed. When Corwynn looked up he saw the next table empty, except for an impression in the dust of a heavy bag that had not been there before and certainly was not now.

"Well, that is not something you do not see every day," grinned Corwynn, "Let us go and avoid dock five?"

Jerro_oconnor

That was unexpected to say the least. The game certainly had changed from when had been a player. No one just told anyone anything anymore? The dagger and the coin had always been there, but the backwards talk? Not that it had happened on any level.

"Alright, let's detour around it. And we should espescially avoid any ships we might happen to find there, now that I think of it. Doesn't pay to be too nosy now, does it?" Women who could crush water out of the rocks, men who denied their own existance, what had he signed himself up for? He silently thanked Jah for making him so adaptable and followed Corwynn somewhere away from dock five.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded to Pagan, "let me have a go at this Colonel..."

"You, Sergeant, tell me where the bloody captain of the watch is. We have no time to waste. I know you can speak as I too have felt and survived that poison."

The recovering soldier's eyes widened at realizing he was in the presence of a Colonel. He nodded, took a sip of water and spoke hoarsely.

"Captain didnae come in this mornin. An it was odd as he has no missed a day in three years...."

Brightpoint did not like the sound of that at all.

"Sergeant, you need to take command until the captain turns up. There are enemy infiltrators in this town, led by a Frenchman named Viscomte d'Argent and he has many agents. Get every squad mobilized and at the gates and docks!

Colonel Pagan has the authority to confirm this order!"

Both Allan and the sergeant looked to Pagan...

--The_finisher

Being the Chroncles of Ivy, The Finisher, Senior Shopaholic of Port Lingerie

Dear Diary,

You know! I don't think I've ever been this happy without killing someone first! You have no idea the bodacious bargains I found in this town! Port Lingerie! Like, seriously, OMJ! You know, right?! Yeah!

There was this one merchant who totally had prices that were, like, way too high. But, you know, I bought this awesome pair of earings from him anyway because he was just that hot. Yeah, really! He wants me. Too bad that I'm only buying all these stylish clothes for Vickie. Because no matter what the shopboy wants, Vickie has the money that can totally make my life, like, OMJ easier, you know! Well, you know, he doesn't have the money yet. But he will as soon as we turn over the not-so-dead-chick to Daddy Dukie.

Yeah, that chick is so pwnd!

Anyway!

So!

I decided the very first thing I'm going to purchace once Vickie collects the money for turning the chick over to Daddy Dukie is a minion to carry all the wonderful stuff I'm totally going to purchase while I'm still about shopping! For lo! I totally had to return to the ship to stow away some of the uber-cool items that I'd bought and free my arms for those items I spied on my way back from the markets.

Did you know?! There's this store there that sells authentic silver reproductions of French jewlery! So what if it's not the real thing! Vickie will just die for me ... in the medieval sense ... when he sees me wearing something that totally looks like jewlery from his home country! Yeah! I know! The Finisher is totally brilliant and stuff!

So! I went aboard the ship and set down all my shopping bags in Vickie's and my cabin aboard the ship then quickly went back to market. For lo! It's not even noon! And The Finisher is a total shop-till-she-drops kinda girl!

Later! I'll report on the bargains I get when I'm finished with this shopping trip! Ta!

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn and Jerro finally emerged fro a rather dank alleyway on the street running along side the docks. Up and down it were a mixture of warehouses and hostels, with various street vendors grabbing at one's sleeve to try to peddle their paltry wares not fit for the market.

Corwynn stopped suddenly as he saw a familiar figure practically dancing up the street with an armload of packages.

"It is that traumatized tart, Jerro! And she is fresh back from...shopping?! What the..."

Corwynn fell silent as he saw her walk down the street and turn onto the last dock, numbered FOUR.

"Dock Four?! That idiot took my money and got the bloody dock number wrong? Good lord! What are we going to do with that?"

The finisher made her way onto a ship at the end of the dock, was within the cabins for a few minutes and returned. Again, she was practically dancing up the street, back towards the marketplace.

"Good news is we know which ship, but not how well it is defended..."

Brother Corwynn looked at Jerro to see what his thoughts might be..

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro sighed. Typical, they take your money and leave you with glass instead of diamonds. "At least she's so easy to pick out in a crowd." He paused for a moment to examine the ship from his view.

"Well, since this is d'Argente we're talkin about, it's safe to assume that there will be more of that paralytic on board, as well as the nastier stuff." He looked over to the "traumatized tart" and continued. "If she's with d'Argente, and he hasn't poisoned her already, then we can assume that she's somewhat reliable. Plus, she sort of has to be to go around lookin like that. We probably won't have to deal with her for a while, seeing as she seems somewhat busy. As for the rest of the crew, there's only one way to find out. Do ye see anyway to get aboard the ship, other then the obvious I mean?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

"Aye, began Corwynn, "we could probably go up the second or third dock and swim over to the ship...board that way in a less obvious fashion. I agree that the Finisher is both dangerous and probably out of our way for a span"

He looked up and down the street and noted how busy it seemed, and groups of folks chatting. All normal, but something did no feel quite right.

"I need a better view. Lets go around behind these buildings and find a way up topside. Something does not look quite right and I cannot tell what it is from street level."

Corwynn turned to go back into the alley

Pagan

Pagan looked at the sergeant. In reality she didn't have any authority over him, because the members of the Watch here were linked with Munster Marines, and the Marines was a separate - and at times even competing - structure from the NMA. Both organizations answered only to the Duke and took no orders from officers representing the other military organization. Besides, Pagan still wasn't sure if Richard had been successful or how fast the information had traveled. Were they still wanted for questioning in Port Laírge - or, indeed, had Caine's orders even reached this far yet? She could see in the sergeant's eyes that he was hesitating. He didn't want to take orders from someone who represented the NMA. Pagan lost her patience.

"Do ye love yer town?" she asked.

"But..."

"Answer me!" Pagan snapped.

"Well yes, but..."

"Do ye want to see everyone ye know and love die slow and painful deaths?"

"Good Jah, no...!"

"Then I suspect ye forget the proper chain of command and all the rivalries between factions just this once and do as ye're told! And being quick about it wouldn't hurt."

Finally the severity of the situation sunk in the sergeants thick skull. He bounced up from behind his desk and, almost tripping to his feet, rushed off to fulfill the orders. Pagan looked at Allan and said:

"That man has never in his life commanded anything larger than a dog, so don't expect this boiling down efficiently or without cock-ups..."
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan agreed with Pagan's assessment. "Could not have said it better myself... Shall we get down to the docks and link up with the others? Other than starting this lot rolling..we cannot do much til they find the Captains of the Watch. I doubt they will find them alive."

He turned to Pagan and gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

Pagan

Pagan nodded and walked towards the door. Even though she hadn't been to Port Laírge very often, not surprisingly for anyone that knew her Pagan knew well all the taverns in town, including that small, shady place down at the docks frequented mostly by sailors that Corwynn had suggested as a meeting point.

She walked by Allan in silence, partly because her mind was still reeling with worry over Destini and partly because she couldn't figure out anything to say, other than that the weather was exceptionally good for Ireland but that seemed like a pointless topic to have a discussion about in a time like this.

She was breathing slowly and cumbersomely as they were approaching the docks, thinking about how it all had started. How long it had been since Pagan had been standing behind the main door of the Knot in Corcaigh, still smelling blood, pondering about the death of Uilliam Thompson? She couldn't remember. It felt like it had happened years ago.
_________________

Banner by Raella

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro followed Corwynn back into the alley. He wasn't going to the rally point already, was he? "Where are ye goin? If we need a higher view, why not just climb higher?" He wasn't going inside a building to do that, was he? That takes all the fun out of it! Oh well, maybe something more subtle than scaling a building was called for in this situation.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

"In the warehouse, out the back, and up the side of the building in the alley. Get's us a great view and we avoid a visual warning to our opposition that we know what it looks like out there."

Corwynn led the way through the busy warehouse, picking up a sack of wheat and carrying it like a workman on an urgent mission. He motioned for Jerro to do likewise.

Once out of the back of the warehouse, he dropped the sack and used it to get a leg up for climbing the wall. He always loved this part...favorite thing about acrobatics was using them on a mission.

Corwynn peered over the top of the roof and saw two men crouched down and watching the street below.

Damn.

"We've got company up here, mate, two of them. Can you silently take the one on the left out?"

Jerro_oconnor

The two men on the roof seemed completely oblivious of Jerro and Corwynn... for now. "Aye." Jerro whispered. Trying to synchronize his movements with Corwynn's, so that neither one would be alerted by the other. He snuck up behind the left one and got ready. He got Corwynn's attention and lifted three fingers in a sort of countdown, to get the timing just right.

Three...

Two...

One...

Quickly he reached around to the sentry's front and clamped his hand over their mouth to prevent any cries of warning. Then, using his new grasp, he kicked the sentry's legs out from under him and slammed the back of his head against the roof. Aside from a muffled yell of suprise and a low thud, there had been no noise from Jerro's side. Once assured that the man was knocked out for sure by means of a few well placed strikes, he looked up to see h0w Corwynn was doing on his side.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn moved soundlessly as though not touching the surface of the roof.

He intoned a silent mantra to focus all senses on the one point in time about to arrive

"On Wings of faith I fly true to the target. With hands from Jah I thwart his dark purpose."

Corwynn was now just behind the over-focused observer, noting Jerro's count-down.

Left hand seized a chin.

Right hand already clamped around neck braced on shoulder.

Turn

*snap*

Flow across roof to the one Jerro disabled, retrieve cording from pouch to secure and gag unconscious victim.

Only then did Corwynn allow himself to look out and down, after 'borrowing' the black mantle from one of the fallen enemy in case he was spotted.

Left side of harbor - Docks one and two, busy with merchant vessels from Eire.

Right side of harbor - Docks three and Four, busy with foreign ships. Well organized, this port was.

A building in the center, between two and three.

A Large sign.

it read "Dock Five Tavern"

Laughing quietly Corwynn murmured to Jerro "Bloody hells. My informant was correct. There is a dock five and one should not seek to find a ship docked there."

He pointed out the tavern for Jerro to see.

Then he looked at the ship on Dock four which the Finisher had come and gone from.

No soldiers. No sailors. No visible guards. Too small to hide much, a merchant ship with two guns per side.

"Jerro... how do you feel about a crazy search and rescue since no one seems to be guarding that ship?"

Getting a better view always improved results it would seem...

Jerro_oconnor

"I was beginning to think ye'd never ask. So, should we stick with stealth or charge in?" Half expecting the answer already, he grabbed the black mantle from the other sentry. "Should one of us check the taven while the other check the ship? D'Argente may be in either one. He paused. "But we can always deal with him once we rescue Destini. Our prime objective is rescue, not search and destroy."

He made his way back to the other side of the roof, ready to drop down into the alley. "But it's yer call, what do ye think?" He turned back to Corwynn, waiting for an answer.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn smiled at Jerro--he really liked working with him.

"I suggest we proceed down the street to that ship and ask after the captain. if he is actually there, we send him to the far end of the harbor on a nonsense errand to resolve trouble with ships papers.

We go on down the pier to examine the other ship names officiously, while the captain or first officer leave the area.

Then we go back on board, check the cabins, check the hold, and get Destini the heck out of there and back up to this roof where she will be safe--d'Argent thinks he already has this area covered.

If d'Argent gets in the way. Boom. One less frenchie to feed.

Sound good?"

Gaara893 wrote:

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro grinned back. "Sounds perfect. Lets go." He dropped over the edge of the roof, grabbing the edge before plummeting down. Then he dropped himself down in short bursts, grabbing the odd projection to slow his fall before releasing and dropping to the next one. Going down was always easier, and faster, than going up, although if he had screwed up he could've broken his leg or worse. Once he reached the bottom safely, he put the mantle on and adjusted it to make sure that it fit nicely. The man he took it from had been larger than Jerro, but the mantle fit nicely regardless, if a bit long. Then he looked up, waiting for Corwynn to catch up. "We haven't got all day!" He said, teasingly, just loud enough for Corwynn to hear him.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn dropped down beside Jerro, remarking, "Good Lord, you sounded like Richard Grimthorn just then....Let's put on game faces. We are officious prats from the Harbor Master's office checking on ships being in the right place on the pier and what not."

Corwynn did a thing where he passed a hand over his face, and fell into character.

"Come, Edward. The Harbor Master requires us to summon a few ship captains to the office to sort our their mess."

He turned and led the way out onto the street, passing through the lowly marketeers and sailors as the irrelevant bystanders they certainly were.

No one seemed to want to get in their way. Not even those annoying little gits selling moldy meat pasties...

Destini

Consciousness was as elusive as a summer's firefly. One moment, she'd be able to grasp it firmly only to have it squirm and flutter from her clutch moments later, leaving her in darkness and oblivion. Wakefulness returned again like ice melting on a pond, and Destini slowly raised her slumped head and tried to see if her surroundings had changed. Her vision was obscured by a tangled mess of her own stringy, black-brown hair that had fallen in her face when she'd lost consciousness last time. The strands of her hair were matted with blood, sweat, and dirt. She shook her head and found this time consciousness stayed with her. The last bout of rest must have helped her body heal some. She looked about. From what she could tell in the darkness, nothing had changed.

She felt so very weak. When had she last eaten? Had they forced nourishment down her throat while she was unconscious? If so, it was some time ago. The characteristic exhausted apathy of low energy was easy to recognize. D'Argent was probably starving her on purpose. A weak captive was far easier to control than one with energy to burn toward escape. How long had she been a captive?

Hope was dying with each passing heartbeat. The longer she was here, the less likely she would escape. Despair and Fear took up a residence in a corner of her mind and began a conversation, silently urged her to resign herself to her fate. Snatches of the few phrases d'Argent had spoken to her spun a silent mockery in her head. Tool or Toy? It doesn't matter. It does! It doesn't! It does! Regardless, it will serve the Red Duke!

I am a person! I serve the cardinal!

She could almost hear insidious laughter in the dark silence of the cargo hold as both Despair and Fear mocked her hope. She tugged on her bonds and felt the rope rip across her wounded wrists. She hissed sharply at the pain and ceased her struggle. There was no escape that way. It makes jokes! The cardinal cares nothing for it! He sent the Tool here to die! No, it's not a Tool! It's a Toy!Tool! Toy! Tool! Toy!

I asked to come to Eire! I serve my clan!

The Toy is hilarious! No, it's a Tool! Either. Or. The clan it serves is the clan that killed their own! The clan that abandoned its own!

The possible truth of that thought stung as it hit home. Allan had brought her clan antidotes to save Zanditin and still her friend and king had died from the poison. Had the clan intentionally killed him? Had they abandoned him when he needed them? Had they now abandoned her? No! She refused to believe that!

No one is coming to rescue the Red Duke's Tool. Tool or Toy? Either. Both. No one is coming for it.

I amnae a tool! I amnae a toy! I am a person!

People are not tossed in cargo holds. People are not abandoned. Toys are. Tools are. Tool or Toy? Either. Both.

No one is coming.

Destini dropped her head back to her chest, overwhelmed by the nagging internal argement of logic and belief. Her anger and faith dared to go against the logic and rekindle hope. Enough! The voices of Fear and Despair silenced. I will escape. An' there'll be Hell to pay when I do!
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

It was time for Allan Brightpoint to finish this business.

Enough with the subterfuge

Enough with the minions

Enough with the false trails.

He and Pagan would find and Kill d'Argent.

They would toss that tacky trollop into the harbor.

They would ensure Destini was rescued, and Port Lairge free of the Frenchman's influence.

Only one more street to go and they would be at the docks.

It was time for Allan Brightpoint to finish this business.

Allan looked towards Pagan

"It's time."

Pagan wrote:

Jerro_oconnor

"Yes Sir, at once Sir!" "Edward" fell in behind "his superior" and slightly to the right. Head bowed, hands knotted together in a ball in front of him, he made the perfect picture of a young, eager-to-please understudy. "Edward" passed the other dock-goers in "his superior's" wake. He spotted someone barking orders at the other sailors. "Ah, he seems like he knows what's goin on. Shall I fetch him, Sir?" Without waiting for a reply, "Edward" ran towards the man.

"Excuse me!" "Edward" said in the voice of one with no real power, but who held all of the cards. He spoke loudly, "If ye could come with me, Mr. Amesbury would like to speak with ye!"

"Yeah?" The man stopped barking orders long enough to size up the kid who ran up to him. "And just who may this "Amesbury" be, ye runt!"

"Edward" frowned angrily and balled his fists. "Mr. Amesbury is right there." He said, pointing over to "Amesbury". "I'd hurry if I were ye, he's in good favor with the harbormaster and he doesn't like to be kept waitin."

"We'll see about that!" The man growled. He stormed over to "Amesbury" with "Edward" trailing behind.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn looked down his nose at the man from the ship. The fellow looked annoyed and flustered....undermanned and in a hurry then? Excellllent

Easy play.

"You. That ship has no permission to be at this dock. Move it down to the piers of Dock 1 immediately, or plead your case with the harbor master in his offices.

Why you idiots cannot manage to tell the difference between one and four is beyond me."

He looked dismissively at the man

"Are you what passes for the captain of that sea sponge?"

Jerro_oconnor

"Ah, bu- but..." The man said, trying to get a word in between "Amesbury's". He had expected to come over and show the man who was boss. Well, he didn't realize that Amesbury would have so much authority. When finally given a chance to speak, his confidence had been brought down a bit. "Erm... Yes. Yes sir. We were told dock four, that I'm sure of. Couldn't you be mistaken?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

The masts loomed sharply against the sky. Instinctively Pagan slowed down her pace. Now she could discern the outline of a ship. She could see it was a cross-rigged schooner weighing about one thousand tons. On the dock she could see a big, dark warehouse. A couple of modern cogs were attached to docks farther ahead.

Pagan turned her head and looked at Allan, unsure by what he had meant. "Aye", she answered hesitatingly. "The tavern is just there - we will see the door once we've gone past the warehouse. Jerro and Corwynn should have finished their business by now, aye? We shall find out soon enough where d'Argent and his lass are hiding..."

They were approaching the warehouse.
_________________

Banner by Raella

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn seemed to grow a couple inches taller as he stood up a bit more straight.

"Excuse me?! You think you were told? How would you like to lose docking privileges in this port for three years? No?

THEN GET THAT BOAT MOVED or go PLEAD your case before the Harbor Master.

DO IT NOW!

Corwynn whirled and walked away, Jerro in tow to examine a ship further up the pier.

Jerro_oconnor

As the unfortunate captain scuttled away in search of the harbor master, the two continued along the dock. "Well Mr. Amesbury sir, what item of business calls our attention now?" He looked around the dock, searching for another target, or if they should just be happen to decide to stroll along the dock, d'Argente or his powdered-up poppet. So far, they were in the clear, but luck had an unfortunate habit of turning when you least expect, or least want, it to.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn grinned broadly, "Well Edward, perhaps we should conduct a security inspection of that ship and its hold now that the captain and the few sailors we saw there have wandered off to the harbor master's office? We probably have about twenty minutes to be in and gone."

Corwynn smoothly wrote something down about nothing, stowed the parchment and made for the gang-plank up to the target ship.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan heard the uncertain tone in Pagan's voice. "Sorry, left too much of that thought in my head.... I mean it is time to finish this business. I see the tavern up ahead. Fancy a drink with our backs to a wall?"

Brightpoint grinned at the name of the tavern, 'DOCK FIVE' block printed on the sign above a sketch of a 4-dock harbor.

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro walked aboard the ship. So, his first time on a ship and it they wouldn't even be leaving the dock. Somewhat dissapointing. Still, eyes on the prize. Destini first, mull over bad first experience later. "So, I'll check the crates for contraband while ye check the cabins and below deck. Does that sound good sir?"
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

"Sure", Pagan answered. "I wouldn't mind a drink right now. It might well be our last", she added gloomily.

Pagan straightened herself up as they stopped in the front of the tavern door. For a moment she was worried if they would be allowed in at all. She looked like she had been on a two-month bender. Her face was wan and tired. Her clothes dusty and dirty. Then she remembered what kind of place it was they were entering. Here nobody would care what they looked like, as long as they had money to pay for their drinks. Pagan rustled tentatively the purse in her pocket. It contained all the credentials they would need in this tavern.

Pagan knocked on the door. Just like she remembered from the last time she had been here a small hatch on the door opened. A shaded face appeared behind it.

"Just a moment..."
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Banner by Raella

Destini

The darkness of the cargo hold made her vision completely useless. Hearing, however, had always been a blessing in her role as a minstrel. Now, her performer's skill of listening for subtle sounds compensated for her current lack of sight. Destini, having quieted her inner voices for the moment, listened intently. A familiar sound had drawn her attention out of the hold where she was captive ...

.. beyond the lapping waves at the level of the cabins above her ...

.. through the boards of the deck.

Angry boots had decended the gangplank a moment ago. Their owner had argued with two others. The first voice was unknown to her. Long vowel sounds were prevolent in that voice, gentle consonants. Imleach. That voice was from Imleach. A slow smile came over her face. It was good to hear a voice from her home town. Still, Imleach, or no, it was the second voice that was familiar. Not in accent, that was seemingly from Port Lairge -- and yet, not from Port Lairge. Interesting. What struck as familiar was the tember and tone of that voice. She knew the voice's owner immediately.

Corwynn.

Hope sprang immediately to the forefront of her mind and heart. She felt like crying out, calling for him! But why, then, was he using a Port Lairge accent? Cover. If she called out his real name, if she screamed so he could hear her, she would destroy his cover. No. Silence, perseverance, patience.

The stern voice that belonged two the two heavy boots had marched away. Recognizable footsteps boarded the ship, followed by footsteps she did not recognize. He and whatever ally he had from Imleach was coming to her rescue.

Pride burned for her hometown. That Corwynn would stand with someone from her hometown was a source of pride. It would take a man from Imleach to stand against whatever odds. What could she do to ensure they knew she was there? As she was, a rope linked her bound ankles through her tied wrists. The rope that linked her bonds also linked to some sort of support behind her. She had some give in the rope, but not much.

But perhaps it was enough.

Destini shuffled on her knees to the side of the hull and deliberately fell onto her shoulder. She kept her neck taut as she fell in an effort to protect her head, not needing another wound that would knock her senseless. A bruised sort of pain bloomed as she fell on her shoulder. Ignorable. She used her feet to pound against the wooden hull and prayed to Jah that Corwynn and his friend from Imleach would hear her.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I'm here! I'm alive!

Bang! Bang! Bang!
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn dropped the officious pretense and headed for the stairs leading below. It was fairly dark down in the hold, but he could hear someone banging around and making noise.

Is it a sailor, or a prisoner?

He hoped it was Destini. Getting her out was the top priority right now.

There was the banging again...an arm or feet on wood.

Corwynn knew it would not be a sailor...no light.

Destini!

"Ho there! Are the rats aboard particularly noisy, or have I found the talented attache MacKenzie? Either way, 'tis Brother Corwynn here..."

He came around some barrels and could sense someone there.

Feeling along the hull he moved until he could hear ragged breathing. Through a gag most like.

"Hello, dear, how are you holding up? he asked as he found her and began to remove the gag.

Destini

Wide eyes accustomed to the darkness made out Corwynn's silhouette, but it was her ears that registered the brother's presence. She was trembling as Corwynn took the gag from her mouth.

A hushed, unimpeded intake of breath filled the silence before she dared to attempt his name. She found she had to lick her lips and swallow before her voice would obey her. When she spoke, her voice was rough, parched. When had she last used her voice? "c-corwynn," she said in a whisper, hesitantly, hardly believing the brother was really there. She blinked, testing to see if his silhouette disappeared. It didn't. He was real. Rescue was a dream that promised to end this nightmare.

She might have laughed at the brother's play on words if she wasn't so parched. How he managed to remain so cheerful in the face of impossible situations was a mystery.

If Corwynn was here, where was Allan and Richard? Where was Pagan? Who was Corwynn's Imleach ally? "Allan? Pagan?" she asked hoarsely.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was relieved to hear a fairly intact voice. Exhausted and parched to be sure, but intact. He took out his flask, thought about it and also took out a water-skin.

"Have a drink from each of these...water for the throat, and whiskey for the soul.

Jerro is above, searching the premises for evidence we can use. Pagan and Allan are sorting out the watch and waiting for us at the Dock that cannot hold ships.

We should consider meeting them there, but I see you are all tied up at the moment."

As Corwynn spoke, he carefully cut the cords holding her arms and feet and massaged some blood back into them.

"Drink up, dear, I have just cleared your calendar a bit."

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro heard Corwynn start to talk to someone below. He couldn't make out the voice well, nor could he hear the responding voice. He figured if he were taking the time to talk to them, then either he had found Destini, or he had been found by an inquisitive, if not too bright, sailor. In either case, Corwynn could handle himself. He knocked on the crates that were sealed shut, in the off chance that d'Argente had sealed someone in them. No answering knock, he went to the next one. The ones that weren't shut contained the usual for sea travel, provisions mostly. If only he could get into the sealed containers to see what was in them.
_________________

O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Destini

Tingles sparked in her hands as if dozens of her old sewing needles jabbed into her skin the moment her bonds were loosed. Her muscles contracted as she braced herself against the pain. Breathe. In. Out. Ignore the pain. Corwynn's massages eased her somewhat. It was enough to take the edge off the pain and clutch the flasks. She greedily gulped at the water skin. Cool water raced down her ravaged throat.

Tentatively sipping at the whiskey, she felt it burn against the corners of her mouth where the gag had been. Swallowing, the fire raced to her soul and took her aback a bit in its punch. A brief bout of coughing took her and she handed the flask back to Corwynn. She took another long draught from the water skin before handing it back as well.

She did feel better.

Destini tried to stand and failed, catching herself on the side of the hull where she'd been tied before sliding back to the floor. Her muscles were cramped after such a long time being bound into an uncomfortable position. She massaged at her legs for several long moments and thought about what Corwynn had said.

Pagan and Allan were alive! The Imleach voice belonged to Jerro. She could hear him above on the deck. Were they alone on this ship? Destini tabled that thought for a moment as another took its place. She looked to Corwynn. "Richard?" Her voice was still soft and weaker than normal, but it was more certain now.
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn felt better about Destini's well-being as he took the whiskey flask back. "Keep the water, dear. Richard bought us time to get out of Imleach. He had the Cardinal's letters, so his chances of clearing up the legal issues were outstanding."

Corwynn began leading Destini towards the exit to the stairs leading top-side.

"We really need to depart dear. You are not a booked passenger on this ship and you would not like the ways sailors collect unpaid fares from pretty young women."

Corwynn stopped them at the bottom of the stairs, listening for any sign of movement...

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent was unsettled. He glared down at his drink which was hardly touched.

Doltpoint and company had gotten into Port Lairge far too quickly for comfort. Hopefully the cleaners had done their job turning the watch to disarray. He needed to get out of this damned port as soon as possible.

Bad day went to worse day when he saw two figures enter the tavern. He recognized Brightpoint and Pagan MacKenzie immediately.

Lovely.

Most surreptitiously the Viscomte flowed from the shadowy corner by the back exit through said exit and into the alley behind. He walked up to where one of his watcher's was.

"You. Please tell Uncle Cortland that the tavern and the shed are likely infested with vermin.

Send one squad to clean out the Tavern, and the other two to burn down the shed at its moorings.

No Prisoners"

The sallow-faced watcher darted down the alley to dispatch orders.

That will cost me 10,000 pounds, thought d'Argent darkly. But alive to get 40,000 was better than dead and nothing.

He moved towards the market-place, in hopes of finding Ivy quickly and making for the secondary ship.

Destini

A rhythmic clink of metal was far in the distance. Her vision, useless in the dark anyway, unfocused as all her attention focused on that sound.

Somewhere above, fishermen were trading their best fishing stories, a wandering merchant shouted her wares, children played a game of tag. Beyond that. Further. She focused on the rhythmic, shimmering clank.

Chainmail and swords. Soldiers were marching somewhere at the other end of the docks. They were coming their way. Friends or foes? A familiar voice gave orders to follow him. It was one of d'Argent's men. She recognized the voice from the old lumber yard.

Destini didn't turn to look at him as her hand reached out to clutch the sleeve of Corwynn's tunic and get his attention. "They know ye're here, Corwynn," she said almost absently, staring into the darkness of the hold as if she could see beyond the walls. In a way, she could. Her hyper-active hearing, over-sensitized by her dark captivity, was weaving a tapestry of what was going on outside.

"They know ye've come fer me."
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn's jaw dropped agape. Now he could barely hear it as well. Lots and Lots of soldiers. Probably a platoon unit.

Damn.

"How did you do that? Right. No need to over-stay our welcome!

How do you feel about a brief swim?"

He began to pull Destini up the stairs behind him.

Pagan

Dices were rolling inside the tavern, and next to the walls there were three or four tables with groups playing cards. On a small podium danced a gypsy girl wearing a minuscule skirt and a narrow shred of cloth covering her breasts. Sailors were tossing coins at her, urging her to strip it off. Pagan marched straight to the bar and ordered a whiskey.

"All right", said a fat bartender with dirty sideburns. "But we don't sell whiskey on credit here. And pound on the table right away before I pour one drop."

Pagan nodded and tossed the coin on the table. The bartender snatched it like a seagull and filled a dirty cup with whiskey, pushed it to Pagan and turned his small, beady eyes at Allan, raising an eyebrow.
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Banner by Raella

Destini

There was no time to explain how she'd done what she'd done. She wasn't even sure she could explain it if she tried. Instead, she agreed, "Aye, I think I can manage a swim."

She followed Corwynn up the stairs, trying her best to keep up as he pulled her behind him. She was nowhere near her full strength, but there was no time for weakness. They didn't have much time before the soldiers spotted them aboard the ship.

Corwynn and Destini emerged from below-decks into the light. Destini cried out in surprised pain as the light flooded her head. Wincing, she bowed her head away from the sun and closed her eyes. The sudden light was blinding after so long in dark captivity. She blinked and squinted, but her eyes refused to adjust. She couldn't see past the brightness. Tears sprung to her eyes as she tried to see, managing only to open her eyes a sliver before the brightness of the light overwhelmed her and forced her eyelids shut again. She needed time for her vision to adjust. Unfortunately, there was no time.

The soldiers were still distant, but coming closer. She could hear them. Trying again to squint past the painful light, she searched for Jerro. Did he know they were in danger?
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro stopped abrubtly as two figures flew out from below in front of him. He had heard a mettalic sound, and had seen the soldiers. He was about to warn Corwynn and whoever he had been talking to (now he knew for sure that the girl with him was probably Destini) when they burst out into the sea air.

"Good, saves me a trip. We've got company. I suggest we abandon ship, and quick-like." Still, he had never swam in the ocean before. Was it like swimming in a lake? He had heard stories of the rip-tide. Oh well, no choice now. They couldn't go down the way they came up. They'd have to go over the side.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn nodded curtly to Jerro and put a cloth scarf around Destini's head to block most of the daylight.

"Come dear... I will lead you. We cannot have you getting the sun in your eyes and being incapacitated. When I spent three weeks in the catacombs under Constantinople, I almost passed out from the daylight on exit."

He led the small group to the side and began to help Destini over the rail. He said in a most jaunty-we-are-on-holiday tone...

"Come friends! It is bath time!"

Destini

So soon after being released from her bonds, the sudden binding around her eyes frightened her. Panic raised in her chest at being constrained and she almost instinctively fought against Corwynn without even thinking. It was Corwynn's gentle words that stayed her from using all the skills she'd been taught against him.

Instead, she followed his guiding hand, realizing slowly that she could still see through the mesh of the cloth, however impartially. She used the moment of climbing over the rail to take her first look at the man that was certainly Jerro. He was slighter in form than she'd expected but seemingly nimble in the way he moved. He was also careful, he'd seen the soldiers she'd mentioned to Corwynn.

The thought of soldiers reminded her they had to leave quickly. Destini positioned herself at the rail and followed Corwynn's lead. Letting go of the rail, she dropped into the ocean.
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Jerro_oconnor

Before jumping into the ocean himself, Jerro took one last look towards the oncoming soldiers. They were almost on top of them now, but not one warning yell had been heard yet. Odd... Hopefully that just meant they haven't been seen yet. Not giving them an opportunity to see them, Jerro leaped over the handrail, careful not to land on the others. He had one moment to think that this probably should have had more thought put into it before he hit the water with his outstretched arms. The rest of him followed suit, and he was entirely submerged. After a few seconds, he hit the surface again. He spun around in the water, trying to find Corwynn and Destini.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stepped back out of the tavern when he heard the sounds of marching feet.

There was no good reason to do so

besides instinct.

He flattened himself against the large barrel designed to catch rainwater outside the tavern doors.

that was instinct.

He notes the soldiers who were not soldiers.

damn

Mercenaries

No reason he should know that but he did

Basic instinct.

Crossbow came up, long-knife at the ready, he waited for Pagan so that they could ambush the back of the unit.

Wherever they were headed did not bode well for Jerro, Corwynn, or Destini.

All Instinct.

Pagan

Pagan saw from the corner of her eye how Allan backed away from the tavern and out of the door. Pagan had a hunch that Allan's reason for doing so was not the low quality of the establishment, at least not primarily. She shrugged, poured the contents of the cup down her throat and followed Allan outside.

She noticed Allan behind a huge barrel with a crossbow aimed at a group of soldiers marching towards the docks. Who were they? Marines? Something about how they moved made her doubt that, and they most certainly weren't part of that little NMA regiment that were positioned in Port Laírge either.

Pagan crouched by Allan's side, drawing her sword slowly, careful not to warn the soldiers with the characteristic sound that comes when a sword is drawn fast from the sheath. She gave Allan a determined nod to communicate that she understood those soldiers were not what they presented themselves to be.
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan saw Pagan's nod and waited for her to be ready.

There were ten soldiers out on the street, 30 yards distant. They were behind a second unit that was already arriving at a ship at the end of the docks.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Brightpoint whispered, " That has to be d'Argent's men going to prevent a rescue or to kill our people down there. Follow my lead."

Allan shouted out in a commanding voice

"HALT! DROP YOUR WEAPONS NOW! YOU ARE SURROUNDED! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND KICK THEM AWAY FROM YOU WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!

DROP YOUR WEAPONS NOW OR WE WILL SHOOT!"

He prepared to fire if they did not immediately comply.

Destini

The salt water stung at the open cuts on her wrists and ankles. She tried to ignore it. The only way to make the burning of salt in the wounds stop was to get to shore.

Treading water, her fingers fiddled with the tongue of her cloak clasp. It was a miracle her cloak had stayed with her this long. Now, in the water, she abandoned it in favor of ease in swimming.

The bulky cloak's absence made swimming to shore a much easier task. Through the mesh in the cloth about her eyes, she could see Corwynn's intended direction and followed in his wake. Halfway to shore, she heard a familiar voice shouting orders to someone - or group of someones. Allan. What was he doing? Was he taking on all those soldiers on his own? Surely not! Even if Pagan was beside him, they didn't stand a chance against those numbers.

Or maybe he had found d'Argent and was putting the viscomte under arrest?

She needed to know what was happening. Even if her eyes weren't overly-sensitive to light right now, the angle they were at in relation to the pier did not provide any view at all to what was happening above. Destini altered her swimming stroke in order to keep her ears above the water. It slowed her progress to shore some, but right now, her ears were her eyes.
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Pagan

Pagan glanced at Allan nervously. What was he going to do? There were ten - or twenty - against two! It was a nasty situation. The unit of ten soldiers closest to them stopped and looked around, confused. The ones approaching the ship either didn't hear them, thought it was not meant for them or simply didn't care because they continued towards the ship at the end of the docks without slowing down. There was a few seconds before one of the soldiers awoke and nudged his closest neighbor.

The team leader turned towards the tavern and stared at the direction where Allan's voice had emanated from. His glaring eyes seemed to be glowing with red hatred.

"It's a bloody bluff! There's no way we can be under any kind of siege! Not this fast, and we would have spotted them!"
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan could see the first unit to reach the boat milling around with torches. Were they setting it ABLAZE?!

"We have to give them time to get her out...hopeless or not!"

Allan took careful aim at the fellow who had spotted the bluff and put a bolt between his eyes. He reloaded in seconds and took out another who had fancy chain mail similar to the Leader.

They would be on him before he could load again so he dropped the crossbow and leaped into the fray with a smooth drawing of long-knives as he went.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was swimming hard, trying to keep up with Jerro and keep Destini mostly in tow. Things got easier after she ditched the cloak.

"Not much farther!" he called out, wanting to lift her spirits.

He could now hear boots, many boots stomping around the ship a few dozen yards away.

Was that smoke? Were they torching the ship? That cargo would make a very loud noise soon if they were.

Best not be anywhere near it.

--Richard.grimthorn

Richard Grimthorn sat atop his horse like the bloody king of all England and stared down at the piers with a look of utter disbelief. He had arrived, fully rested and fed, to the gates of Port Lairge only to find a leaderless rabble of town watchmen and women milling about uncertainly. It had taken time to order them into something that vaguely resembled a militia. He'd had to show the paper the soldier in Imleach had given him to get the task done. But, at long last, he rode onto the docks with his cavalry and infantry at his side. He arrived in time to see Brightpoint foolishly leap into a fray of soldiers. "Good grief!" he remarked to no one in particular and rolled his eyes. He spurred his horse into action and led the town militia to Brightpoint's and Pagan's defense.

Removing his two throwing daggers, he sent them flying into two soldiers about to cut Brightpoint down where he stood. Dismounting beside the arch-deacon, he remarked, "Really, Brightpoint! It is a wonder you're still alive at all!" Grinning, he drew his sword to fight beside him.

Pagan

The moment Pagan saw a bolt sinking into the team leader's forehead she leaped from behind the barrel and started charging towards the soldiers. Another one fell down but the other eight were rushing at her. Blades were flickering in their hands. Pagan threw herself aside and swung her sword. A fierce scream echoed in her ears. She could see how one of the soldiers staggered back holding his stomach. Then she felt a sharp pain on her arm and almost dropped her sword. Pagan was fierce with fear and rage. Her huge kick hit a target, giving her some room to move. She felt how a blade graced her knee. She swung blindly, and a sword accompanied by a few fingers were flying through the air. Another kick, another spin to dodge a blade that would have killed her. She didn't have the time to register or understand what was happening all around her. One soldier was perching on his knees and waving back and forth. Somebody charged at her again. A blade rushed deviously from below towards Pagan's belly. Pagan stepped aside, spinned halfway around and swung a fierce blow of her sword to someone's arm, cutting it off completely. A scream of pain, Pagan aimed at the voice and felt her blade sinking into a flesh. Hard pain on her belly and Pagan flew back staggering. Had she been mortally wounded? There was no time to check as somebody was once again rushing towards her. Pagan waited until the soldier was close enough before kicking him to where she thought his kneecap was. Another scream, another swing, another spin, something hit her and...

Darkness.
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Jerro_oconnor

After he found out that everyone was relatively safe, he swam towards the shore like The Nameless One were chasing him. He was almost to the shore when he turned around and looked at his comrades. Destini and Corwynn were both upright and swimming in the right direction.

Good.

Sounds of fighting and smell of smoke.

Not so good.

How would they get Destini through a battle when she was all but blind? He didn't relish the thought at all. He had ditched his spear before bluffing their way on the ship, so he was completely unarmed. He wasn't sure about Corwynn, but he probably was the only one in fighting condition right now.

Still not good.

If there were ever time for a miracle, now would be it.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Destini

Taste of salt water.

Smell of smoke. Crackle of fire.

Thumping boots on hollow boards. Clatter of plate mail. Shimmer of ring mail. Jingle of spurs. Thunder of horse hooves. Whinney of horses. Low ringing clash of swords. High ringing sounds of knives. Twang of crossbow strings. Cries of pain. Thump of bodies.

Beneath it all, the soothing, rhythmic crash of the ocean upon the beach. The tide was coming in.

With Corwynn's help, she made it to the beach. Her bare feet sunk into the warm sand. Trickling water dripped from their clothing onto the sand. Using this sound, she could tell exactly where Corwynn and Jerro were even without seeing them.

A new sound, quiet, almost lost in the roar of the incoming tide and the burning crackle of flames. A voice trying to remain unheard on the burning ship, talking to an ally of his. Destini cocked her head to one side, listening. A low response, a shuffle of heavy boots across the gangplank, more than two. "We've been spotted. They're comin' fer us." She spoke so softly it was almost ominous.

She listened further. The strain of a bow string and the heavy notch of a quarrel, too heavy to be a longbow. "A crossbow." Two successive metalic grating sounds. "Two blades." Thud against the ground in time with footfalls. "A staff." There were three more, but they either hadn't drawn their weapons yet, were carrying weapons that made no sound, or were being especially careful. She conveyed this to her companions with the words, "Three others."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan never saw where Richard came from. The man was just there. he said something smarmy, but it rolled off.

"They've got her over there."

Pointing at the end dock.

Time slows

6 soldiers still standing after Pagan takes out two.

Two down from initial crossbow action

Close with soliders, 2 seconds.

Left knife switched backwards and slid across throat of soldier number 6 and into right eye socket of soldier number 5. Elapsed time 3 seconds.

Block slash, parry thrust from Soldiers 4 and 3. 3 seconds.

Flick slash neck arteries of soldier 4. spin around keeping falling body between self and thrust of soldier 3. 2 seconds.

Gut thrust into soldier 3, close and lift with a three-quarter turn of blade. release corpse. 5 seconds.

Headbutt soldier 2 and while he is stunned leg-sweep. Knee-drop onto prone soldier, snapping back. 5 seconds.

roll and lunge upwards towards soldier 1, scissor cut to throat with both long-knives. 4 seconds

Assess immediate danger. Pagan unconscious but alive. Second unit involved with setting ship ablaze--not immediate factor. Turn back to Richard. 17 seconds.

Elapsed time 41 seconds.

Time sped up again for Allan and he held his long-knives at his sides.

"We need to get her off that damned ship."

Pagan

When Pagan slowly came back to her senses, she didn't know where she was or what had happened. That was actually a normal way for her to wake up, so she didn't make the amateur mistake and panic, but instead lied there with her eyes shut. The memories would come, at least some of it. The worst thing she could do is open her eyes.

At first all there was was the pain. A dull throbbing pain inside her head. That was normal. But then there was other kinds of aches too. Sharp pain on her arm, on her leg and on her belly. That was uncommon. Had she been on a fight? Pagan frowned slightly and immediately wished she hadn't done so.
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Banner by Raella

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn fought off the soldiers coming for Brightpoint's back. It seemed the arch-deacon didn't need any help watching his front. Grimthorn shouted instructions to the town militia who adequately maneuvered the soldiers that had survived the intial attack backwards away from where the battle had begun. The battle amongst them continued apace, though closer to the burning ship now. They now had a little breathing room to assess the situation. He looked to the burning ship Brightpoint had indicated. So, the lady Destini was aboard there? Glancing about the scene, he spied Colonel Pagan on the ground, seemingly unconscious. "It seems your lady is not the only MacKenzie in need of assistance, Brightpoint." He knelt down on one knee to see how severe the colonel's wounds were. He was not a healer by any stretch of the imagination, but even he knew a battlefield was no place for one to recover.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was running out of steam. Sod all, swimming in full kit. Anyway, he felt sand and gravel under him and stood up. OK, he crouched. Badly aimed bolts from a couple crossbows ricocheted around them. He helped the others onto the shore and behind a sand bar.

"We may not be able to hold them all off , because--"

GAROOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!

A billowing ball of flame and shattered wood tossed soldiers, barrels, ropes, the odd cannon, and various detritus high into the air.

Corwynn was flattened by the shock wave, and thought he saw the others on their backs as well.

A ringing in his ears warned of temporary deafness from the shock wave.

Those bloody morons had set off the magazine on the ship.

Corwynn hoped his friends had not made it to the ship yet....

Destini

One summer's eve in Imleach, she had stared up at the clouds after a day of shillelagh training with Oddman, Pagan, and Zanditin. The cool evening mixed with the warmth of the day and a storm rolled in from the West. Dark, angry clouds blocked out the sun and gave the forbidding feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

It had.

Less than one month after that day, the war with Springtime had taken its toll on them all. Nothing had ever been the same after that.

As the buzzing faded in her ears, she realized it was not storm clouds she was seeing, and this was not the summer sky of Imleach more than a year ago. This summer sky was over a harbor. This summer sky held a plume of smoke. Dark, rolling, angry billows laced with traces of fire blocked out the sunlight. The resulting aftershock had knocked her backwards and the cloth from her eyes. So long as the smoke remained thick over the sun, she could see clearly. How much time did she have before the sunlight returned? She flipped herself over onto her stomach and did a mental check for injuries. Her head throbbed where she'd been injured in her earlier escape attempt. She must have hit it again in the explosion. All other injuries were either pre-existing or so minor they didn't even register.

Corwynn had protected her behind the sandbar before the explosion, but had he been able to get Jerro and himself to relative safety? She sat up slowly, carefully, and looked about. Smoke enveloped the scene. It stung at her eyes and lodged in her throat. She blinked past it, searching for Corwynn and Jerro, listening. Many of the particles in the air absorbed or distorted sounds.

She made to stand and search the ground for silhouettes of people, but the first thing she came across as she struggled to her feet was a knife. Taking the weapon as a sign from Jah, she took it immediately and held it at the ready, carefully watching her smokey surroundings for allys ... and enemies.

(ooc: the remembered event did occur in what was then Destini's home thread in Imleach over a year ago.)
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro rolled onto his back. The explosion had lifted him a couple of feet up the beach and onto his head. Slowly rolling it, he gladly realized nothing was broken. Also that, due to lack of noise and lack of sight even with his eyes open, he was not dead yet. Miracles hurt a lot. Looking around, he realized that some of the cargo in the closed up boxes were probably explosive. Good thing they had gotten off of the ship while they could.

He wanted to groan and lie there for a while, but he couldn't do that. He was already beginning to hear again, though it was fuzzy around the edges, so to speak. He picked himself up and began to look for the others. And hopefully a weapon too.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Next thing Pagan realized was that she was lying somewhere outside, in a gutter most likely. Great. Thank Jah it was summer. What had happened?

Then the memories came... Destini... d'Argent... Caine... Port Laírge... the battle! She couldn't remember much of it, it was all just a chaotic blur of screams, blood and fear, but she did remember at one point getting a hit in her abdomen. Her stomach! Terrible images from the past arose in her mind - people lying down on the healer's table for hours on a hot summer's day in the grips of ever intensifying, unbearable pain as their stomach swell like a bread in the oven of the boiling gases inside, waiting for death as the healers couldn't do anything but try to ease the pain and hope the death would be merciful and take them soon...

Would that happen to her now? Pagan opened her eyes and saw Richard bent over her. She tried to think of a humorous wisecrack but nothing came to mind, and she couldn't hide the desperate fear of death and growing panic from her eyes. Almost reluctantly her hands slipped down to inspect the wound.

She found out that it was only about five inches long and not deep at all. Pagan could have cried of relief, but bit her lip, not wanting to reveal any weakness to Richard. She sat up with a puzzled look. How was this possible? She remembered how the force of the impact had been strong enough to throw her back. It should have gutted her, if not cut her in two!

Pagan inspected further and drew out her steely hipflask. And there it was - a clearly visible dent where the sword had struck first. If the hit had been direct it would have gone straight through the flask and crushed her hip, but the impact had been diagonal so the sword had slipped off the flask and made a relatively harmless wound to her side after the flask had absorbed most of the impact. Finally Pagan could collect herself and flashed Richard an insolent, reckless grin. Hoping that Richard hadn't seen her inner terror she smirked, waving the dented flask at him:

"Well, this proves da was right claiming that whiskey is the key to a long and healthy life! Wanna have a little nip?"

And then it came - GAROOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!! The sound wave of the explosion struck her right back to the ground, and she couldn't hear anything except a loud whistle inside her head. It just kept ringing and ringing.
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stood up, not really understanding why he was lying down.

And then.

He saw it.

A gout of flame and smoke propelling high into the Air above Dock Four.

Men and equipment and wood, and Jah knew what else flying everywhere.

Nothing left of the top of the stricken ship.

The One Destini was on

And it was now a raging inferno.

Allan was sprinting but did not remember starting to run.

And would someone shut-up that idiot who was screaming?!?! Then Allan realized it was his own voice.

"NOOOO DESTINI!!!!!!!!!"

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn looked around and saw that Destini and Jerro were stirring. Dazed, but seemingly undamaged. He was so very glad he had got them down behind that sand bar.

Rising shakily, Corwynn went over to the others, scratching at an odd itch in the meat of his right shoulder.

"Oh dear. I will have to find a tailor as I seem to have ripped my tunic a bit."

He sat down heavily, trying not to jar the two foot long splinter of ship's rail that had impaled his shoulder.

"This will rather leave a mark, I think...."

--Richard.grimthorn

Because he had been kneeling next to the colonel, the shock from the ship had knocked him over, but not down entirely. His ears rang with an infernally annoying sound. Past that, he heard a startling anguished cry from Brightpoint. He stood, grateful he could do so, and made out a silhouette racing through the smoke toward the inferno of what was left of the ship at dock four.

Good grief! The lady Destini had been aboard. Something inside him sunk as he recognized she was certainly dead. Brightpoint was running into danger for nothing. "Brightpoint! Are you mad?!" Grimthorn shouted through the smoky air. He'd be killed for certain if he went in there. With surprising speed and agility for his form, Grimthorn raced after Brightpoint and caught up to the arch-deacon before he could reach the raging conflagration. Caring nothing for the consequences, he took a firm hold of Brightpoint's tunic and roughly pulled him back. "What the Hell are you playing at?!" Grimthorn shouted at the other man, trying to get through to him past the welling loss in those eyes. "You cannot go in there! You'll be killed!"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"I can't....

She can't be...

Dammit..

Richard!"

Allan flailed about for words, but they all seemed to melt into the shadows of the darkness tightening down over his field of vision.

With tremendous effort, Allan turned away from the raging inferno.

"Colonel Pagan? Is she all right?"

Destini

Hearing Corwynn, she turned and drew a sharp intake of breath when she saw his injury. She put the knife in her belt where it would be safe and went to his side. "Corwynn!" she gasped, kneeling beside the injured brother.

Jerro was a few feet away, stirring, but not yet up. Jah, let him not be injured too, she prayed silently.

"We will have to remove this an' field dress this wound," she said, even though she was sure he knew that already. The cloth that had previously covered her eyes lied near them. Until the smoke cleared and the sun returned, she wouldn't need it. Right now, Corwynn needed a bandage. At least, he would as soon as they removed the wooden spike from his shoulder.

"I once helped dress a similar wound fer Allan once. Although, I admit, 'twasnae as large as this," she said to him, eyeing the wound anxiously. "But at least we can be fairly certain yer wound isnae poisoned." She grinned wryly at the brother.
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--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked back toward the colonel. She had been offering him a drink before the explosion. He hadn't had time to respond to her. Then he was pulling Brightpoint back from certain danger. Hoping Brightpoint would not be so daft as to try to make a run for the burning ship again, he turned back to where the colonel still lay. He kept an eye on the arch-deacon over his shoulder as he walked. Would he be alright without Destini now that the lady was undoubtedly dead?

Colonel Pagan's flask lay a few feet from her. Grimthorn scooped it up and placed it back in her hand. "Easy, colonel," he said as he helped her to sit up.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn tried to hide the wince as Destini helped him.

"I don't feel any signs of poison, but not even d'Argent would be sly enough to put poison in a ship's rail just in case it blew up all over his enemies."

He gazed off through the smoke a moment.

"I hope that blast did not get any of our friends. No one on or near the dockside of that ship could have survived. Good job we were already safely away."

He forgot himself and gave one of his little shrugs, which lanced fire along his shoulder.

"Damn!

We'll need to get that damn splinter out before it cuts anything important.

Don't suppose you'd hand me a flask from my pack, would you dear? I do not feel quite up to wrangling it."

Destini

Despite Corwynn's attempts to hide his pain, her performer's ability to read her audience saw through it. Whiskey might fortify him enough for the task at hand. The flask had fallen to the side of Corwynn's pack. At length, she found it and twisted the cap open for him. She placed the flask in his hand not affected by the injury in his shoulder and waited for him to drink.

She re-positioned herself to an angle where she would have enough leverage to pull the splinter out, but paused before beginning. Her gaze drifted to the burning ship and the smoke still billowing from its massive form. Past that smoke was Allan, Pagan, and probably Richard. Were they alive? She listened, but even hyper-sensitivity and a musician's auditory skill gained her nothing but the sounds close to her. Like a thick fog, the smoke masked every sound beyond a twenty foot radius. She could only see ten feet. Her heart ached to know if Allan was alive. "Jah only knows if they live," she said absently without turning her gaze away from the smoky wall of uncertainty.

With great effort, she turned back to the task at hand. "Brace yerself, brother. This willnae be pleasant. On the count o' three.

"One," Destini wrapped her hand around the piece of deck-rail.

"Two," Her bare feet dug into the beach sand and found suitable traction to offer enough leverage.

"Three," In one motion, she pulled the splinter free from his shoulder.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

A sudden thought struck Allan like a bolt out of the blue sky.

"Destini could have been held down in the damp hold below the water line.

She could be down there waiting to burn to death!

"DAMN!" he exclaimed as he turned and started sprinting towards the burning ship again.

Pagan

Pagan's ears were still whistling and her head spinning when she felt someone grasping her hand. If it had been an enemy, she wouldn't have had the strenght to fight back, but it was just Richard. She let Richard help her sitting up and place the flask on her hand, head spinning like she had just jugged down a fifth of whiskey. The infernal whistle in her ears kept ringing. Pagan shook her head and tried to focus her gaze on whoever was standing behind Richard. Allan. It was Allan. One look at Allan's anguished eyes and Pagan forgot her exhaustion, her pain, even the whiskey on her hand.

"Desti?" Pagan asked. She could hear her own voice, but it was as if it came from a bottom of a deep well. "Is she...?"

Allan opened his mouth and uttered a few words. Pagan couldn't hear him, but she understood all she needed to understand when Allan turned and started running towards the burning ship. Feeling no pain anymore, Pagan bounced on her feet and ran after him.
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--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn heard Brightpoint's curse behind him and swung his head around in time to mutter a curse of his own before chasing after the dolt of an arch-deacon again. Brightpoint had a greater head start on him this time and Grimthorn began to worry he might not catch up with him in time to stop him from diving into the harbor filled with burning debris.

For some reason, the face of that ancient arch-canon he'd murdered came to his mind and he realized that if Brightpoint died, Grimthorn may as well resign himself to death. Via the Red Duke or Faheud, Grimthorn would die unless someone vouched for him. Brightpoint was the only one alive who could and would do it. Brightpoint was Grimthorn's ticket to staying alive. He would not lose his ticket so easily!

Grimthorn found a burst of speed inside him and caught up to Brightpoint as the smoke was growing almost too thick to see him. This time, Grimthorn didn't jerk him back with a tug on Brightpoint's tunic. No, this time, he wrapped an arm around the arch-deacon's waist and used his own weight to fling him backwards away from the burning hull. "She's gone, Brightpoint!" he yelled at the other man. Grimthorn paused to breathe a few times, but he kept all his attention on the man determined to kill himself. "If you jump in there, you condemn yourself to die. Just like she did!"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro looked around through the smog. He found a pair of silhouettes in what looked like a battle. His hearing was still messed up a bit, so he couldn't even hear the sounds. The smaller, slimmer shadow, probably a woman, had just stabbed the larger one, probably a man, in the shoulder. Was Destini in trouble? Did one of the attacking soldiers make it out, and stab Corwynn? Whoever it was, they needed help. "Hey!" Jerro shouted towards the two and charged... stumbled... towards them.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

"JERRO!" shouted Corwynn as he saw their ally running at full speed towards them ready to kill.

"GOOD TO SEE YOU SURVIVED THE BLAST, man....

DROP THE WEAPON Before the Feisty Irish woman perforates you. Look what she did to me"

Pagan

Pagan ran towards the burning ship, as determined to save Desti as Allan. But when she reached the edge of the pier, she stopped her momentum and turned to look for Allan who had been apprehended by Richard. Pagan, coming from Imleach, was not that good of a swimmer in any case and all she could see down there was all sorts of burning stuff and a hell of a lot of water. Besides, she had no idea what Allan had in mind - did he really think Desti could have somehow survived if she was down there somewhere? Pagan needed at least a rough action plan before diving into a certain death.
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Destini

Destini didn't have to look back over her shoulder to hear the steps in the sand. She spun and reached for the recently pulled piece of the ship's rail as her weapon of choice. The knife in her belt was fine, but it was not as versatile as the broken ship railing. While, at two feet long, the length of wood was not quite as long as a shillelagh, it had the ability to act as one. She was in the middle of a standard defensive move that Oddman had taught her when Corwynn began to speak loudly and warn their attacker - apparently Jerro - off his attack.

She held her defensive posture a moment. Her only immediate response to Corwynn was a look over her shoulder and a raise of her right eyebrow. Jerro and she had not formally met. By formal standards, they were still strangers. If Corwynn told the lad that she was an enemy, Jerro might have no qualms with running her through with whatever weapon Corwynn had said he had. She made a mental note to address Corwynn about her grievances at a more opportune moment.

As the figure drew closer, Destini swung her makeshift shillelagh at Jerro's jaw, but had no intention to strike. One of Pagan's letters had said that she had met Jerro in the NMA. Hopefully, because she had been trained in shillelagh moves by Oddman (an NMA officer), he might recognize the moves and know her as friend. Realizing he had no weapon, she stopped her attack at Jerro's jaw line, two inches before she could make contact.

"I presume ye're Jerro," she greeted him with a subtle smile that could only be seen at the corners of her mouth and in the sparkle of her eyes. "Any friend o' Pagan an' Corwynn is a friend o' mine."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan felt the pain of the bone-jarring landing but ignored it.

Allan heard the truthful and appropriate counsel of Richard and discarded it.

He nodded, stopped fighting and got up to squat, holding the cross bow he had retrieved.

Gone.

Why did Jah let the brightest flames go out?

Brightpoint stayed down low...thinking thoughts best shared with no one else, and certainly not himself...

Pagan

Pagan observed as Allan squatted down in desperation and understood what it meant. She had seen that gesture too many times before to ignore it. It meant Destini was gone.

Her ears stopped ringing.

Suddenly it was like somebody had thrown a red veil to cover her eyes.

d'Argent and his bitch were still alive... but not for long.

All that mattered now was vengeance... the bitter-sweet taste of vengeance. The taste of blood.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro finished the last few stumbling steps and came inches within getting his jaw knocked off. The only that really saved him was that he overbalanced himself past where she would've swung... had she completed the swing anyway. Drop the weapon? He quickly searched himself for something that even looked like a weapon. Apparently, he had picked up a piece of railing similar to the one in Destini's hand in his mad dash. He didn't even remember picking it up. He quickly shoved it into his belt.

"So yer this Destini person I've heard so much about?" Jerro said over the ringing in his ears. "Pleased to finally meet ye! Wish it could've been under better circumstances. Like a party or somethin."

Any friend of Pagan's... Oh no. "With all this commotion around, Pagan and Allan are sure to have heard about it by now. I say we regroup with them and run like there's no tomorrow." Because if they didn't get out of here soon, there probably wouldn't be.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Destini

Destini lowered her 'weapon' and inclined her head in a nod that might have been a curtsey of pleased-to-meet-you if they had been at a party. "I agree. We should find the others. But I'm afraid runnin' is well out o' the question fer the moment." She held up the sharp, broken end of the ship's rail, the one covered in Corwynn's blood.

Dropping the ship's rail on the ground, Destini turned back to Corwynn and knelt beside him. The knife she had found came in handy for cutting open the sleeve of the torn tunic enough to get at the wound. She opened the water-skin Corwynn had given her inside the hold of the ship and poured water onto the wound to clean it before she bandaged it. She then threaded the cloth into the hole in his tunic and began to wrap it around his wounded shoulder. If she pulled a bit tight on the bandage, well, certainly, it was a mistake and not a point of mild Irish vengence for Corwynn's stating she had been the culprit behind this wound.

When she was finished, she stood. "Let's be away an' find the others. Let's get out o' here."
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--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Mistress of Money and Purveyor of Purchases!

Dear Diary!

So!

I'm all in the process of purchasing the most uber cool black lace bodice which would, you know, totally enhance my assets, when Lo! This big explosion totally rocks my world! And I'm all, "OMJ!" and stuff! So, I and about fifty of my closest rubber-necking friends like, totally rush outside to see what in Hells bells has just happened! And we see, like, this OMJ huge fireball ascending into the sky like the Nameless One Himself decided he'd had enough of Port Lingerie and decided to burn it down himself!

No, Really. I am so not kidding!

So, I'm all-like playing it cool and stuff in the yeah-I've-totally-seen-a-fireball-before kinda way, except I was totally being a poser. But no one seemed to care anyway, so it really didn't matter.

And then!

I kid you not!

One minute I'm all staring at the sky, like, you know, not in gape-mouthed awe like the rest of the people on the street. And, you know, nobody, and I mean nobody is around me. And the next minute, Vickie's all in my grill and stuff and goes, "Come, Lenore! We have to go."

And I'm all, "Vickie! My name is Ivy!"

And he's all, "Whatever." and pulls me along.

So I'm like, "What happened?"

And he's just pulling me through the streets of Port Lingerie without another word. I know! Rude much?!

But then!

Lo!

We reached the docks and that's when I totally saw what was burning! It was the ship that Vickie and I were supposed to be on! And I'm all "OMJ! My first round of shopping was on that boat!" And Vickie's all ignoring me and stuff. Because I totally know he heard me.

Then I see we're not headed for our first boat, we're headed for a different boat on the other end of the pier. So I'm all eloquent and stuff as I go, "Oh," because I totally just got it.

Vickie's all clever and stuff, booking a second boat in order to throw off Schoolboy and the Hostel Hottie and the Nameless One knows who else! So, now I'm all totally following him toward the second ship.

Daddy Dukie here we come!

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn grinned through his grimace and smiled at Destini.

"My thanks for your tender care in what turned out to be a very tight spot, Miss MacKenzie...."

He turned to Jerro, "We'd best get a move on and skirt the damaged areas. If fires spread to the warehouses and there is more powder and whiskey in there we could all be well beyond the tender ministrations of Nurse MacKenzie!"

Corwynn took the lead around the smoky area and into the alleyway that ran behind the warehouses along the docks.

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent decided he had suffered quite enough complaining for one day. One very very bad day. He flowed around to face Ivy.

"Let me tell you a thing.

If your shopping loot is particularly important, certainly we can just walk through a large battle, climb aboard a ship burning to the waterline and fry like the MacWench girl...

OR... we could elect to survive, get on the next boat out, and collect forty thousand pounds from the Red Duke.

Pick now and make if fast...."

The Viscomte did adore his eccentric little Ivy, but by the burning backside of the Nameless One's darkest sea-hag this girl could try the patience of a stone...

--The_finisher

Being the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Put-Upon Mistress to the Dark Lord Vickie!

Dear Diary,

K! So! Vickie is all in my grill and stuff about not wanting to go back to the boat and get my things. And I kinda undertood that and all. For Lo, who really wants to step into that heat! I mean seriously! Do you know the kinda frizz that would put in my fantabulous, sleek, chique hair! I mean, I totally spent like three hours on it this morning! Nevermind the entire evening where it was all up in papers and stuff. For Lo, dude! Beauty is pain. So, step off!

But still, there are certain kinds of pain that will undo beauty rather than enhance it. Stepping into the firey inferno is only something I want to do when I meet the Nameless One, K? Thanx.

So!

I'm all like, "K," to Vickie and besides, I totally still had all my second round of shopping with me and stuff. So I'm like, totally ready to beat feet outta there. So I'm all, "You know my skin can't take this heat, Vickie. So, let's, like, you know, scram!"

So, like before, you know, he was dragging me to the boat, now I'm, like, totally dragging him. No, seriously! I have no intention of sticking around a fire that's only going to undo all the pain I went through to look so hella fine. No, really.

Just then! The captain's crying that he's going to leave the dock. So I turn to Vickie with a grin that might have done the sun an injustice, if, you know, I cared. And I'm all like, "We can haz outta here, Vickie!"

And with a little squee of delight, I skipped toward the boat. I totally hope Vickie's following me, For Lo! That would be embarrassing to explain to Daddy Dukie. No, really! You've never met daddy in a bad mood ... oh, wait. You've been with me since I was like eight, haven't you, Diary? Yeah, maybe you do know ... yeah ... so, let's try to avoid making him mad, Kthanxbye!!11

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn placed a supportive hand on Brightpoint's shoulder. He understood how Brightpoint felt. Indeed, he shared his feelings. The lady MacKenzie had been a fascinating woman. But getting out of here alive was more important than anything. Given Brightpoint's current status, he doubted the arch-deacon would be able to make the decisons that would save their lives. Grimthorn had the sudden sinking notion that he would have to be the one to complete the mission.

He looked about the scene and noticed the bartender of the tavern marked dock five was standing outside the tavern and looking out at the scene. Given the smoke and fire, this was not unusal. What was unusual is that this man was not looking at the burning ship. Rather, he was looking at them. Richared looked directly at the bartender, making it certain that he was noticing the bartender's attention. The man suddenly turned and walked back into his tavern. It was as if he were denying he had ever been there to begin with. Quite suspicious.

"Only one tavern lies within view of these docks," he said and indicated the tavern marked dock five. "I think, perhaps, there is a lead to d'Argent's whereabouts therein." He moved from Brightpoint's side and looked to Colonel Pagan. At present, she was the more rational of his compatriots. "Shall we go investigate, Colonel?"

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro and Destini followed Corwynn through the alleyways. "I'm glad that we're all still alive and kickin and all, but quick question? Where are we goin to meet up with Pagan and Allen to let them know we're... well, alive and kickin? I assume that our original rally point is out of the question. Should we just wait outside the gate?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan looked at Richard, then at the tavern and the fat bartender standing in front of it and nodded grimly. "Aye, let's go to ask some questions." At the moment Pagan felt inclined to do more than just ask a few questions - she felt more like killing everyone in her way and burning the tavern down. Determinedly she strode towards the tavern without checking if Richard was following or not. The bartender was looking at her with a contemptuous look in his eyes without any indication to clear out of the way. Pagan punched him straight on the nose. She could clearly here the rustling sound as it broke. The bartender fell back through the door and slumped on the tavern door, howling in agony.

Suddenly all the sounds in the tavern stopped. All the eyes were turned towards the door and the small woman who was standing on the doorway over the injured bartender.

"Anyone who doesn't want to get killed, better clear off the back", Pagan announced calmly, at the moment meaning every word of it. The silence continued perhaps a second or two, then the customers started rising from their seats and rushing towards the back exit. The place got evacuated in a record time.
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--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched the spitfire of an Irish woman with a degree of stunned surprise. Good grief! These Irishers were a rough and tumble sort of people! It certainly commanded respect. Grimthorn followed Colonel Pagan inside the tavern. Once within, he was surprised to find the place emptying save for one young man who tarried in the back doorway as if curious to find out what was going to happen. Grimthorn hurried the boy's escape with a deftly thrown dagger to the doorframe. The boy smartly ran. Grimthorn retrieved his dagger and met the colonel beside the overweight git that called himself the bartender of this establishment. "Well, now," said Grimthorn to the colonel appreciatively. "I usually see that sort of behaviour from Brightpoint. I'm impressed, Colonel." To the bartender he said calmly, "You seem to have yourself a bit of a problem on your hands. Might I suggest cooperation?"

Pagan

"Coobe... cooberatiod?" The bartender spluttered. "She just broke by dose!"

"But at least I left ye with all yer teeth", Pagan replied. "Trust me, with yer ugly mutt a broken nose is actually an improvement. It will make ye look tougher. Ye will thank me fer it later."

Pagan grabbed the man by the breast of his shirt, jerked him up and pushed him sitting on a chair in front of a corner table.

"Ye can start cooperating by offering us drinks on the house. Any objections? Don't feel shy to say so if ye do", Pagan said as she marched behind the bar and chose a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. She returned to the table, pulled herself two chairs, sat on one and stretched her legs on the other while leaning to the table in a very comfortable-looking manner. She waved at Richard to have a seat, pulled a chug out of the bottle and handed it to the bartender. "Here, have a drink. It'll help with the pain."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was not inclined to follow the others into that tavern. From the look of the way she punched out the bartender for blocking the doorway it appeared as though Pagan had the tavern sorted out. Besides Grimthorn was at her back.

He was at a loss...looking up and down the docks there was not a lot of movement now that the flames were smouldering below the water line and water rushing in to douse the ship as it hit the bottom.

A blur of motion to the other side of the docks, down by Dock One...

Two people moving along the edge of his vision.

Allan turned and realized that d'Argent and his trollop were skirting the docks towards a ship.

Like hell.

Allan scooped up his crossbow, loaded it on the run and drew the off-hand long-knife for if things got messy.

The quarry were scrambling quickly along the pier and ignoring the sound of his light footfalls--no way to hide the noise, but it seemed to be going un-noted.

Brightpoint darted up behind them and when the distance was closed to twenty feet stopped and commanded "FREEZE d"Argent! I arrest you in the name of England and Ireland for the Murders of Viceroy, Zanditin, and a score of others.

I advise you to comply, but hope you do not as then I can put a bolt in the back of your head...

Go ahead. Test me..."

He took careful aim at the back of the Viscomte's head...

--Viscomte_dargent

d'Argent froze where he stood, bringing Ivy to a stop also as he was holding her arm.

Slowly he turned to face Brightpoint.

"Still alive.? A pity.

I had hoped you'd show the dignity to be searching that ship on the docks when it went up.

Are you all that is left then?"

The Viscomte's hands rested near his hips, ready to produce and throw daggers at the first opportunity.

--The_finisher

Behold! Herein Lies the Continuing Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Hopeful Future Assassin of The Schoolboy

Dear Diary,

Vickie and I were, like, totally about ready to board the ship that would take us back to Daddy Dukie, when Lo! Schoolboy is like, totally behind us. I might have shrieked a little ... but it was totally not because I was, like, scared or anything. No way! The Finisher's shriek was only out of sheer delight that I might actually get to kill Schoolboy! ZOMJ!

But then! I'm all totally realizing that Schoolboy had a crossbow aimed at Vickie's head. And I'm, like, totally not cool with that. But lo! I saw that Vickie was thinking of killing Schoolboy himself, so I'm all, "Vickie, my little gormet gord, darkness of my life, muffin, can I kill the Schoolboy??!!! Please oh please oh please!!! I'll, like, promise to shine your shoes or something! Ooh! Wait! It can be an early wedding present! Pleeaaase?!!"

K

So

Yeah

I'll be the first to admit it, Diary, I might have gone, you know, a little over the top with my begging, and stuff, but hey! I really wanted to kill the little goody two shoes, poser of a schoolboy! So, if I, like, undignified myself, and stuff, well, yeah.

"Please, Vickie!!!!"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint looked quizzically at the pair before him. So much death and ruination incurred by their hands. He looked up at the ship the quarry had been heading for and noted with pleasure it was preparing to get underway.

He wondered briefly what Destini would have done if she were here.

But she wasn't.

Allan's eyes went cold and the cruel smile that danced at the corners of his mouth would never thaw out the ice in his eyes.

"So, d'Argent, you and you little lady-friend are unquestionably guilty of scores of murders, including two kings.

I should put a bolt through your head and then cut her throat before pushing both of you into the harbor....

I see no reason to waste the time of the busy courts and their attendant gallows..."

--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent sighed. So it had come to this after decades of hard work and secret successes. The Nameless One had a sick sense of humor.

"Fair enough, Brightpoint.

It is, I suppose, easy to be bold with a crossbow pointed at your enemy.

Still, I'd do the same. Cut from the same cloth we are, Brightpoint.

Taught by the same canon.

How is Alberic these days?

Oh wait. Richard Grimthorn killed him for me before he turned traitor.

So let us cut to the end. You are after me. I am the architect of the very successful if I may say so murders of two Kings. Though I have the total lack of English security and a baffling inability of the MacKenzies to force an ounce of antidote into an unconscious king to thank for it.

That said. Take me and leave her be. She is of no interest to you."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's hand did not waver, but his mind reeled in myriad directions.

Alberic?

Richard?

Leave the girl alone?

RICHARD killed Alberic?

The same cloth?

No.

"The same cloth? Hardly, unless your end was drug through the privy. I hate it every time I have to use lethal force. I weigh and measure the hard result of needing to take a life. You murder and maim because you are bored.

And your little tart? She is as bad as you if rumors are half true.

You will not distract me with fluff about Alberic," he lied, " I will attend to you here and now.

I should pull this trigger and end your life here and now.

But that would be too lenient.

You should have to know the pain of losing the fire that warms your eyes.

And so it shall be."

Allan Brightpoint calmly move the crossbow to aim at d'Argent's murderous Fiance's forehead and fired.

--The_finisher

Death. The Final Frontier. These are the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finished.

Dear Diary!

You'll never believe this, Diary! I know, like, for certain that Vickie totally wants me! For Lo! He totally asked Schoolboy to kill him and spare me. I know! It's, like, true love and stuff!

And yet! Alack and Alas!

Schoolboy, like, totally thinks that he's all, like, you know, a good guy and stuff. But he's a total poser! For Lo! Even though Vickie was, like, being heroic and stuff, he pulled the trigger on me! Yeah! I know! Rude much?!

And so! The arrow totally flew through the air and killed me.

I'll wait for you in Hell, Vickie! No, really! I will!

...

OMJ! I, like, totally just realized something!

W00T!!!!!

I get to go meet the Nameless One!! SQUEE!!

--Viscomte_dargent

Viscomte d'Argent roared in rage as he saw the crossbow fire.

"DAMN YOU BRIGHTPOINT!!!!!!!"

He flew his arms out in a savage draw and throw of daggers.

He only saw one of them strike his hated enemy even as his poor Ivy slumped to the ground, killed instantly by the bolt to the head.

There was nothing to do but honor her memory and, as she would have put it SCRAM for the ship.

d'Argent raced along the pier and leaped up onto the gangplank of his ship even as it was lifted. The sails were unfurling and the vessel had started to move along the pier and out towards the harbor.

In scant minutes, it was clear of the dock and the Viscomte could only look back onto the ruins he had wrought, while thinking of the ruins he would set before Brightpoint in the future....

--Ciar_indigo

Suddenly a tall, dark figure rose up from the cabin stairs. The horrendous deformity that was Ciar Indigo's face focused it's hypnotic gaze at Viscomte d'Argent. A soft, melodious voice said:

"I beg your pardon, Sir, but I have no business back in Gort unless I've fulfilled my mission - and that includes feeding your corpse to the fishes. I must admit I'm not terribly sorry..."

Indigo's hands moved like lightnings as they draw two swords, both blades painted black as death...

--Viscomte_dargent

The Viscomte looked on in astonishment and then delight. His voice boomed across the deck.

"Oh, do let us give thanks and praise to the power of the NAMELESS ONE for he beneficent to his loyal and infernal believers.

Yes, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of morons I will not suffer this particular one to live."

Another brace of daggers appeared in d'Argent's hands as his next words caressed the air in a soft whisper.

"This one is for you, Ivy...."

Daggers flew true to the naked exposed throat of the hooded swine in service to Cousin Anto. The Viscomte's tone switched again, this time to disdain dismissal.

"Please consider this formal notice to your employer that he is no longer under the protection of the Red Duke."

D'Argent howled with laughter as he swept up the tall man and hurled him into the sea.

He turned to an astonish crewman nearby and spoke in an eloquent, conversational tone

"Is there a problem Sailor?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan heard a rushing in his ears as the first dagger struck true and the second scattered away across the cobble.

Why was he on the ground?

He just needed to move a bit to avoid pressing the dagger in more deeply.

Why couldn't he move?

Crap.

The poison again.

Dammit.

Destini would never let him hear the end of it if he died by poison in the street.

Darkness....

Destini

Destini walked with Jerro following Corwynn along the back alleys of Port Lairge. As they moved away from the scene of the explosion, the light from the sun filtered through the smoke. It was still bright, but not blindingly so. Her eyes had had time enough to adjust.

Footsteps in an intersecting side alleyway caught her attention and she placed her hand on the dagger's hilt but did not draw. Glancing down the alley, she saw a group of people coming out of the back door of the tavern they were currently passing.

Strange.

Why would tavern patrons use the back door of a tavern rather than the front?

"Brother," she called softly to Corwynn. "What say ye o' this way?" she inclined her head to the back door of the tavern.
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn nodded and waited til the last of the people hurrying out of the tavern were out of sight.

"Let's go in...weapons out...those that have them..."

Looking at his companions, he led the way inside where some shouting could be heard within.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn pulled up a chair to sit where Colonel Pagan had indicated. He smirked at the bartender and his broken nose and was about to take a seat when a voice caught his attention. Good grief! Couldn't the lad he'd scared off with a dagger through the door frame understand that he needed to go away? Grimthorn drew his sword and aimed it at the intruder entering through the back door. A slow smile slid across Grimthorn's face as he recognized the face of their intruder. "Well," he said with a smirk. "It's about time you showed up!"

Pagan

Once the bartender had had a couple of invigorating nips Pagan said:

"All right, then to the business... where's d'Argent?"

The bartender hesitated only a second, but that was enough. Pagan grabbed the man by the breast of his shirt, pulled him in close, clenched her fist threateningly and screamed at his face:

"Where's d'Argent!?"

Right at that moment somebody opted to come back inside. Pagan rolled her eyes, annoyed. Jah, were they really going to make her prove she meant what she had said? But Richard seemed to have the situation under control, so she let him take care of it and didn't let go of the bartender.
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--Brother_corwynn

Predictably Corwynn spoke up first...

"What an amazing surprise to find you in a tavern having a laugh.

We were all outside getting exploded and such and here you two are having a laugh in a tavern?

I should kill you where you stand.

Where is Allan?"

Corwynn was never going to believe this day could end

Pagan

Pagan stared at the people who had just entered the tavern with her mouth open, like she had just seen a ghost. And in a way, she had. She let go of the bartender and stuttered:

"D-desti? Is it ye? Is it really ye? Or have I finally went soft in the head?"
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Destini

Destini followed Corwynn from the alley into the tavern and laid eyes on Pagan for the first time in over six months. Tears sprung to her eyes at seeing the lass she had called friend for well over a year. Even her imposing manner toward the man dressed in a barkeeper's apron wasn't enough to stop the glee from welling in Destini's soul.

"Pagan Lass!" she greeted her best friend in her old, customary manner. Speaking those words again after more than six months was a balm to her soul. Destini grinned with more enthusiasm than she'd had in many, many months.

Pagan's words reached her ears and she laughed ... actually laughed, with true merriment and fervor. "Strictly speakin', lass, with all the whiskey ye drink, ye may be goin' soft in the head after all!" She moved across the tavern floor and pulled her best friend into a tight hug. "I wouldnae have ye any other way!" Releasing Pagan, she looked at her. The months had changed her, but Destini imagined she had changed as well. She grinned at her best friend. "Jah! 'Tis good to see ye, lass!"
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--Brother_corwynn

"Apologies lovelies....but...well

Not to put a slim point on it...

BUT WHERE IS BRIGHTPOINT?!

Richard?!"

Corwynn was getting worried...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked to Corwynn and opened his mouth to make another smart comment when he realized the brother was in no mood for another comment. Corwynn needed answers. Come to think of it, so did Grimthorn. He looked about for Brightpoint, only to then realize the arch-deacon hadn't walked into the tavern behind them. "I -" said Grimthorn, pausing, confused. "I do.not.know ...." Where was Brightpoint?

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro coughed politely to get there attention. "If I could make a suggestion? If d'Argente was goin to be on that ship... ye know, the one we barely made it alive from? Then he'd be holed up somewhere nearby waitin for the red ribbon to be cut. If not cuttin the throat of the one holdin the ribbon. When the ship blew itself up, then he probably fled, like the frenchman he is."

"If Allen was nearby, then he might have ran after him. After all, d'Argente has wronged him the most if anyone. I'd say we should hurry up and find him before he gets himself killed or worse... takes all the credit. He couldn't have gotten too far if ye two are here.". He points to Pagan and Richard. "When did ye get here anyway, Richard? Not important now. What is important is we find him, and quick-like."

He reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle at random. He pulled the cork, put the bottle to his mouth and drained a good deal of it in one swig. "I needed that. Now, who plans on lookin where?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan squeezed her friend as if she was trying to squeeze the life out of her. Her eyes were getting all blurry but not because of the whiskey this time. After a minute or so she released her grip and looked at Desti at arms length, still holding her by her shoulders. These past months had changed Desti a lot, but Pagan realized she wasn't looking so hot either after all the hardships of the past months. It was like the last time she had seen Destini after being away from Imleach a long time, after the Laighean war. That war had forever changed Pagan, molded her into a form that could never change again. Very little had been left of that mischievous, fun-loving party girl she had been before the war. Those had been happier, more innocent times.

And now... now she was even older, with a whole bunch of fresh scars, both to her body and to her soul. And Desti... she had changed too. The winds and currents of history had taken them both into their grips and transformed them into something other than what they had been before. Perhaps it was all meant to happen. Such were the times.

"But... I thought ye were... Allan said... well he didn't say it but I could tell..."

Suddenly Pagan released her grip and became aware of the others in the room.

"Where is Allan?"

She listened to Jerro speak, taking a few swigs out of the bottle while he talked. When he had finished, she said:

"Does anyone here know which dock d'Argent's boat is at? Or what kind of ship it is?"
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Destini

As Pagan looked about the room at all assembled therein, so did Destini. Her blood ran cold when she realized Allan wasn't among them. The worried look on Corwynn's face mirrored her own fears. Laying eyes on the bartender with the broken nose, Destini's fearful, wide gaze turned stony.

A deft flick of her nimble harpist's hands brought the knife to her grasp as she closed the gap between the blade's edge and the bartender's wide throat. "I'm willin' to make the bet that the information ye have isnae worth yer pitiful life. I'm only goin' to ask this once," Pressure on the knife made her point."Once only. Where.Is.D'Argent?"

The bartender stuttered and sputtered. "I bon't know any b'Argent!" claimed the man with the broken nose.

The knife withdrew from the man's neck, only to quickly slash across the back of the man's left hand and return to his throat. "Then perchance ye know o' a Frenchman who plans to leave aboard a ship today."

Still whining and blubbering, the man took a few gasping moments to collect himself before replying, "Alright! Alright! Two ships were subbosed to leabe today. Dat one dat exbloded was one."

Destini nodded. "What's the other ship?" The bartender hesitated, stalling for time. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Too long. A nimble flick of her wrist and the raise of her elbow and the knife moved within an inch from the man's right eye and hovered there. "Where's the second ship!" Destini yelled.

"Dock one!" yelled the bartender at last.

Destini released the man, returned the knife to her belt, and left the tavern with long strides without even looking back. Her gaze moved across the devastation on the port until she found dock one. There was no ship docked at the pier. Anger welled up in her and she was in the process of returning to threaten the bartender further when a form caught her eye.

Blond hair and a brown tunic was lying in the street.

Jah.

Allan.

"ALLAN!"

The cry emanated from her soul in a shout of agony and pain. She was running for him. Bare feet slapped on cobblestones. Her breath caught in her throat. Time turned painfully slow during the long moments it took to reach the prone form.

Reaching him, at last, she turned him over and saw the sinister knife protruding from his chest. "NOoooooo...." She carefully gathered him into her arms and held him. Alive. Still alive. But for how much longer?

"CORWYNN! Someone!! Anyone!" Help. She needed help.

"Stay with me!" she whispered to Allan, running her fingers through his hair. "Please!"
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn followed Destini out of the tavern, a dozen or so steps behind her until she started running. he was surprised at how fast she was able to move given her adventures over the last few days.

He caught up with her after she was already turning Allan over.

Brightpoint had suffered a dagger wound to the chest and seemed to be bleeding copiously.

"Let me help, dear, " Corwynn offered softly as he bent down to examine his friend and associate.

"I need to remove that dagger, but not before I have some herbs and salves to hand."

He took a pouch out of his knapsack and laid out some vials and jars. Slowly putting an orange, sticky salve on a bandage he removed the dagger and immediately compressed the salved bandage onto the wound.

"Good new, there is no wheezing sound which would have meant a collapsing lung. I smell a bitter tang above and beyond the blood, which means a paralytics has been used. The free bleeding means that a mild hemorrhagic poisons was on the blade. Not enough to bleed him out, but I am happy I had some ginseng and alum salve."

Corwynn examined the grooved dagger.

"This weapons is made specifically to deliver various toxins to a target. The green smears here are a paralytic. He is in for an hour or so of what you and Jerro got.

Please help me get him back into that tavern to recover."

Corwynn moved around to help life Brightpoint up for a move into Dock Five.

Destini

Destini's hands and clothes were covered in Allan's blood as she helped Corwynn bandage Allan's wound. Thin trickles of red streamed from the wound and pooled onto the ground without coagulating. She couldn't do much to help beyond swabbing the blood or holding a bandage while Corwynn wrapped the wound and treated it with his herbs, but that he allowed her to help and explained to her what he was doing was a balm to her worries.

She moved to help support Allan as best she could, though Corwynn had most of Allan's weight. Another body caught her attention and she pointed it out to Corwynn. "D'argent's lady didnae escape." Even from the distance, the open, unfocused eyes could be seen. The blood from a crossbow bolt to the head made a strange splash of color on an otherwise black and white picture.

Looking at the young girl, Destini felt a strange sorrow at seeing the dead body of one of her captors. Had she really deserved death? Destini genuflected and murmured, "Requiescat in pacem," under her breath.

Destini turned away and helped Corwynn get Allan back inside the tavern.
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--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stared gape mouthed outside the tavern watching Corwynn and the lady Destini treat and begin to carry Brightpoint back to the tavern. Good grief! That man had to have a death wish for as often as he flung himself into danger! Watching the lady Destini, though, Grimthorn had a guess why Brightpoint was no longer being careful. He had thought the lady was dead. They all had. How she had managed to survive was a miracle. Corwynn and Jerro likely had something to do with that.

Grimthorn held the door of the tavern open for Corwynn and the lady Destini to carry Brightpoint within. Looking out to dock one, Grimthorn decided questions could wait. There was something beside the docks he had to see. Approaching dock one, Grimthorn smirked at the dead trollip lying alone and unmourned in the middle of the street surrounded by a myriad of shopping purchases. Good riddance on that one.

A small, black leather object in the corpse's hand caught his attention. Grimthorn stooped to pick it up. It was a book, and not just any book. Paging though, Grimthorn realised he was holding the traumatized tart's diary. Could be some good information in there. Information enough to trade for his life if Brightpoint insisted on trying to kill himself? Maybe.

Grimthorn tucked away the item and went to join the others inside the tavern.

Pagan

Pagan had wanted to follow Destini and Corwynn outside of the tavern when they went looking for Allan, but had found out that she couldn't. The smell of blood was floating heavily in the air through the door and the small window. Could she really smell it all the way in here or was it Pagan herself that stank of it? She was queasy over the butchery, so queasy that she trembled. So instead of following them outside she went to a dark corner, away from the others and the cruel, revealing light. She didn't want anyone to see her distorted face. She hid in the darkness like an animal, hoping that her soul could regain peace. But when she saw Corwynn and Destini dragging a lifeless-looking Allan inside, she bounced up and was with them on a single leap. The instincts of a trained soldier once again took over and pushed aside everything else:

"What's the matter with him? Is he...?"
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn deftly looked up and finished Pagan's sentence, "poisoned to the gills just like Jerro before and Destini more recently? Aye. We have the bleeding largely stopped, he is breathing OK and there was probably not enough of any of the toxins on the dagger to keep him down for long."

Corwynn looked derisively at the cowering bartender.

"Any new information from that git? We won't learned what happened down the dock for some time I expect. At any rate, Allan took out the little girl assassin-poppet. I wonder why he did not get d"Argent first..."

That was rather a mystery Corwynn would have to wait a span to unravel.

Jerro_oconnor

Well that had been fast. Allen had been lying poisoned in the middle of the street. At least it was a paralytic and not the nastier stuff. "Good. We are all alive, and if that body in the distance is anythin to judge, we're down one villian."

Quote:

"Any new information from that git? We won't learned what happened down the dock for some time I expect. At any rate, Allan took out the little girl assassin-poppet. I wonder why he did not get d"Argent first..."

"I suppose it was too much to hope that was d'Argente?" He took another swig from his borrowed bottle. It was the watered down stuff that they sold to make money, not the good stuff for friends and the owner. Still, it was whiskey, and that was all that mattered for now. "Any indication as to when he'll be gettin up? If I'm to judge from experience, it shouldn't be too long. Then again, I didn't lose consciousness. Might be a different mix then."

"And to answer yer question, we were just about to continue with the questionin." He turned to the bartender, who had gone behind the bar to have something in between himself and Destini and Pagan. Jerro walked up to the cowering man and said, "Now where were we? Ah yes, where is that boat going? The one that the frenchman wanted that didn't blow up, to be specific." He threw a glance to Destini. "I'd hurry if I were ye, I'm sure that recent events have done nothin to improve anyone's patience here."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Destini

The world didn't feel right. Everything seemed grey and all colors were dull. Sounds were muted. Somewhere behind her a conversation was going on, but she couldn't concentrate on the topic being discussed. The only thing she could see, the only thing that seemed real, was Allan's too-still form. "Why did he take d'Argent on alone?" she asked absently, hardly aware she was speaking "He knew how dangerous d'Argent was. This was our mission. Why did he go alone?"

A wash basin and pitcher sat beside the bar for the washing of ale mugs and whiskey glasses. Destini went to it began to wash the blood from her hands. The water in the basin instantly turned red. The cool water stung at her own wounds around her wrists where the ropes had ripped through her skin while she had been a captive. She stared mutely at the lacerations, suddenly embarrassed by the angry red-brown stripes. She pulled the cuffs of her shirt down to hide the marks of her captivity.

Destini silently pulled up a chair next to Allan's still form and took his hand. She kissed the palm of his hand and interlaced her nimble fingers with his, sealing the kiss between their clasped hands. "I cannae help but think this is my fault."
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Pagan

Pagan slowly turned to face the bartender behind the bar, staring at Jerro suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed. All the rage and frustration that had been welling up in her in these past months, rage and frustration caused by d'Argent, seemed to focus and concentrate on that man - the person standing between her and d'Argent.

But her inner emotions didn't reflect on her face - it was like stone. Very slowly, very calmly she walked towards the bar and circled around it, walking past Jerro and the bartender. Almost gently she slipped her arm around his neck and JERKED! Now the bartender was scrabbling in her grip, gasping his breath like a fish on a dry land.

"SPILL IT OUT NOW!" Pagan screamed in his ear from the bottom of her lungs. "SPILL YER GUTS OUT OR BY JAH I WILL! TALK OR I BREAK YER BLOODY NECK! I WANT TO HEAR ALL THERE IS TO IT AND I WANT TO HEAR IT NOW!"
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Jerro_oconnor

Apparently he had chosen the wrong person to warn him of. "Don't say I didn't warn ye." He said in parting as he walked away. Pagan seemed to have the situation in hand.

He sat down next to Destini and offered the bottle. There was still about half the bottle left. "Here, ye look like ye need this. Don't blame yerself, if it's anyone's fault it's mine. I should've stopped d'Argente in the tunnel. But instead, I found myself flat on my face. If I had stopped him then, we wouldn't be here now." He paused, remembering that moment. At the time, all he had felt was indignity and boredom. Had he known what far reaching consequences his actions would have...
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn stood up from Allan's side and said softly, "I expect Allan thought Jerro, myself, and you were dead in that explosion. please consider how you'd expect him to react."

He then stepped over to the bartender doing his flips and flops under the tender care of Pagan.

"Colonel, if I may?"

Corwynn leaned in close to the bartender, retrieving a toothpick from a bowl on the table. Corwynn spoke softly as though a mentor to the coached.

"Now see here, Baron of the Watered Whiskey.... I am going to make you a very friendly deal. You really cannot lose.

YOU are going to tell me where d'Argent was going. I know you know as I have been down here before--when you ran the Lazy Anchor. You always eavesdrop. YOU are going to tell me what you know.

I, in return for such magnanimous generosity will completely fail to place these toothpicks, slowly into your eyes.

Do we have an accord, then?"

Destini

A subtle smile hinted her appreciation of Jerro's and Corwynn's comforting words. She accepted the battle of whiskey and held it up in toast to Jerro. "Slainte Mhath." She took a swig and hand handed it back to Jerro. "To his health, too," she said quietly turning her gaze back to Allan.

Behind her. She could hear the bartender working out some sort of deal with Pagan and Corwynn.

"Cory? .... by da druids! 'Tisn't ye?! Or mebbe 'tis! Yer accent threw me off. I tought ye were Irish last ye were here. Some friends ye've made since last I saw ye." Even with her back turned, Destini could feel the heat of the bartender's glare. She bet Pagan was getting a similar look. He was probably gingerly fingering his broken nose ... assuming Corwynn didn't have him by the collar of his tunic.

"Look, alls I knows is dere were two ships leavin today. Both were headed fer some embty port near Holywell, but not in Holywell. 'Salls I knows. I swears!"

Destini listened to the conversation while watching Allan for any sign of wakefulness. What information might Allan have gained when he took on d'Argent alone?
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Silence and darkness...

Allan was late for class and Mother Mary would surely have him back in the Pebble Room. His knees had just recovered from the result of being caught charting the stars at three am with Acolyte Audrey.

"You need to be more diligent and learn some restraint. You cannot always be the hero and no one is always right," admonished Canon Alberic

"I will make a Deacon out of you, lest you set London on fire for lack of supervision," chuckled the freshly ordained Father Faheud.

"I am very sorry about your parents, young Allyn," consoled Bishop Caissadiplomat. "We can never know why Jah lets some things happen and not others. We can only endeavor to persevere..."

"Allan!! Stay with me!" cried a familiar, female voice.

Darkness and silence

Pagan

Pagan released her grip from the bartender and left him slump to the ground in disgust as the truth of the situation finally hit her. So d'Argent had got away, he was now fleeing to another country... England! All they had been through to catch him had been in vain!

She glanced at Destini and corrected herself: not totally in vain. At least they had managed to rescue Destini. Pagan walked over to her and laid her hand comfortingly on Desti's shoulder.

"It will be all right", she said, "Allan will pull through. Corwynn said so, and he knows his stuff!" Pagan wished she could be so certain of it herself - perhaps Corwynn had lied not to upset Destini any more she already was? She took the bottle that was circulating between hands and took a swig, suddenly feeling just... tired. Tired and empty.
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--Brother_corwynn

"Not all is lost, Colonel, for we have him on the run, scampering back to his master for cover, sans a VERY deadly ally. As long as Allan has survived the lovely and talented Destini's perforations....erm...ministrations...we are not much the worse for wear....excepting that bit of dock that is now a re-enactment of Rome burning..."

Corwynn made sure he was out of hitting range as he spoke...

Destini

Destini looked over at Corwynn with an expression that said something along the lines of if-I-still-had-my-shoes-I'd-throw-one-at-your-head. She had half a mind to point out that he was the one who had administered the medications to Allan when she decided it just wasn't worth the effort.

"Holywell. If d'Argent is scamperin' back to his master, I hope his current destination doesnae mean that his master is in England or it maynae bode well fer us."

She looked up at Pagan. "Corwynn's right. We've done more here than we think. D'Argent wasnae able to destroy the communication that takes place across the Irish channel. That was his interest in ye an' I, Pagan. Our letters twixt England an' Eire were a cooperative sharin' o' information. Free information is a light that can shine into the darkest o' corners. D'Argent an' the Red Duke feared that together we'd be able to put all the facts together, an' together we did just that.

"Now we know who was behind the attacks. An' I fer one willnae cease until d'Argent an' the Red Duke are brought either to justice ..." Destini looked at Allan, "... or bloody vengence."
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--Richard.grimthorn

"Well-said," Grimthorn agreed with the lady Destini. "By the by, Colonel, I was able to convince the constable's boss that we were subjects of the Cardinal Faheud here in Ireland seeking justice on the Viscomte d'Argent. I had two papers with me, one was a forgery created by Corwynn there. The other was a letter of marque from the Cardinal Faheud himself that I brought to the Arch-Deacon there and the lady Destini." He looked to Corwynn and made a side comment. "I, unfortunately, had to leave these documents behind in order to assist with the trial of the constable. However," Grimthorn looked back to the Colonel Pagan. "I was told the documents would be released and sent to wherever we chose. As they are powerful documents if they fell into the wrong hands, I would rather not trust an unknown with them. Now, we could request those papers back after the trial, and I'm certain no one would bat an eye at sending them to England. But I think, rather, that you, who are well-trusted and rightly so, may have need of the cardinal's letter of marque yourself. Especially if you are going to be in danger for simply writing letters to your friends." Grimthorn nodded sagely to the Colonel.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The dreams were less subtle, more urgent and altogether uncomfortable.

"There was nothing we could have done, Allan. You took down twenty at Holywell and still your associates died. We must hope Jah granted them peace..." murmured Bishop Faheud through a thin veil of tears.

"Be at ease with your soul and the body will take you even to places no soul should be," lectured Master Fenbhao Zhan.

"Fair enough, Brightpoint.
It is, I suppose, easy to be bold with a crossbow pointed at your enemy.
Still, I'd do the same. Cut from the same cloth we are, Brightpoint.
Taught by the same canon.
How is Alberic these days?

Oh wait. Richard Grimthorn killed him for me before he turned traitor.

A familiar, silky voice purred, "The other was a letter of marque from the Cardinal Faheud himself that I brought to the Arch-Deacon there and the lady Destini."

A blinding flash of rage and adrenalin was released into Allan Brightpoint, fire from his very soul.

Suddenly he was upright with a leap that would have impressed Master Fengbhao.

He bellowed, drawing a long-knife from his boot, "GRIMTHORN!!!!"

Allan flew across the room in a darting spring and had Richard by the throat up against the wall, screaming at him, "YOU KILLED ALBERIC! SAY IT! SAY IT NOW!!!"

--Richard.grimthorn

He knew. Good grief! He knew. But how the Hell did he know?! Grimthorn looked at Brightpoint with a wide-eyed gaze that could have been fear, astonishment, guilt, or a strange mixture of the three. Probably the latter. How was he going to play this situation? He couldn't deny it until he knew where Brightpoint's information had come from. If Brightpoint had solid proof Grimthorn was lying, he'd kill him where he stood. He certainly couldn't admit he was the culprit or Brightpoint would kill him where he stood. He couldn't disolve this situation with humor or Brightpoint would certainly kill him where he stood. Every option ended the same. How the Hell was he going to get out of this?

Corwynn had known at one point in time, back in Holywell where they'd met. But Corwynn had had no concrete evidence that Grimthorn was the one who had murdered the Cardinal Faheud's closest friend and dearest Arch-Canon. It had been easy for him to shift the blame off on a random unknown, unseen assailant and get out of punishment and certain death himself.

This was different.

The certainty in Brightpoint's eyes told Grimthorn that the Arch-Deacon had some proof. Where would he have obtained proof so far after the incident?

D'Argent.

Why, that slimy, weasley, shady, villain! In what was probably a mild cast-away comment, that no good son of a three legged donkey had completely overturned Grimthorn's grand ideas of good friends, warm meals, and a comfy place to live out the rest of his life in safety. Grimthorn swore he was going to kill d'Argent for this some day. Or better yet, turn him over to the Red Duke and have him fire his worthless employee.

But how to get out of this situation?

"Brightpoint," said Grimthorn slowly. "How many times have I saved your life? Better yet, how many times have I saved the lady MacKenzie's life? Count them. I have." He paused a moment to allow the arch-deacon time to think, but not time enough to consider killing him on the spot. "Six times, all told over these past three months. Do ask yourself why I would have both joined your team, told you everything I know, and risked my own skin to save you time and time and time again and again." Grimthorn's dark eyes met the stony silver of Brightpoint's gaze. In his next breath, Grimthorn took the biggest risk he had ever taken in all his life. "I was trying to make up for what had been a terrible mistake."

He remembered the old man, remembered his loyalty to Cardinal Faheud until the end. "Your doctrine teaches forgiveness and redemption." Richard pulled from his pocket the deacon's medalion that Brightpoint had given him back in a tiny town beside the Thames. He held it out for the arch-deacon to take from him. "I had never known these things before I met you. After we met, I wanted a piece of your world ... Perhaps it's not mine to have."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan listened to Grimthorn and saw the truth in his eyes. The eyes always mirrored the soul. And the soul belonged to Jah.

"DAMMIT" he shouted as he picked up a near empty bottle and shattered it against the wall.

"I should KILL you where you stand!"

He sighed.

"But the matter does not belong to me. You will answer to Alberic's God-son. The Cardinal Faheud. May Jah have mercy on your soul."

Destini

"Allan!" cried Destini as she watched him leap from a prone position and hold a knife to Richard's throat. Everything Richard said was beyond belief. She had liked Richard, trusted him, loved him like a brother. And all this time, not only was he a reformed spy for the Red Duke, but he was the murderer of a man she had considered a confidant.

Richard's words to Allan, though, were real. They were truth. Richard was speaking from the heart, from the soul. As a performer, she should have recognized the difference. She had never seen truth in Richard like she saw it now. Not only could she forgive him, but she could forgive him and be proud to have forgiven him.

Destini looked to Allan and flinched when he shattered the bottle against the far wall. Her eyes were wide as she watched him. Her performer's ability watched him as she would to understand any audience she might perform for. But there was more than that. She was seeing a pain from him that had nothing to do with the wound in his chest. Her heart went out to him. "Allan ..." she said softly, carefully, uncertainly ....
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stopped in mid rage and melted.

He turned very slowly, looking like he had just seen a ghost.

"How?

"Explosion.

"Ship gone.

What?

Fire."

At that point Jah took mercy and inspired him to sweep Destini off her feet into a hug that might end sometime around Michaelmas.

Destini

His embrace inspired sudden laughter. She held him close and longed for nothing else but the feel of his arms around her. Her own aches from her captivity, however, brought the situation into perspective. They were both hurt, and his wounds were far more serious than hers. Things being as they were, she had to, at the very least, get him to set her down. "Allan!" she managed past the bear hug. "Be easy. Ye're still recoverin' yerself!"

She met his gaze, looked deep within his eyes and drank in the soul that she saw reflected there. "Thank Corwynn an' Jerro fer gettin' me out in time."
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--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn remained where he was with his back against the wall for a moment before letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was alive! Not only alive, but with a promised meeting with Faheud. Who knew that telling the full truth could actually work where lies would not? It was a fascinating concept. "Well!" he chirped with a relieved grin to the Colonel and Jerro. "All's well that ends well, then!"

Grimthorn straightened his tunic and pulled a parchment from his pouch and handed it to the Colonel Pagan. "I believe, until you have the Cardinal's letter in your hands, you should take this. It is a letter of safety from a soldier in Imleach. It will serve us no good outside your county, and it may take some time before yours and Jerro's innocence is widely known."

Pagan

Pagan nodded at Corwynn, Desti and Richard, hiding her disappointment poorly. One of the few things her da had ever taught her was that revenge, like most things, was best when you had prepared it yourself, but this time it seemed like it was not meant to happen. Pagan couldn't just leap on the next ship to chase d'Argent all over the world, she had too many ties in her homeland - she couldn't sever them just like that. She had to swallow her pride and settle for the knowledge that other people would avenge d'Argent for her and that justice would be served in the end.

Pagan startled as Allan suddenly bounced up and leaped at Richard with a long knife, threatening to kill him on the spot for something that had happened in England Allan had apparently just found out. Pagan gathered that Richard had killed someone, obviously Allan's good friend and most likely in a drunken brawl. Richard seemed like a decent enough guy, so Pagan had no reason to suspect otherwise. And, being an Irisher, she knew well that it wasn't smart to try to meddle in these kinds of fights - not unless you wanted to get stabbed by yourself - no matter how sad it was to see friends argue with and possibly kill each other. But she was glad that Richard was able to talk himself out of it.

She nodded at Richard as she took the documents. "Aye, I will be happy to keep every paper and document and do whatever little I can to assist in the manhunt against d'Argent and his superiors, even though I can't participate in it myself any further than this, to bring them into justice and to avenge them fer Zan." And fer spoiling my own jahdamn year, she continued in her mind vindictively.
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Banner by Raella

Percy the Pigeon, played by Faheud

Percy had been flying for ages.

Master say find brightpoint

Percy fly and fly and see smoky city

Master say where fire and mayhem find brightpoint.

Percy fly down and in tavern window

Percy land on table.

Brightpoint!

Percy shake leg to show heavy message

Percy can has treats now?

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's harsh expression softened as he saw the over-burdened pigeon.

"Well, little friend, you have come far with a heavy burden.

I think it is Treat Time for you."

He took out some corn and fed the bird while retrieving a letter bearing news from England perhaps.

Captain Brightpoint,

Will you and your associates please report back to England post haste to take up immediate posts in the secret service.

The matter is important and its urgency will speak for itself.

En Servicio

King Faheud

Allan looked up at the others, stunned.

"Oh My Jah....

Faheud is King of England and summons us home to take up posts in His Majesty's Secret Service!! ...."

Destini

Destini's mouth fell open at the news. "King o' England? Secret Service? Good Jah, Allan! Had I known what I was gettin' into when I followed ye out o' Oddman's an' Airiana's weddin', I might have stayed home!"

She looked to Pagan and Jerro, knowing she would have to leave them. A shadowed look of sorrow crossed her eyes. "Duty always seems to cut short our time together, Pagan lass. I s'pose 'tis the price we MacKenzies pay fer bein' the light in dark places. Luceo non uro," she quoted the clan MacKenzie motto with a sad smile.

Coughing away the tears that pricked behind her eyes, she thought on all that needed to be done. "We'll need to re-supply before the journey. I need to replace the shoes an' weapon d'Argent took from me. No idea what became o' my satchel, an' I lost my cloak in the harbor durin' the escape."

Slowly, another thought occurred to her. "If we are to protect the King o' England, I shall need a sword." She nodded slowly as that thought took shape in her mind.

"A Sword an' a Shield."
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--Brother_corwynn

"Looks like we are headed back to roads less traveled by, eh Allan?

Oh, Miss MacKenzie, We found this lot along the trail from Imleach."

Compressed in his own knapsack were the satchel and boots Allan had given him to keep track of.

He then approached Grimthorn.

"You have a lot to answer for, Richard. Alberic was a father to me. Fortunately--or perhaps unfortunately--it's the King's Justice you're bound for."

Destini

Destini opened her satchel and found most of her supplies were still intact. Her crossbow, however, was nowhere to be found. She would need to either replace it or abandon it for a sword and shield. She slipped on her boots and laced them up, feeling delighted to be decently clothed again.

A glimmer of sapphire blue inside her satchel caught her eye and she reached a hand in to retrieve it. A leather bundle was in her hand when she removed it from the satchel. She carefully unrolled the bundle to reveal six sparkling blue vials, the antidote for the Oriental poison.

Standing, Destini crossed the tavern to Jerro and handed the bundle out for him to take. "I think these better stay with the both o' ye. I have a strong suspicion Eire hasnae seen the last o' the Oriental poison."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro gingerly took the vials and nodded. "Tis true. No matter how much ye mix the stew, the scum will always find a way back up." He carefully re-wrapped the bundle and looked around for a spot to put it. He eventually decided that he should keep it on his person, so he put it in his coinpurse, the only place he actually could put it. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) there was plenty of room in there.

Jerro wished he could go to England with them, to help them finish what had been started. He couldn't in good conscious go. He had his own family to watch over, and he couldn't just desert the NMA. His job was here, in Eire. "I'm afraid that six vials won't last too long if they continue to target us. If ye don't mind, could ye send back instructions so we could start producin it here? Much easier than runnin back and forth every time there's an outbreak."

Business aside, he was glad to have been swept up in this. It's not every day that you met people such as Allen, Corwynn, Destini and yes, even Richard. He would gladly call each of them friend, and pray for their safety. "Feel free to come back to visit once this is over. Just please, keep the genocidal maniacs away next time, kay?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

"We'll miss you lot as well..

And Jerro... I told our mutual friend you might be needing a few hugs..."

Corwynn grinned an impish grin...

"If we get word as to d'Argent or any of the Red Duke's lot headed your way, we will get word straight away.

We cannae hae our family an' kin put in dire straaights an such, can we then?" he finished in an Imleach accent.

Pagan

Pagan bit her lip. She had been so looking forward to meet Destini again, perhaps throw a good Irish party with a lot of booze and out of tune singing - and when she finally got to see her it had happened under these terrible circumstances - in the middle of all this death and bloodshed. And now Desti would have to leave again, return to England so soon after her return home.

Now the fighting was over, and the air was filled with melodious singing from little birds in the old, big oak trees and the lush, clean scent of green trees, flowers and plants. Pagan watched hungrily all that beauty. Peace! Beauty! How her soul longed for those two things right now!

But still - all this beauty, this peace, this scent was false. Because nothing would ever remain. Not Destini, Allan, Corwynn or Richard - these new friends she had barely had the chance to get to know to. And still she could hear the screams of dying soldiers in her ears, and her hands were red with blood. She said:

"When do ye have to leave?"
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan listen to Pagan's question and answered with an old welsh verse

"I cannot pace the dragyn, nor match the eygles flight
Would to Jah it be so, I'd dine with them tonight."

He sighed and then said more plainly

"We need to leave soonest. And not from this smoking port.

I suggest we make for Corcaigh and take ship there. It would seem that d'Argent is not all that original and I had a backup plan in place too. Just not quite as handy as his turned out."

Jerro_oconnor

"Then the least we can do is guide ye there safely!" Jerro leaned over the bar and grabbed another bottle to replace the one Allen had broken. "I'll pay ye for this next I come." He said to the bartender, who was doing a very good job of hiding somewhere.

"After all, what kind of friends would we be to abandon you to the cold, cruel Eire-ish countryside." It was his turn to show off, he said the last in a pitch-perfect English accent. He began to rummage behind the bar again. There should be glasses... Ah! Here they are. He filled each glass and began to pass them around. "Since we may have to part quickly when we reach Corcaigh, we may as well make evil wait to be thwarted for one moment here."

He lifted his glass, careful not to spill the contents of it. "A toast!

There are good ships,
and there are wood ships,
The ships that sail the sea.
But the best ships, are friendships,
And may they always be.
May misfortune follow you the rest of your life, and never catch up.
Slainte mhor!

Alright, so he had mixed and matched a couple, but he was sure no one would mind.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Destini

Destini's soul was ravaged. The endless hours of travel, the anger, the constant battles and death, the rage, the captivity, the inhumanism, the fear did battle with her love for the people of Eire and England, for her clan, for Allan.

Before she'd gotten dragged into this adventure, Destini had been a tavern minstrel. Despite the miles and the pain, a piece of her soul remained that wandering tavern minstrel no matter what role life and fate thrust her into. The glass of whiskey Jerro handed to her and the verses twixt Allan and Jerro were a balm to her ravaged soul. She may not have her harp with her, but by Jah! She was going to join in!

She raised her glass in a toast her father had taught her,
"Here's to the health o' yer blood,
An' here's to the blood o' yer health,
May yer blood be healthy, yer health ne'er bloody,
So here's to yer bloody good health!"

Destini grinned to her compatriots. She drank deeply from her glass and through alcohol and verse, she allowed the miles, the bloodshed, and the pain to fall away. Her world, at present, was right here, right now.

A piece of Gotland verse formed in her mind and she spoke it loudly and passionately.

"Look to the sky, friends far an' nigh
An' tell me it still shines.
For my heart stills and darkness fills
The colors in the lines.
I say to ye who stand with me
My world is ne'er too bright
For ye who love an' look above
With ye we'll win this fight."

She looked to her allies, to her friends, to those she loved and would give her life for. With pride in her eyes, Destini raised her glass to them and drained it.
_________________

Pagan

Pagan felt a little better, knowing that she could at least escort them all the way to Cork - that was a two-day trip even with horses - and there they would no doubt have to wait for a couple of days for a ship to England. So she would get the chance to bid them farewells properly this time after all - Irish style! And why not start the celebration straight away? Pagan grabbed the bottle again, refilled her glass and all others that needed refilling.

"Another toast!" she declared and uttered the first thing that came to her mind:

I drink to yer health when I'm with ye,
I drink to yer health when I'm alone,
I drink to yer health so often,
I'm starting to worry about my own!

Then she drained the glass again.
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Banner by Raella

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

I have to say, Pagan, you are as much fun to travel with you as you are hell on horseback in a fight.

Allan grinned at the feisty Irish officer and saluted her with his flask before drinking again.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn sipped his whiskey slowly, carefully, more than willing to let Brightpoint and Corwynn get lit while he maintained his faculties. The pigeon's news weighed heavily on him. Corwynn's words echoed in his head.

Brother_Corwynn wrote:

Fortunately--or perhaps unfortunately--it's the King's Justice you're bound for.

Presenting his sins to a cardinal didn't bother him. Presenting his sins to a monarch, however, was an entirely different matter. A monarch could have him killed in ways a cardinal couldn't.

Perhaps presenting his sins to Faheud was no longer a viable option. Even the promise of handing over The Finisher's diary couldn't guarantee that his life would be spared. Perhaps he'd do better to stay here in Ireland, away from Faheud, away from d'Argent and the Red Duke. Yes, perhaps so.

He was still standing beside the tavern door where he'd walked in. It was a simple enough matter to silently slip outside again and head for the darkened side alley and be gone. Grimthorn turned silently and left the tavern.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn smiled as he saw what he had been waiting for and followed Richard outside the tavern.

It was predictable that Faheud's change of title would rattle this man he wanted very much to like. Truth was that Grimthorn would be far more safe working for King Faheud than the protections Cardinal Faheud could provide.

But how do you convince a scared, wanted man?

"Getting some air, Richard?" Corwynn asked as he glided up along side...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stopped in his tracks when he heard Corwynn behind him. He'd been followed. It certainly wasn't surprising that he was being watched given what they now knew he'd done. He may have lost his chance this time, but if he played this situation right, he'd remain free to try again. There was time between here and the other port. "Air. Yes. Too stuffy in that dismal tavern. Not much better out here, but, well, there you are." He took a deep breath of the smoky air as if it was the best fresh air he'd ever breathed.

--Brother_corwynn

"A fair point, my friend..." Corwynn answered as he looked about at the smoky street.

"I could not fail to spot that my comment about Faheud's change of job and address did not land especially well with you in there. I apologize for the humor at your expense. Still, I expect the service you rendered on this excursion will not go un-noticed by the King...."

Corwynn watched for any signed Richard might be planning--or at least contemplating--anything particularly unfortunate.

--Richard.grimthorn

"Friend? I wish." He did wish for Corwynn's friendship, but he didn't believe it. Grimthorn scoffed quietly. "You're my jailer. No, no, don't bother to deny it. You'll only make us both look like fools." He suddenly realized he was still holding on to Brightpoint's deacon medallion and looked down at it in his hand. "I was an employee of the Red Duke and his company for fifteen years. Did you know that?" Grimthorn cast a sideways glance at Corwynn. "I'll bet not," he mumbled as he looked back to the medallion. "In all that time, I never questioned, never second-guessed my instructions. Not once ... Not until that last time. Now, tell me of my services rendered versus chaos engendered. How much do you think I accomplished in those fifteen years? How much do you think your King's Justice can forgive?" A little information would go a long way toward helping Grimthorn decide how to get out of this mess. How big a chance did he have to stay alive given what he'd done?

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was unmoved by the rebuff. After a brief moment of quiet he said,

"Let me tell you a tale, Richard. A Tale that spans a good many years.

As it happens there was a great friend and mentor to Faheud named Caissadiplomat. he was a priest, a bishop, and archbishop, and years later the Duke of An Mumhain. As many know, he was slain while defending the walls of the capital during a revolt.

What is not known is that the revolt had mostly been put down and one member of the revolting mob just had to throw one last rock at the men on the walls.

That rock struck the Duke in the forehead and knocked him off the walls, breaking his neck on impact.

The rogue who threw the rock was yours truly."

Corwynn paused, his voice having briefly failed.

"So when I realized what my rock had done and realized no one else knew who threw it, I was on the first ship to England and settled in a small town in the South of the Country, name of Hastings.

Bad luck for me, really, as I promptly met a young bishop whose fiery sermons and excellent leadership drew me into the congregation. Worse luck was confessing my crime and realizing it was his adoptive father I had slain.

Imagine, if you will, my shock and surprise to be given a penance and absolution for my actions.

So, yes, Richard, I do know how you feel and do know that the man who is now king has an immeasurable capacity to understand, to forgive, and to re-direct a penitent soul into a life of good."

Corwynn's eyes were bright as he continued, "You can flee into the country-side and take your chances with Anto and the Red Duke. You could ask Pagan to take you in--I am sure she would. Or you could return to England, face Faheud, accept the penance and receive an absolution you can live with.

If you run because you do not believe a man of Jah will always be a man of Jah, well, I can live with that. But if you run because you are afraid to try? Well, hell, Richard, I don't even want to know you."

Corwynn turned then and went back inside the tavern for a large glass of whiskey.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stared dumbly at the space Corwynn had been. A fantastic story, but not so fantastic that it strained credulity. Good grief! Some bunch they were! Together, they'd murdered all Faheud's extended family without even knowing they'd done it! And still the man forgave Corwynn? Did he dare hope for the same treatment? A tiny voice whispered in the back of his head ... yes! Richard looked at the dark alley for a long moment, then turned his back on his escape.

As he turned, a group of town guardsmen caught his eye. They were speaking with a civilian, one of the surviving members of the town watch that Grimthorn had arrived with. One moment the woman was pointing at the Dock Five tavern, the next the town guard were headed towards him. Richard turned an about-face for the tavern door. Entering the tavern, he addressed everyone within. "Does anyone here know what happens when the only survivors of a town battle who are not from the town stick around until the town guard show up? Because if we remain here, we're going to find out. As I recall, we were headed somewhere else. I'd like to be at somewhere else straight away."

Jerro_oconnor

"Richard! I thought someone's voice had been missin from our revalry! Jerro picked up an untouched glass and handed it over to Richard. "Come, drink and be merry for tomorrow we'll be chasin a ravin lunatic." He had noticed Richard's dissapearance, but had not made a big deal of it. To his knowledge, he had probably had just left to check on the situation. And was Jerro glad he did.

"Ah, yes. Very good point. One last drink, and then we'll be off. He drained his glass and looked around the room. The bartender was still nowhere in sight, several chairs had been overturned and there was the spot on the wall where Allan had thrown the bottle. Still, not the end of the world for this place. Although the tavern might end up changing hands soon. "So, are we ready? Shall we leave now, or try to make nice with the guard?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan emptied her glass and set it determinedly on the table, watching Richard with her blue, if a little bit blurry eyes.

"Well, if I was the head of the guard here, I would apprehend the suspects and keep them at least overnight, probably more, until my curiosity of the situation had been satisfied. So, if we don't want to spend the night in jail, it is probably a good idea to slip out as inconspicuously as possible. We can save the rest fer the road. The situation will be easier to explain to the Cork folks - I have friends there."
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Banner by Raella

Destini

Destini took gentle sips from her glass. Truth be told, the sharpness of the flavor was a bit much at present. Her lips were chapped from being denied water during her captivity and burned when the alcohol touched them. If she said anything, Pagan would probably tell her to drink more and the feeling would stop. She smiled softly and watched the merriment, delighting in their present ease.

As always, the revelry was short-lived. Richard's news brought it all to a halting stop. Destini set down her glass without finishing it. "As always, I'm one fer the road. Let's not tarry here."

She hoisted her satchel by its untorn shoulder strap and stood. "There's a back way out o' this tavern. The way Brother Corwynn, Jerro, an' I came in. I suggest we use that to escape."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Excellent idea," agreed Allan. "Let's take that alley through the warehouse area, through the markets, and out of the north gates as quick as may be. Hopefully they are not yet sufficiently organized to lock down the town."

Allan grabbed up his things and prepared to head out of the tavern before any local talent turned up.

Pagan

Three hours later they were sitting on a horseback on the road to Corcaigh through Lios Mor. They would have to spend a night in Lios Mor. Pagan had eaten very little, but she didn't have any appetite. She drank instead. The release of stress after she had realized it was all over had triggered a serious drinking binge that might easily turn to a bender that could last for days, even weeks if her money didn't run out. Before they had left she had quickly confiscated two quart-bottles of the good stuff from the bartender, and after three hours the first one was empty. Her eyes were rolling in their sockets as she threw the empty bottle into the shrubs and dug the other one up from the saddlebag. Pagan continued drinking. When they arrived in Lios Mor the second bottle was half-empty. When they stopped their horses in front of an inn she dropped from her horse and slumped on the ground, passing out cold. Her hand was still grasping the bottle tightly. It hadn't broken, and she hadn't spilled a single drop.
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Banner by Raella

Destini

Destini unclasped her hands from Allan's waist and dismounted from the horse she was riding with him. She gently took the bottle from Pagan's unconscious grasp and handed it to her nearest compatriot. Even as tired as she was, she was still able to pull Pagan's arm around her shoulder and lift the drunk lass to her feet.

"We'll need rooms fer the night. I hope they have space enough fer all o' us." She looked up at the modest inn. "I hope their kitchen is still open, too. A warm meal sounds like heaven 'bout now." The traveling supplies they had were dwindling, but there had been enough food to keep them going while on the road. Now that they were stopped in civilization, though, they could spare the time for a real meal.

"Who wants to check us in? An' who wants to see to the horses?" Destini asked her friends.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro dismounted soon as he saw Pagan begin to slump. He was thankful that she hadn't actually fallen from the horse, so much as slid. Destini beat him to picking her up, though. As Jerro took the bottle from Destini, he thought about something. He didn't think it was possible to get used to you or people around you passing out, but it seemed to get easier each time.

"I'll gladly take care of the horses if someone else takes care of us." He said, already gathering up the reins.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan dismounted next and saw that Pagan was looked after.

"Let me have a look see about rooms, eh?" He muttered and walked into the Hostel.

Inside it was warm, cheery, and sparsely occupied. A good sign really, as there would likely be rooms. He saw a middle-aged woman with a tired, but friendly face behind the bar wiping some tankards down.

"Hello, Mistress, I am with some travelers, six in all in search of beds for the night."

The friendly woman looked pleased and beamed, "Ohhh are ye then? And in luck too, then, aren't ye? We've four empties on the top floor, street side. 8 pounds if ye please. Twelve if you'd like a bit o' supper in the mix. I be Mistress Anna."

Allan grinned in relief. "Brilliant, Mistress Anna! I am Allan Brightpoint, and I can introduce my friends presently.. Throw in a wee dram all around and it is twenty you'll have."

"Right ye are then. I'll be freshnin up the rooms and dropping coals in the grates. make yerselves t'home down here an a supper will be set up soonish."

The Mistress of the House headed up the stairs to the next floor and Allan went back outside. he approached Destini to fill her and the others in.

"OK we have four rooms, dinner and beverages. This one is on me."

Destini

A tired smile graced her face as Allan returned with good news, for once. How long had it been since things went this easily? "Fantastic news. I think we had best get Pagan to a comfortable bed as soon as may be. I wish she'd eaten a little somethin' whilst on the road. Nothin' fer it, now, though."

Pagan's passing out from drinking too much was nothing new. In fact, it was nice to know some things stayed the same. Even so, Destini wished Pagan had been at least a little interested in food during their journey to Lios Mor.

Not wanting to drop her friend, Destini adjusted her grip on Pagan's unconscious form before moving into the inn. She saw the stairs and doubted her strength to safely raise Pagan to the rooms above. "Brother," she called to Corwynn. "Would ye mind terribly if I asked ye to carry Pagan to her room? I -" she hesitated, embarrassed by her lack of strength, at present. Pagan was fairly light and, since the lass was a couple inches shorter, Destini should have been able to manage taking her to her room. But recent events had drained what strength she usually had. "I donae think I can manage the stairs with both our weight."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn nodded and grinned at Destini, " Happy to oblige."

He gently lifted Pagan from Destini's arms, commenting, "Goodness...how can that much feisty be so light? Come dear, Corwynn has you safe and sound asleep.

Lead on Miss MacKenzie, and your beast of burns shall follow!"

Destini

"I thank ye, Brother," said Destini gratefully and led the way up the stairs.

As they ascended the stairs, a kindly woman was exiting the far room. "Oh, bless me!" cried the woman as Corwynn crested the stairs behind Destini. "Yer friend didn't say anythin about injuries! Should I be callin the doctor, then?"

"Nay, but thank ye all the same," said Destini quickly, looking at her friends and realizing that all three of them were bloodied, and their tunics were torn. "I realize we must look a sight, but our injuries are thankfully minor. An' we havenae the time to wait on a doctor."

"As ye wish, then. Yer rooms are ready fer ye. Come downstairs when ye're all settled-like and I'll feed ye supper." With that, she disappeared downstairs.

Destini smiled at Corwynn. "Jah is merciful to us tonight, Brother. We have not only safe haven, but kind haven." She opened the door at the end of the hall, stepped inside the cozy hostel room, and turned down the covers for Pagan.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn set Pagan down carefully on the bed and pulled the covers up to keep her warm.

"Rest well, Colonel.... 'tis well earned!"

Corwynn smiled softly, blew out the lantern and went down to meet the others..

Jerro_oconnor

One good thing about taking care of horses is that you have time to think. A bad part is that your alone with your thoughts. As Jerro fed, watered and generally cared for the horses, his mind didn't stop working. They had saved Eire, for the time being at least, everyone was safe, Pagan was in her celebratory drunken sleep, he should feel better than he did.

But something was wrong...

They had faced losses far greater than they should have. D'Argente had got away, and there was an even greater evil across the sea. If only he could have done something. If only he could do something! But what could he do here in Eire when everything was going on over in England? What could he do with his oath anyway? He'd just be extra baggage.

With morose thoughts glooming over him, he tried to cheer up enough to not dampen the mood once he had finished. He had been gone long enough, he'd better hurry up before they think he was paralyzed again. He put on a smile and walked back into the main building.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Richard.grimthorn

Richard stood outside in the lingering humidity of the Irish evening. He nodded briefly to Jerro as he returned from tending the horses and followed him within, seeing the innkeeper setting out dinners upon the table. He hesitated a moment before pulling out the seat furthest away from Brightpoint and silently sitting in it. Silence seemed the best tactic at present. No sense in angering anyone further than he already had.

Destini

Destini followed Corwynn back downstairs. Her steps were heavy with exhaustion. They'd been through so much and, miraculously, come through alive. Dinner was waiting for them at one of the tables and Destini tiredly dropped herself into a seat just as Jerro and Richard entered the inn.

She returned Jerro's smile with a bleary smile of her own. Raising her glass, she offered the first toast of the evening. "To our victory, such that 'tis." The toast had begun celebratory but ended softly. Victory had a certain sour taste after all they'd been through to achieve so very little. D'Argent was still out there. She sipped from her glass and placed it back on the table.

"I cannae help but think we should have done more," she confided in her compatriots. "But what more could we have done? Maybe if I hadnae been taken prisoner ..." She tried to let that thought die before finishing the sentence, but it only hung in the air ominously as confused memories surfaced in a tangled mess. She shook them away as best she could and looked to Allan instead.

"Would ye say grace o'er dinner, Allan? After what we've been through, an' made it through alive, I think a little thanks to Jah wouldnae be amiss." She linked her hand with his and held the other out for whoever sat next to her to take.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sat at an end of the table, next to Destini. he held her hand and began to say grace of the wonderful meal of roast pork, potatoes, and corn set before them.

"Oh heavenly Father we give you thanks and praise for seeing us through the trials of these last few days and pray for strength to meet such challenges as cross our path.

We ask for inspiration to be better souls, to shield our comrades, and ever serve that which is right and good.

Please let us use this meal to restore the strength we shall need for what is to come.

Please also, Lord Jah, bless my old friend and mentor Faheud, King of England for you have already blessed the realm by inspiring him to become Sovereign.

In search of Grace we pray...

Amen."

Allan looked around the table

"I thank each of you--yes, you too Richard--for what you helped do this day. We may not have caught d'Argent, but we foiled much of his plans, rescued Destini, and chased him back to his master.

--Brother_corwynn

"I have been giving some thought," began Corwynn, " to how much we would have been aided in this long mission if there were more-timely and effective communications between England and Eire. We seem to be taking all of His Majesty's operatives home--which is lovely, make no mistake--but there will suddenly be silence across the channel.

Destini, do you think anyone here would be willing to be at least partly employed to ensure critical intelligence is available?"

Pagan

At the same time Pagan was soaking in a cold sweat in her bed, and nightmares were ravaging her slender body.

The start... the start... the start...!

The word came over and over again, repeated by daddy Seamus' growling, mocking voice. The ghost was sitting in the corner again, in the dark where she couldn't see it, whispering things into her brain.

The start!

Pagan squirmed and clenched her teeth.

The start!

Her dead mother.

Daddy Seamus.

The cottage.

The bottle.

The cane.

The stone.

Suddenly Pagan woke up and sat up in her bed. The moon was shining from the window. She was soaking wet, but her skin was in goosebumps and her hair was jutting.

The start...

She fumbled the floor next to her bed to find a bottle.

Six words were burning in her mind. Six watchwords:

Dead mother, daddy Seamus, the cottage, the bottle, the cane, the stone.

The stone!

"I dropped a stone on his face and made it look like an accident..."

That's what she had told to Kadie.

But not the why! Not a word about how a fifteen-year old lass had felt watching her father twitch and judder and wheeze for about a minute or so before death finally came, his head crushed like an egg, just a formless lump of bloody pulp, grey matter draining out...

That's where it had started... in daddy Seamus' cottage.

In that confounded cottage!

In daddy Seamus' confounded cottage!

With her eyes wide open Pagan slumped back on her bed, and the moon was beaming it's light on her tormented face, and the ghost was sitting in the corner again, mocking her, putting her down like he had always done, whispering things only she could hear. Assuring her that she was a bad person and her soul would be forever damned to Lunar Hell for all the things she'd done.
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Destini

Destini's fork was halfway to her mouth when Corwynn addressed her and paused in mid-air a moment while she hesitated. What Corwynn was asking her was unfair. Pagan and Jerro had only been swept up in this because of Destini's letters. She would gladly put her own life in danger to stop d'Argent, but how could she ask someone else to risk their life for her cause?

"I am certainly willin' to maintain a degree o' communication with my clan," Destini answered slowly as she set her fork down on her plate. "Pagan is oft the only one who e're answers my letters, though. Given what the lass has been through due to our communications, I worry she maynae be willin' to continue puttin' her life in danger. I donae want to continue puttin' her in danger. I hesitate e'en askin' it o' her."

She looked to Jerro. "Ye have both been through so much, an' yet, we do need ye. I donae feel I have a right ask ye to continue puttin' yer lives at risk, an' yet, I must ask or we lose our advantage o'er d'Argent an' his employer. Please donae feel an obligation to agree simply because I ask. Ye need only answer fer yerself. I will ask Pagan separately."

"If ye agree, we can take precautions. Codes can be used to make our letters seem as innocent as if discussing the weather or the price o' bread at market. Ye need nae place yerself in danger unnecessarily."

She took a deep breath before asking the question she did not want to ask. Was this what it was like to command an army? Asking good men and women to place themselves in harm's way in order to protect the greater good? She imagined it was. Destini met Jerro's gaze, wanting to look him in the eye no matter what his answer. "Jerro, will ye help us?"
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro could not help but chuckle a little. "Will I help ye? Here I was thinkin ye were gonna say that it was too dangerous for us to help! I'm just sorry that this is the only way I can help!" He played with the food at the tip of his fork for a minute as he spoke. "If I could, I'd be on that ship with ye to help sort out whatever trouble seems to be brewin over there. But I've got me own family to worry about. Plus this savin the world business is expensive. I seem to find the money flyin past before I even get the time to worry about it. And the NMA... well, it may not be perfect, but I pledged my loyalty there too, to protect and serve my people, as it were. I can't give that up too. Communications is the least I could do. After all, I can read and write."

He stopped playing with his food and looked up to meet Destini's eyes. "So what I'm sayin is, I'd like to do more, but since I can't, I'll help ye with what I can." He smiled and took a bite of the food on his fork. It tasted all the better for the knowledge that he might help make the world a better place. "Now, I can't speak for Pagan, and I doubt she could at this point either, but we can speak codes and stuff later, in a less open spot. Right now, why not finish what we started in the tavern back in Dock Five?" He lifted his glass and said to the table in general. "After all, if we're goin to send ye off to a king, then we've at least got to do it in style!"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Eyes bright with an indescribable emotion at Jerro's words, Allan filled his glass and raised it,

"To a pair of reasons Eire has a real chance in the world. To Pagan and Jerro!

Slainte Mahath!"

Allan drained the double whiskey in a go.

Destini

Pride moistened her eyes as she looked on Jerro. "Ye're a good an' brave man, Jerro. I am proud to call ye friend an' co-worker under King Faheud. I salute ye." She raised her glass and toasted to him in Gotland verse as she had done in the Dock Five tavern before Richard had burst in on their merriment with news of the guards.

"The measured man is one who can
Stand up fer kith an' kin.
Fer darkness falls on castle walls
an' none can see within.
But ye, my friend, face any end
An' stand on side o' right.
I'll stand with ye to victory.
To ye I drink this night!

She drank from her glass and looked on Jerro with respect in her eyes. Her pride for his enthusiasm and his choice to stand beside them in any way he could was enough to drive away some of the worry from her mind. Still she felt responsibility for asking him to join them. "I give ye this promise, Jerro. Yer word goes two ways. If e'er ye need help, call upon me. I will break barriers to assist ye. An' if, fer whate'er reason, I cannae come myself, I will send ye aid. I promise ye this." With that promise on her lips, she drained her glass.
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro was warmed by the praise. He wasn't used to this kind of thanks, the closest he had ever come to it was a pat on the back and a back of coin forced into his hand. Still, he had promised to send them off, and that he would. He wracked his brains for a proper send off. He knew many different toasts, but none of them really suited the occasion. He'd just have to wing it and hope he didn't make a complete fool of himself.

"The times have changed,
The path estranged,
And darkness grows e'er near.
But yer light does not hide,
And with ye by my side,
I have no reason to fear.

The distance may vast,
from whence we met last,
But yer light still shines on through.
With Jah as our guide,
Though at time we'll be tried,
Ye'll make it, and so will we too."

He raised his glass again to his makeshift verse and drained it. "I promise ye this, if ever the time comes where I need help, ye'll be the first I come to. I just hope that ye won't be afraid to ask the same of me if the time comes." However harrowing the path was, or may be, he was proud that he was walking it alongside them.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan sat up and stared gloomily at the corner. She couldn't see the ghost, yet she knew it was there. She couldn't sleep anymore, and she couldn't find a bottle to knock her out again. She just sat there and listened to the noises downstairs - laughter of women and muffled voices of men.

She cursed, stood up and left the room. She had no recollection of how she had gotten there in the first place, and only a vague idea that they must be somewhere in Lios Mor now. She could barely recollect the ride there.

Pagan climbed down the stairs and spotted Jerro, Desti, Allan, Corwynn and Richard making toasts. Pagan walked over to them and flashed a tired smile. The fact she was still loaded didn't show much - she didn't weave or stagger - but the whiskey showed in her reddish, glassy eyes and concise smile, it heard in her raspy voice as she said:

"Good morning, or is it still yesterday? Mind if I join ye?"
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Destini

Destini looked up at Pagan and cast her a smile which faded ever so slightly upon seeing her friend. The lass looked tired and worn, as they all were. But there was something else, something in the red-rimmed eyes and whiskey-parched tone that made Pagan seem more like the young lass Destini had met when she'd first snuck out of her parents' house and less like the battle-hardened soldier that had come back from the Laighean War.

" 'Tisnae yet midnight, Pagan lass. Ye didnae sleep that long," Destini answered Pagan. "Ye are most welcome to join us fer dinner an' drinks before we settle fer the eve."

She watched the lass carefully and hesitated a moment. "In fact," Destini continued after a brief, uncertain pause, "Ye can join us in another way, too. We need people here in Eire who can gather intelligence an' keep open the lines o' communication here. Without the free-flowin' information across the channel twixt Eire an' England, I fear we willnae notice enough trends to stop d'Argent." Here she paused in an effort to read Pagan's body-language on this matter before continuing.

"I hate to ask this o' ye. I realize my letters to ye have put ye through Hell. I can see that plain enough. I cannae apologize enough fer it. I know, too, that further communication could keep ye in perpetual danger. So, if ye must decline, know that I willnae be offended at all. I'd be happy to know ye're safe. Jerro has agreed to help us already, but we could use yer skills as well. Plus, Jerro may need local help here in Eire if somethin' dire happens an' we cannae send aid fast enough. If ye're willin', together we might put enough pieces o' information together to defeat d'Argent once an' fer all."

"What say ye, Pagan Lass?"
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Pagan

Pagan looked at Destini. She felt how anger crept up in her body and poked her brain like a needle, but with great effort she managed to keep her temper in check. Destini meant well, she knew that - she just had underestimated Pagan's pride.

"Desti", she said calmly, sounding almost sober, "I do not fear d'Argent nor his minions, nor the powers behind him. After all he has done to ye, me, Jerro," Pagan swallowed, "Zan... all those people that I care about, after all he's put me through, I would like nothing more than personally skin him alive. That I can't jump on that ship and chase him across the seven seas with ye makes me feel like a jahdamn coward!" Pagan paused, realizing she had shouted out the last word. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. She closed her eyes and said quietly: "But I can't do that, I realize that. I have too many damn responsibilities. But if there's anything I can do to help catch him, anything... I demand that I am allowed to do it!"

Pagan looked at Destini, all the anger burned out now. She even managed to smile a little. "So yes", she added with a very soft voice.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan had watched the last couple minutes in silence, and spoke to Pagan in a measured voice.

"Pagan, as one who was sent on a mission to specifically stop d'Argent and his master and allies from Killing even 1 King, and realizing that he got two of them, I share the feeling of anger and powerlessness.

As Jah and whomever has power is my witness, WE WILL GET THEM. All of them.

I respect you more than you can possibly know for all you have done and all you may yet do.

When we find where they have gone to ground, we will get word to you just in case you are able to be there to gut him from stem to stern. You deserve first shot after what he did to you.

We will send you frequent messages, which to the idle reader would appear like random prattle about daily affairs. It will be telling you what is happening, to whom, and where.

Now. I propose a toast."

Allan filled his glass with three fingers of whiskey

"No sleep have I no rest to take, time for that at distant wake
Friends and Swords, true weapons be combine to smite our enemy.

Slainte Mahath"

He downed the glass without looking away

Destini

Destini drained her glass to Allan's toast then clambered from the tavern bench to her feet. The whiskey was beginning to take its toll on her balance, but Destini failed to notice as she swept Pagan into a tight hug. "Jah bless ye, Lass! Jah bless ye!" she said even as she held her.

Sniffling back proud tears as she parted, Destini grinned at her friends. "Innkeeper! Some food fer my friend an' more whiskey all around!" she called with a merry tone.

"As Jerro said back at Dock Five: Let us eat, drink, an' be merry, fer tomorrow we chase a ravin' lunatic!"
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Pagan

"Slainte mhath!" Pagan replied, touched by Allan's words, and raised the glass on her lips. She poured the whiskey down her throat slowly, with her lids half-closed, savoring the taste and the effect of the whiskey, slowly turning the slide down into an up again. She looked at Allan apologetically, biting her lip. She felt a sudden need to apologize for something, even though it was something Allan or anyone else of her new friends had no way of knowing.

"Ye know, ye Englishmen are not such bad lot after all. My da... well, he told me a lot of stuff about the English, and I have been... prejudiced... before. Ye must understand I'd never met English folk before, at least not that I know of. But now that I have I realize it was just a lot of lies just like everything else he ever told me... with the possible exception of what he told me about the Frenchies! After meeting d'Argent I must agree that he seems to have been right about them at least!"

Pagan hugged Destini tightly and added to her words to the innkeeper: "And make it quick, shall ye! We are important people!"
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan raised an eyebrow and said, mirth in his eyes, "Strictly speaking, Pagan, I am actually Welsh. Me da had a few bits ta say bout them English rotters as well..."

--Richard.grimthorn

"Excuse me?!" piped up Richard, who had, until this very moment, been silently figuring out how he might avoid the frivolities of tonight and get a decent night's rest before what was bound to be another seasick journey across the Irish Channel. "Fine show of English sentiments coming from a man who works for the King of all England! Good grief, man!" He looked to Corwynn who had been rather strangely silent himself. "Speak up, Corwynn! Or are you going to let the defense of England fall to one who has spent most of his time fighting those in English power?"

Pagan

Pagan chuckled. "Well, I'm glad I got it off my chest anyway. Now, who else wants something to eat? Suddenly I feel very hungry..."
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn largely succeeded in keeping the mirth out of his voice. largely.

"I dunno, Richard.. I was born in Kent, but I grew up in Eire. I only went back to England after some fracas that made it uncomfortable to stay, as you know.

In my book there are heroes, gits, and scoundrels in every land.

But Pagan's sentiments were well meant, and *very* well received.

Besides... It could be worse. We could have been born in London... I've heard that actually happens

--Richard.grimthorn

Richard, a born Londoner, straightened his back as Corwynn's comment ruffled his feathers. "I'll have you know I was born in London, crown jewel of all the island! There's a reason it's the home of the King! No other city is as grand as that realm of civilization which bore me! No other city could possibly compare to it's education, it's cultural ammenities, its ..." Good grief! He was starting to sound like he actually liked that town. Suddenly, he felt homesick ... nevermind that the next time he appeared back in London it would be to recieve a sentense for his crimes, but, well ... some things didn't need to be said aloud. "... wonders," he finished his sentence.

--Brother_corwynn

"Richard?! Grand? London-pit?

Did it not burn to the ground last February as a blessing from Jah on us all?"

What did those Londoners get taught?

No telling, really...

Corwynn made another whiskey magically disappear..

And then he saw a familiar, if unwanted face in the common room. It was the Hugging pewter merchant from Port Lairge....and she was coming their way.

"Jerro! Duck! Under the table man!""

--Percy_the_pigeon

Percy flew over the port town. There was a fire, but that didn't interest him. Where would the treats be. There. No....there! No again. Wait. There they are! TREATS!

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro flew under the table almost as fast as one could blink. From Corwynn's tone, it was serious. And since he had been the only one warned, there could only be one person there. But wait... was that a flapping sound? Could that lady actually fly? He poked his head out from the table far enough to get a peek. On the table, trying to eat some of his recently evacuated food was a pigeon. The pigeon seemed to have a message tied to its leg. How did they manage to find them without fail?

"Is this what ye where warning me about?" Jerro said, thinking he had been made a fool of. He slowly made it back into his seat, thinking the "threat" was over. "Seems someone has a message."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

The Hugger, played by Faheud

Bowling over seven patrons, two servers, and as many chairs, the Hugger bellowed, "Jerro laddie.....Jah be blessed that yer here! An there was I, thinkin this trip to the wool faire at Cork was a lonely endeavor, and suddenly YEW are here!!!!"

She grabbed him out of his seat and pulled him into a hug that no amount of oil or fire-tongs could set to rights....

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn hated when people ignored his advice.

"Dammit Jerro!!! Did I not just bloody fecking say DUCK?!?!?

Duck means stay the HELL down til the coast is clear you great stupid bloody fecking moron!"

Corwynn could not believe his friend had not listened and was now being slowly suffocated to death....

Destini

"Allan, loan me yer crossbow!" cried Destini, rising to her feet in a flurry of activity, knocking over her own chair in the process. She'd lost her own crossbow in her captivity. If Allan would loan her his weapon, it would do.

The pigeon with its message would wait. Faheud's pigeons always did. His Majesty's pigeons were brilliant, well-trained, and patient (unless it came to treats). At the moment, her eyes were set on the woman who had just accosted a man she had just taken responsibility for when she asked him to be a member of their intelligence-gathering troops stationed here in Eire. In her mind, Jerro's and Pagan's lives were in her hands. Destini would not see it undone by a random woman who smelled of sheep.

Until Allan handed her his crossbow, she had only her knife to bear, but it was enough of a menacing visage to make the statement, "Put him down! Or, by Jah, ye'll wish ye had!"
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--Percy_the_pigeon

Percy cooed. He brought the message. It was treat time. And there was no treats. Where were the treats?

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro tried to tell Destini that it was ok, but instead it came out as a wet gurgle. Jerro fought for breath, but it seemed that this was it. He never thought it would end this way, strangled to death by an overly affectionate woman. It was all going dark around the edges now. Consciousness was a slippery thing that wanted to squirm out of his grasp. Farewell cruel world!

Suddenly, miraculously, the pressure cut off as suddenly as it had come on. He fell to the ground again, a thing that seemed to be coming more and more often. He coughed and gasped for air, trying to replace an entire body's worth of air in a couple seconds.

Once he had enough breath to begin speaking again, he turned to Corwynn."Point taken." Even this was a lot to take on, and he set about a new round of coughing. After a while, he was sure that it was safe again to speak. "Good golly, Miss Molly! Ye sure do make an entrance." He slowly tried to move himself back into a regular sitting position. Two visitors at once? That was cheating!
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan had fallen in silence, an inert smirk like glued on her lips, blurry eyes staring into the void, not registering what was happening around her. She was snapped out of it when suddenly a gargantuan fishwife grabbed Jerro on what appeared to be a painful death-choke. She observed Destini grabbing a crossbow and aiming it at the strange woman.

What was this then? A tavern brawl? Or d'Argent's final assassination attempt? Pagan frowned and tried to focus her eyes on the woman, swaying back and forth on her stool like a willow tree on a gentle breeze of wind. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

A bird flew in and landed on the table. Pagan stared at it incoherently, pointed at it with her finger and managed to say: "Duck!"
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"I'll have that back now dear," chided Allan as he retrieved the crossbow from Destini. Needed to remember how fast her hands were.

"Perhaps it would be acceptable if we spent one night in one town in Eire without visiting the jail"

He set down the crossbow beside him on the bench and coaxed the pigeon over with some bread. "Come little fellow, let's have that message, shall we?"

He unrolled the parchment and read a long message, the first portion which was addressed to him

"Captain Brightpoint. King Faheud tells Manfred to send message right away and so I send this immediately. Very important message and you must get this news before it is too late for Manfred must not fail his King. Fail very bad. Never do that. Manfred is very tired tonight but will stay up until message written and sent on best bird Percy.

Anyway, it is very important once you arrive in England to make haste to the Tower after collecting up some buttered herrings in Chard for the feast that approaches.

Manfred has another message too. It is for Brother Corwynn. He is a nice boy and Manfred must get him his message too or King be very cross and has whole unit of guards to encourage slow messengers now.

Brother Corwynn will attend coronation and then hie to the docks of Dover to sail for Holland. King says his favorite forensic specialist is a nun studying there and Sister Audrey will need Corwynn's help. Corwynn not come home without scones this time, yes?

Final part of message is for Destini MacKenzie whom Manfred likes more than the rest of you so save her message for last. She is a pretty lass and well worth staying up very late to write letters. This part for her only So.. No peeking.

Miss MacKenzie, His Majesty the King of England requests your presence in the Tower of London for tea and a game of chess at your earliest convenience.

Messages all done now. Feed bird many treats or pigeon trainer Master Keyes will be angry and he has a *very large* Crossbow he named Vera...

Manfred the messenger.
Manfred tired now. Poor Manfred.

--Brother_corwynn

"HOLLAND?!" exclaimed Corwynn, features aghast at the news. "What the bloody hell did I do to vex the king this time? Sure, I cannot keep Brightpoint out of trouble, but by the barnacles on the backside of saint Barnabas, who could?

Audrey...eh?"

His visage softened considerably.

"Now there is a brilliant one. We worked together on an investigation recently. She would only be in Holland if a medical expert was there teaching. No so bad then. No idea what the scones bit is about, the King makes better scones than ever I did..."

He pondered the problem a moment and then said, "I am being rude, Jerro's loving friend there is the lovely miss Molly, seller of the finest pewter wares in Port Lairge, and wields a fair hug at whiles...

Miss Molly, this is Allan Brightpoint, Destini MacKenzie, Pagan MacKenzie, Richard Grimthorn and apparently, Percy the pigeon, at your service."

The smiling woman beamed at them all and exclaimed, "Bloody nice to meet the lot of ye on me way to the wool faire. I am off to bed, but I trust you'll all sleep well."

She then leaned in to Jerro and failed to whisper softly, "I'm in number 17, dear, feel free to knock."

--Percy_the_pigeon

Percy ate his treat happily. Seeing that they had the message, Percy flew out the open window and back to Westgate.

Destini

Destini frowned as Allan took his pistol-crossbow away from her. Of course, she didn't need it. Molly had meant no harm. Destini had over-reacted. Given the events she'd been through recently, it wasn't at all surprising. Still, it bothered her to be on such high alert that she'd jump for weapons before taking stock of the situation first. Realizing she'd knocked over her chair, she righted it and sat, eating more of her dinner as Allan read the letter.

"Tea an' chess, hm?" said Destini softly, watching the whiskey in her glass absently. "Aye, I've played the game. My da' taught me how ... long ago. I didnae realize His Majesty played, though. Do kings have time fer games? I s'pose they must, if he's askin'. I wonder why it must be at my earliest convenience," she was speaking aloud without realizing she was voicing her thoughts in a rambling stream-of-consciousness sort of manner.

She looked to her companions a moment, only then realizing she had spoken. Her cheeks flushed mildly. She really needed to watch how much she drank. She didn't have a constitution like Pagan. "Regardless the reason, His Majesty clearly has plans fer us when we return to England."
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Jerro_oconnor

Jerro couldn't help but shudder. "Well, what seemingly delightful news ye got. And I've got the earthly earthware woman. Is it too late to change my mind and go to England with ye?" He pushed his plate into the middle of the table. Suddenly, he didn't feel all that hungry any more. "Allen gets to help set up a feast, Corwynn gets to watch a medical specialist, Destini gets to play strategy games with a king, and I get a very scary proposition." He shuddered again, turning to look at the destructive wake Miss Molly had left.

"That's probably a code for somethin, which seems about right since we just finished talkin about that. But it's probably somethin similar to the message anyway. No chance my code is any more subtle than I'm gettin out of it." He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. Maybe if he sat like this, the problem would go away on its own?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn yawned and stretched. "I don't know about you lot, but this has been a frenetic few days. I am minded to get some sleep before we take the final leg off to our ship."Hepoked through the room keys on the table near Allan and selected one labled "1" as it was as far as he could be from "17"

"Night all!" waved Corwynn as he headed up the stairs.

--Richard.grimthorn

Richard, glad for the segue from conversation to sleep, readily drained his glass and picked up key number 2 from the table. He glanced to Jerro and had a momentary pang of pity for him. "Four rooms, chap," he said to Jerro and held up the room key. "What say you to sleeping in a room where I'll guard the door from lady Molly?" Of course, by 'guard the door' he meant he'd sleep on his bedroll in front of the door. Given that woman's girth, he was fairly certain that he'd be able to hear if she tried to enter. Plus, he had no desire to share a room with Corwynn, if he could help it.

Jerro_oconnor

He had to admit, Richard's proposition sounded good. "Alright, since I can't get the army to rescue me quite yet, I guess I'll settle for the next best thing." He got up, pushed his chair in and followed Richard into room 2, looking out in case Miss Molly decided to ambush him in the halls. He wasn't sure how much more "affection" he could take! "G'night everyone!" He called over his shoulder to the others.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Destini

A pensive expression was on Destini's face as she watched Corwynn, Richard, and Jerro wander off to their rooms. "He's a quandary. Richard, I mean. One moment he's murderin' an killin' those on the side o' right, an' the next he's puttin' himself in harm's way to protect a member o' that same side. I cannae fathom him."

Even as she said the words, she knew she could fathom him. In one way or another, they were all like Richard. They had all killed and threatened others. Self-defense could only excuse so much. "O' course, then I wonder if there really is a side o' right an' wrong. Or if it's all just points o' view. Imperfect creatures cannae be wholly good or wholly evil, I s'pose."

She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose with the thumb and index finger if her left hand. A deep sigh escaped her lips. "Ne'er mind me. Morbid thoughts are a result o' this terrible day. I'm tired an' the road from here is long. I'm fer bed, too, I think. Allan?" She reached out to take Allan's hand in hers.

Looking to Pagan, something about the way the candle light shone on her face made Destini ask, "How 'bout ye, lass? Will ye be alright in yer room?"
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Pagan

Pagan looked at Desti and gave her a smile that was at the same time brave, weary, incoherent and somewhat sad. "Aye", she said with a thick voice. "I guess I can get some sleep now." She raised her empty glass. "I've had my medicine."

Pagan pushed herself up on her wobbly feet and focused her eyes on the staircase. It looked like an insurmountable mountain, but she knew that if she didn't make it up to her own room soon, she wouldn't make it at all - not with her own legs. She was over her limit.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stood up. "I think rest is a perfect idea. The morrow sends us a very long day indeed."

Brightpoint offered Destini an arm and held up the room keys numbered 4.

"These would be ours...Shall we?"

Destini

Taking Allan's proffered arm, she allowed him to lead her to their room. Destini kept a watchful eye on Pagan as long as she could to ensure the lass made it to her room alright. Eventually, as they parted for their own room in number 4, Destini had to break line of sight and retire for the evening.

She stripped to her under-tunic, finally uncovering the angry red-brown stripes on her wrists and ankles where her bonds had been. She held one wrist with the other hand and stared at the injuries silently. Now that the short-sleeves of her under-tunic left her arms bare, other injuries were revealed in the soft candle-light. A myriad of tiny pin-pricks showed at the crooks of both her arms, locations where d'Argent had administered poisons to keep her docile and compliant.

"What day is it, Allan?" she asked him without turning to face him. So long as she kept her back to him, he couldn't see the worst of the injuries. Embarrassed, fearful of what his reaction might be or what he might think, she didn't want Allan to see her like this, wanted him to blow out the candle and plunge the room into darkness that would hide what had been done to her.

Her question, however, prolonged the light and made it more likely he would notice. It was too late to take back the remarks, now. "I've lost track o' the days, somehow."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked at Destini and felt compassion for ehr as she admitted she was not sure how long she had been held captive.

"It was only two days from the trouble in the MacKenzie Circus Tavern in Imleach til this moment. The flight and chase was fast a furious. I am very proud of how you fought like a lioness in trying to escape d'Argent's clutches along the way."

He blew out the candle and wen to take ehr by the shoulders gently.

"Come... right now you need comforting and sleep...."

He led her to the bed and hoped her sleep would be dreamless...

Destini

Nearly two days? In all that time, she remembered only a few hours worth of jumbled memories, hazy, unreal scenes that seemed more like a nightmare than something that had actually occurred to her. The marks on her flesh said otherwise, though.

The candlelight vanished. Had he understood why she'd not turned around? Allan's touch was gentle on her bare shoulders. His fingers on her skin told her his pride was more than words to make her feel better. She allowed him to lead her to the bed where she rested her head beside his on the pillow, mindful of Allan's own injuries.

To sleep restfully, to allow her body to recuperate without poisons forcing oblivion upon her, was a great relief. Exhaustion took her quickly and she was asleep in moments. There were dreams, but they were distant and hazy. One piece was more clear than the rest of the content, but it was out of place, meaning nothing to her. Whatever the dreams, they were unwilling to come to the surface just yet. For that, she was exceedingly grateful.
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--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn yafidgeted in the saddle. It had been a fast ride to the port town where Allan's backup transportation awaited. he should be back out at any moment to tell them if the ship was really there and passage secured. He looked at the others, also showing signs of impatience and failed to stifle a glib comment.

"At least it is a short wait. I'd hate to think we'd sit here outside the gates for two hours while Allan blunders around. "

Corwynn grimaced at himself for he had just sounded like Richard.

"Sorry, I need to be more patient. I guess I am still feeling like some army of constables will show up wanting a word....It is the status quo this trip.

His words trailed off at the end as he saw a familiar blonde head riding out of the gates toward them.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan brightpoint was well pleased.

He rode through the gates out of Corcaigh and rejoined his comrades with a broad grin.

Pulling the horse to a stop with the reins, he said, "The Sea Calls, the winds whisper and...We have berths on a ship leaving in three hours.

Colonel Pagan. Cpt. Jerro. It has been an honor to serve with you and I'd have you at my flank in any battle that came..."

Allan fell silent then as he knew there were goodbyes to be said between Destin and Pagan that were neither short nor easy. They seemed like sisters to be honest, and he nudged his mount over to Corwynn and Richard to coordinate while the ladies could speak in some privacy.

Destini

"Well then," said Destini turning to her best friend in all the world with the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Here beside the shores o' the sea we make our farewells." A comforting hand found its way to Pagan's shoulder.

"But fare-thee-wells arenae goodbyes. We shall see each other again, an' we shall be keepin' in constant contact in the meantime. Ye both know the codes we'll use, aye?" she addressed both Pagan and Jerro. While on the road, Destini had explained a simple code she had read about during her studies in Hastings. Every third letter of the body of the missive would together form a different message entirely. It was simple, but, unless someone were looking for it, nearly invisible. Other, more complicated, codes could be used later, if necessary.

"We'll send ye plants an' instructions fer the creation o' the Oriental antidote, too. I'll speak with Reverend Mother Mary myself as soon as I see her," she promised.

Desti hugged Pagan tightly and held her a long moment before finally releasing her. "I will pray fer both yer safety every day I'm away."
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Jerro_oconnor

"And I you! All of ye." Jerro responded to Allen. He noticed Allen repositioning himself towards Corwynn and Richard. Then he realized that Allen was giving Pagan and Destini space to talk, kin to kin. He also backed up a bit to give the girls some space to talk.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan embraced Destini tightly, feeling a hard lump on the back of her throat. When they released each other Pagan kept her hands on her friend's shoulders and looked her in the eyes for a long time, smiling softly.

"Well, here we are again. Just like at Oddman's and Airiana's wedding that day... has it really been half a year now? Almost that long I reckon. And now ye have to go again." Pagan sighed. "But as ye say, this is not a final farewell."

Pagan quieted down, unsure what more to say. She felt like she had to say something, but it was like all that was worth saying had been said already. And the ship was waiting.

"Good bye, dear friend. Some day we meet again. Take care of yerself."

Pagan released her hands from Destini's shoulders and nodded.
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Destini

"Aye," she agreed with Pagan. " 'Tis just like Oddman an' Airiana's weddin'. Only next time, when I return, I promise not to spend the whole time chasing murderers." She offered a soft joke at the end, her smile grinning sadly at her best friend.

Sniffling a little, she broke from Pagan's company for a moment and turned to Jerro. She probably surprised him with a hug, wrapping her arms around her new friend ... although, she made certain she was far more gentle than the great, hugging pewter merchant from Port Lairge. "A great pleasure to meet ye, Jerro." she said as she returned to a respectful distance, blushing a little as she did. "I cannae thank ye enough fer the rescue. Eire needs more people like yerself an' Pagan, people who give their all fer the greater good regardless o' the consequences. I hope we will communicate often."

She looked for Allan, Corwynn, and Richard and found them standing a respectful distance away. She smiled softly to them so they would understand they needn't be strangers at thi, their final farewell. "I expect when next we meet 'twill be on the soil o' mother Eire," she said to Pagan and Jerro both, "But if e'er ye feel like travelin', ye are always welcome to stay in my apartment in Hastings."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan seemed to sense the time was appropriate, so he eased his mount up beside destiny, facing Pagan and Jerro in close proximity.

He said, first to Destini, "It is time, dear...." and then to Pagan and Jerro as he clasped their hands in a firm grip, "Travel safe and well, give enemies hell, and let the whiskey spin her spell! We shall meet in less troubled times....."

Allan backed his horse, turned, and led the others down the road towards the ship that waited to take them back to England at last...

(OOC: The further adventures of Destini Allan, Richard, and Corwynn may be seen in the Thread "A Changing of the Guard" in this same forum)

Jerro_oconnor

Jerro was suprised by Destini's hug, but in a good way. Much more pleasant than the bone shattering embrace of Miss Molly. Jerro nodded to Destini, then Allen, Corwynn and Richard. He couldn't help but feel that he was being cheated out of something good. Still, they had their job to do, and he had his.

As the ship began to depart, he waved to them from the docks. "Travel safe, and come back when ye finish up!" He called across. He stood there waving until the ship was far off into the horizon. Finally, he turned to Pagan. "Well, what do we do now?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan

Pagan stood quietly on the end of the pier next to Jerro for a long time, waving at Destini, Allan, Corwynn and Richard for as long as she could see them. When her hand got tired she crossed her arms and just stood there, watching the ship as it sailed away to the horizon. For some reason it made her think about Zan, sailing away on that small boat set in ablaze...

Jerro's question snapped her out of her daydreaming. Suddenly she realized how exhausted she was. She felt almost uncontrollable urge to go to rest and sleep, sleep and sleep, for days on end. She was physically battered, bruised and exhausted, but the exhaustion she felt went beyond that. She felt empty inside.

Before Pagan gave an answer to Jerro she looked back at the small dot that was soon about to disappear over the horizon. She tried to detect some emotions within her. What was she feeling? What was she thinking?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Just spilled booze. That was the truth of it.

Pagan turned to Jerro and said heavily: "Now? Now we go home. Back to our families, friends and fields. Back to living our lives and pretend none of this never happened at all."

But Pagan knew that life would never be exactly the same as it had been before it had started. Not for her and not for Jerro.

She wondered whether Jerro knew it as well.

THE END
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