17
Aug

Appearances

   Posted by: Adam Rohr   in Concerning the Tir Camp, Tales of the Dark Isles! And More.

The winds picked up sharply as he crested the hill, tugging fiercely at his cloak and the loose, flowing tunic he preferred to wear. Strands of his golden hair, too were whipped up in the gale, part of the great wave that rolled across the plain; rye as far as the eye could see, bending in reverence to Balor’s strength.

The suns were still high in the sky, blue chasing yellow across the heavens, a several dark stormclouds taking up the remaining room. It would storm, soon; he could tell, as he always had. An instinct, and one that had served him well in the past. It would do so today, as well.

The small dugout was almost invisible, the way it was nestled so well into a riverbank. “Tree of the East?” he heard a voice call out. He became ice; frozen solid, not a muscle so much as twitching. He knew at least three crossbowmen were trained on him–maybe more. His response was clear and concise: “Profit of the West.”

It was after that response that figures nearby made themselves known. “You have the coin, then?” one of them asked. Though garbed as one of the Sayaki’s warrior caste, the man’s skin was fair, his hair a rich red–he was clearly not among those people.

Nodding, his cloak opened slowly to display a strung up pouch of coins, hidden away from casual search through the clever use of folds and double layering. “All of it. Lord Thurstwyn’s manor was as expected, though there was some difficulty in the flight. One of the law got in my way.”

“Not my problem.” came the other man’s gruff reply. As the coin pouch was tossed to his feet, he brought two fingers from his left hand to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. “The Duke wants to see you, this time. He’s got a special request.”

He sighed. He hated dealing with nobles. Too demanding, think their coin is worth more than that of anyone else, and don’t much care about the how’s of things, so much as the when’s of them.

~–{}=====>

“Oh, my friend! It has been a while, has it not?” the Duke said, some time later; the safehouse hadn’t been revealed until after more men were brought in and Blackwood searched for weapons. They found none, of course, but he had four on his person, nonetheless. “I hear you had some trouble, on the last job… That won’t be a regular issue, will it..?”

Blackwood couldn’t help but think to himself that the Duke ought to just say he didn’t want trouble coming down on him. They both knew what was meant. “No, Your Lordship, that won’t be happening again.” This was, of course, a technicality; he’d killed the poor bastard that chanced upon his cleverly hidden escape route.

The silence between them chilled any semblence of warmth in the room, the two staring at each other for several moments–they each seemed like eternity–before the Duke spoke once more. “Good. I would hate for anything unfortunate to hap-”

“Don’t you dare!” Blackwood snapped, lurching to his feet and slamming both hands upon the table between them. The metallic clank of two watchful guards preparing to intervene followed. “I’ll do the damn job. Give me a name and a target.” He spat to the side, eyes like smoldering embers upon the plump nobleman in front of him.

It was all show, though–the Duke did this on purpose, to rile him up. It worked, too, always. Just like all the other times, he took his time demanding the rosewood box that contained Blackwood’s next hoop. Hoop. Like some dog doing tricks.

It opened with a creak, and the Tir practically tore the parchment out of the plush satin cushion it sat on. “Lady Orrelsia ferch Erold, House Draynir.” he read aloud. “Everything… marked with the Three Cloves of House Draynir.” His eyes snapped back up to the man across the table. “Signet ring? Signifying garb? Banners?”

The Duke nodded. “Everything.”

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15
Aug

Cat and Mouse

   Posted by: Adam Rohr   in Concerning the Tir Camp, Tales of the Dark Isles! And More.

The seal was pressed into the wax without hesitation, the wolf statant shaped in the silver-flecked azure wax.

“Do it.” he bade. “Then have copies placed in every tavern, inn, pub, bar and rat’s nest you find.”

The edict was slapped to the Watch board in the office, and the man stood up from his desk.

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE:

The Ill-Reputed Brigand Known As Blackwood

A tall, muscular male Tir with short blonde hair and piercing jade eyes, his only other defining characteristics are a long, jagged scar down his left eye: Likely still fresh. He is known to wear loose, flowing clothing, and is adept at almost any kind of dagger, sword or fencing weapon. NOT to be taken lightly! He IS armed, always, and extremely dangerous!

Wanted on a List of Foul Crimes, below summarized:

-Fifteen counts of murder

-Fifty-two counts of assault

-Thirteen counts of Treason

-Three counts of Criminal Sorcery

-Four hundred thirty-five counts of Theft

-Ninety-two counts of Burglary

-Sixteen counts of Perjury

-One count of Piracy

-Thirty-eight counts of Brigandry

-One count of Breaking exile

-Seven hundred sixty-two counts of Disturbing the Peace

ANY INFORMATION OR EFFORT WHICH LEADS TO THE CAPTURE OF THIS MOST FOUL STAIN ON SEAHAVEN’S WELL-BEING WILL BE RICHLY REWARDED BY THE CROWN!

-Lord Commander Mortison ap Merriv

*sealed with the Azure Wolf, Mortison’s heraldry*

Reading over, Mortison grimaced and glanced over to the man beside him–tall, armored and looking more like a veteran of war than a defender of peace, he was nonetheless in possession of a tranquil demeanor that countered the many scars and rippling muscles that were, in some places, still visible beneath the polished chain.

“What is your opinion, sir?” he asked congenially of his companion.

The man looked as weary as Mortison, truthfully. He folded those bear-like arms across his chest and shook his head slowly. “My opinion is that this fiend is taunting us, lately. Playing a game of cat and mouse, as it were… Catching him will be almost impossible, even with public rewards offered.

Sighing, Mortison’s face reflected much the same as the stated opinion his man delivered. “Indeed… But we’re going to catch him, Captain. We must. He’s robbed Lord Thurstwyn now, so you can imagine the pressure on us to catch him before he grows even more daring.”

The Commander brushed aside some of the papers on his desk, looking for one missive, in particular. The words were fuzzy to him, but he could remember its message quite clearly. Displacing reports, sightings and requisitions for more equipment, he uncovered it. “Ah, yes. The message from Lord Thurstwyn:

Lord Commander,

It is the opinion of the Council of Peers that, with all the money being funneled into your band of lawfully recognized mercenaries, the matter of protecting our fair realm should be of a much higher priority, Lord Mortison. I recently donated, most charitably, one hundred pounds for the supply of chain armor to your proven officers, I believe? Not three weeks later, my estate was pilfered of everything blue–an odd pattern, to be sure, but one that costed me dearly: silks, sapphires, ornate vases and everything: It’s all gone, and I fully expect it to be retrieved. I understand there are some mercenaries who think the poorly-named Seahaven Watch would do better if they did so from afar, and let more action-oriented folk tend to the defense against beast and brigand.

Penned 6th, Beginning of Spring, 1060,

Lord Abrams Thurstwyn

“We had better hope we do catch him, Captain… It seems some think to move in on our turf.” Mortison noted with a heavy tone of disdain. “And since I’m quite certain he means the Cerulean Gull, I would rather we -not- lose our Crown contract to those barely-legal thievess.”

~–{======>

Cat and mouse, Mortison thought to himself. That’s exactly what this was, except he was the mouse, this time, and caught between two cats–vicious things as they were.

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