Saturos Prox
Swordmaster
The Wildcard
I'm almost incapable of lying. I'd be a terrible spy.
Posts: 351
Etruria Fame: 1
Profession: Undercover Operative
Affinity: Anima
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Post by Saturos Prox on Dec 19, 2014 12:37:00 GMT -6
A wry smile flitted across Saturos's face as Myscha insisted that the teal haired man had given her no reason to cooperate, but the grin disappeared as quickly as it had come. Her playful caution was amusing, and her dedication to completing her job, her real job, was admirable, but it was unnecessary. Had he given her no reason to cooperate? He didn't think so, though maybe he had. Regardless, what he hadn't given her was a reason not to cooperate, and that was probably the best he could do for now. But perhaps, in the midst of her frustration, she needed that fact made crystal clear.
"Believe me, I'm a big fan of caution, but your caution was thrown to the wind when you tried to execute a plan based on conditions no longer true," he said with a chiding tone. One of the primary rules of espionage was to be adaptable, and trying to follow through on a time sensetive plan within a changed timeframe was entirely not that. "I can only assume you planned on doing this the moment we got off the boat, so when we arrived at the mine later than expected it may have been smart to consider an alternate course of action." The swordsman balled his right hand into a fist and placed it just above his hip, his mouth wrinkling agitatedly. "Instead you got greedy, so now you have two of Aurelian's thugs heading down this road looking for you, so I suggest you get on your horse and begin riding as fast as you can towards wherever it is you intend to go..." Saturos paused, crouching down to place himself at Myscha's eye level, then held out an open hand.
"But not before you give me whatever it is you took from the gemcutter." The Etrurian operative open and closed his hand expectantly, like a child demanding sweets, before giving the blonde a serious look. "Consider it payment for a life the Bishop's men would otherwise take, as I will need the stone to placate them, after all. And don't try to fool me. I saw the pouch and the pocket you placed it in." Granted, there was no reason she couldn't have moved either the stone or the pouch since she had left the mine, nor was there any reason for her not to have decoy pouches for just this sort of situation, but Saturos gained a foothold in the woman's affable, unfazed persona by admitting he had, at the very least, knowledge that she didn't believe him privy too. The goal wasn't necessarily to prove anything, just to get the other person questioning.
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Post by Charlotte on Dec 21, 2014 23:58:59 GMT -6
It wasn’t very hard for Charlotte to feel pleased with herself; in fact, sometimes she could be downright complacent, and for any outsider, they could see that Charlotte’s blatant dismissal of the man in front of her was unjustly smug. Granted, the confidence in herself is what often led to her success, but as the blonde sat on the cold and dirty ground looking up at the teal-haired man, her self-assuredness might just have been misplaced at the moment.
Charlotte was certainly starting to believe so, as the man essentially scolded her for her lack of forethought and flexibility. She pursed her lips as he continued to blatantly called her out, heat building behind her cheeks that were surely reddening. Did he think her daft? Charlotte had considered changing her plan after arriving at the mines late, but she would have made it away if she hadn’t fallen asleep! And it wasn’t as if she’d planned to doze off anyways, so he really had no right passing judgment on her, now did he? He hadn’t been injured back at the mines, and he’d been able to sleep the past few nights – she assumed, at least.
The blonde crossed her arms, a sigh escaping her as she did. No, even if she protested some of the man’s assumptions about her lack of forethought, he was unnervingly right at the core of his message. It killed Charlotte to admit it, but she had gotten greedy. Gold was fine and all, and that’s what she would have gotten from the Bishop. She could have bought a few new dresses and still had enough to live comfortably until she arranged another job. But she didn’t need gold, no, she was covered for a while from the caravan job. Charlotte wanted the damn dagger that Balsam had offered, but a whole lot of good that did.
Especially considering the man confirmed the Bishop’s men were officially coming after her. Charlotte swallowed, though her mouth was unusually dry as she started to realize her options to slither her way out of this had run out. The consultant had backed herself into a corner thanks to her tunnel vision, and now she’d potentially pay the price with her life. As the man knelt down in front of her, eyes locked on hers as he held out his hand, Charlotte tried to think of some way she could slip him something else on her person, hand of something worthless that would at least give her a head-start to get away. But the man even seemed to have that covered, warning her that he had seen where she’d placed the stone.
Her cheeks were burning hot now, and her mind fully awake with frustration. How could he know? But it didn’t matter, really. The man had beaten her, hadn’t he? There was no talking her way out of this now, and considering the Bishop’s men couldn’t be far behind Ryker, she was running out of time. While she still had no idea who Ryker really was, he was offering her a way out, so he clearly had some sway with the Bishop and his men, even if he didn’t work directly for the ‘holy’ man. And while the stone was valuable, Charlotte didn’t value it more than her own life. If handing it over to Ryker meant she could leave the Isles relatively unscathed...
Charlotte looked down at the man’s hands before closing her eyes for a moment, body feeling paralyzed with discomfiture as she willed herself to reach into the small sown-in leather pocket on her person that discretely held the stone. She curled her hand around it, holding it in its place as she stared even harder at Ryker’s outstretched hand. According to Balsam, when a dragon touched their stone or was near it, the stone would grow warm to the touch, but it was clammy and cold now, as if the heat of her body had barely warmed it after all these hours against her ribcage.
“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Charlotte asked through gritted teeth, finally pulling the stone from the pocket. “The damn thing’s only useful to me if I make it back to the mainland in one piece, so... here.” Charlotte placed the stone in Ryker’s hand, though instead of letting go immediately the blonde clasped her hand around his, finally looking back up to the man while still holding his hand through the stone.
“I have two favors to ask of you, however, if you’ll humor me...” she said. “First, if I’m to get back on that horse with this damn foot, I could use some assistance in order to move with any sort of haste.” Charlotte paused, though she already knew what she’d ask as a second favor. She wasn’t sure the man would even oblige her, but maybe with a bit of guilt he might. Once this was all done, she’d like to see if she could learn a bit more about this Ryker, but she needed his actual name to do that.
“And second,” Charlotte continued, eyes locked on his as she spoke, “might I inquire who it is that’s so calmly taking five months’ worth of pay from me? It’s clear no miner pursued me tonight.”
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Saturos Prox
Swordmaster
The Wildcard
I'm almost incapable of lying. I'd be a terrible spy.
Posts: 351
Etruria Fame: 1
Profession: Undercover Operative
Affinity: Anima
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Post by Saturos Prox on Jan 1, 2015 0:41:07 GMT -6
"A friend."
Saturos pulled the revealed stone from Myscha's outstretched hand and held it up to the sky, allowing the light to brighten and embolden its deep, rich color with startlingly beautiful effect. It was a blue thing, speckled with touches of red that dotted the rock like flakes of crimson gold leaf. It wasn't a sapphire, and it wasn't a ruby, nor was it a garnet or an opal or anything of the sort. Pietersite? No, it was too translucent. In fact, the operative had never seen anything like it. Fascinating, but ultimately unimportant. Knowing what it was wouldn't help him right now. It wasn't his job to identify it.
"But if that doesn't work for you, you can call me Saturos. Not sure how much help that'll be, though, all things considered." Saturos looked back down at the woman waved his hand dismissively and disarmingly, as if trying to brush the tension out of the air. "I know it doesn't seem like it from down there," he spoke, fully erecting himself as he playfully tossed the stone into the air, "but I'm not the one ruining your day. Blame Aurelian." He caught the stone deftly. "That greedy fool is never happy with what he has, and is always looking for resources to finance some new scheme that makes him more. Last I heard, he was trying to fund a mercenary army with all the gold he's pulling out of that mine. Some say he's going to make a play for the throne." The Etrurian wagged his finger as he chided the bishop's intentions, then slipped the aqua blue gem into his right breast pocket, then patted it to make sure it was secure. Last thing he needed was this falling out on his way back. "Me? I think he's just getting ready for the aftermath of someone else trying to do it. I can only imagine the civil war following that."
"But enough about politics you could probably care less about. Let's get you on that horse and get you out of here, hmm?" The operative ended his rambling and extended a helping hand toward the downed woman. He really did feel a bit bad for the predicament she now found herself in. Here she was, a smart, charismatic, skilled, intelligent woman, getting slapped down like a child that had been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. He wished he could just hand the stone back to her and send her on her way, feigning ignorance or incompitence to Aurelian if pressed, but he knew he could not, and he would not apologize, neither to himself nor to Myscha, for the words he had said. Yes they were harsh, and they probably stung, but this was a tough lesson to learn, and it was a lesson she needed to learn if she was going to deal with men as dangerous as the bishop. But Saturos figured he didn't have to waste much thought worry about her, since he got the impression that the woman had already internalized what he had been trying to say. After all, the loss of a five month paycheck, as she so eloquently put it, was a bigger wakeup call than any slap upside the head, and such a blow to her ego probably hurt more than any fist to the gut. Shame was a powerful motivator, if it didn't cripple you first.
"Hurry, hurry. Neither of us have all day."
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Post by Charlotte on Jan 1, 2015 19:41:18 GMT -6
“You’d be surprised how helpful a single name can be, love,” Charlotte cooed as the man took his hand away from hers to examine the spoils of her hard work. Her stomach turned as she watched Saturos flippantly toss the dragonstone in the air, reminding her of her lost reward. Still, despite the man’s chiding tone, there was something incredibly endearing about him. Everything he did seemed to have a flair of drama behind it, though still remained detached enough to largely remain an observer, and a very keen one at that. While she was well-versed in the inner workings of many noble and elite families, Lycians especially, Charlotte was never able to pierce the armor that surrounded those of Etruria. Part of that was due to her disinterest in the people as a whole, but what Saturos mentioned was most intriguing coming from him. For someone to not only be privy to that information, but to also be intelligent enough to discern his own conclusion from it… Charlotte finally had a guess at what the man’s profession was, but it was hardly the time to seek confirmation. Still, it was truly a shame they would have to part here.
Charlotte slipped her hand into the teal haired man’s, grasping as he helped pull her to her feet. Saturos was rushing her, and while she understood his caution, her foot was aching. With no time to lessen the pain, there was nothing she could do but move a bit slower. Taking her hand away from the man’s, the blonde bent down to slide her pack closer to where Calamity was resting. The poor old horse was likely hungry, but there was no time to feed her now.
“Moving as fast as I can,” the blonde sigh frustratedly as Saturos urged her to move faster. The process of mounting Calamity again was awkward, considering Charlotte couldn’t jump onto her back as she had before, but with the conveniently tall man there to help her, it only took a minute before she was sitting at the horse’s shoulders, ready to head for the docks and get back to the mainland.
Adjusting the pack on her shoulders, Charlotte looked down to Saturos. It was frustrating that the man had made her feel like a fool, but in the end he was still helping her evade the Bishop’s supposed wrath, and for that she was grateful. She certainly didn’t want to die for something like this, so she appreciated his willingness to use whatever influence he had to help her avoid that.
“I don’t imagine I’ll see you again,” Charlotte said as she adjusted her grip on Calamity’s reigns, “but if you’re ever in Laus or Santaruz while I am, I’ll buy you a drink.” It was a 'thank you' in her own, stubborn way, but a 'thank you' nonetheless. With a swift nod, Charlotte turned Calamity towards the path and took off. Enjoyable as the man’s company was, he’d made it clear enough that there was no time to waste.
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An hour and a half later
Charlotte’s eye stung as she pushed Calamity to a gallop with the docks now in sight. She was lucky Saturos had been willing to buy her a bit of time, but she knew it was still likely very little. So despite the dark and the throbbing pain in her arch, Charlotte pushed onward, peeling into town as the horse’s hooves now clicked against a cobbled together path leading straight to the docks. Only one boat looked to be readying itself to disembark into the night, and as Charlotte approached, she instructed her horse to slow so she could try to make out the men standing on the docks. Most were still loading wares and crates onto the vessel, but there was one man who stood at the gangway, arms crossed and dressed exactly as Balsam said he would be. Charlotte sighed with relief; she would make it off of this island after all.
“Whoa girl,” Charlotte said, pulling on Calamity’s reigns and signaling her to stop. As soon as the horse steadied with a tired whinny, Charlotte dropped her pack to the ground and slid carefully off of the mare, being careful to land on her uninjured foot. She picked up her pack and slowly sidled over to the brown-haired man, who didn’t look at her until she was upon him. Doing as she was instructed by the lord, Charlotte wrapped her free arm around the man and rose to her toes to kiss him. The man returned the gesture, lips moving against hers as his hand gently moved to the small of her back. It was a passionless kiss, only lasting for a moment before Charlotte broke the embrace, a feigned smile on her lips.
“You had me worried,” the man parroted the lines that Balsam had told Charlotte he would.
Charlotte laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t leave without me.” Adjusting the pack on her shoulders, Charlotte kept her eyes trained on the man in front of her, who looked back to the loading ship before looking back down at the blonde woman.
“We’ve about 20 minutes before we disembark, and I’m sure you’re tired,” the man sympathized, though it was unnecessary. “Care for a quick drink?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t part of the plan Balsam had laid out for her, but the man had proven he was one of Balsam’s men, and Charlotte was dying for a bit of mead.
“Lead the way,” she said, motioning back towards the few ramshackle buildings that lined the small bit of coast the dock had been afforded. The man obliged, taking her hand and leading her towards what the blonde could only assume was the local tavern through a small alley away from the docks. It was dark and unusually quiet, which concerned Charlotte, though she shook it off as nerves as she ignored the pain starting to grow in her foot again.
Midway through the alley, the brown-haired gentleman stopped. “Hold on, I left something back at the dock. Can you wait here for me?”
Warning bells suddenly went off in the woman’s head. Something wasn’t right. “I’ll just come back with you, I don’t mind walking a bit more,” she smiled through her lie.
“No no,” the man insisted, “I’ll only be a moment, I swear.” He tried to break his hand away from Charlotte’s, but the woman kept a firm grip on the man’s hand, causing him to look back at her angrily as she tugged his arm back. She didn’t want to be left alone in this alley, not when she could feel something was really wrong.
“I hate to admit it,” Charlotte quickly said, “but I’m a bit frightened, so can I please just walk with you?”
The man closed his eyes, sighing as he shook his head. “You’re too insistent for your own good, miss.” Suddenly the man yanked Charlotte’s hand that was grasped in his behind his back, twisting her arm so her back was on his chest. Charlotte tried to hook her leg around the back of the man’s knee so she could bring him to the floor, but instead the man forced his knee into the back of hers causing the struggling blond to lose her balance. All in the same motion the man’s arm was wrapped around her neck, applying so much pressure that the woman couldn’t breath. Charlotte grasped and clawed at the man’s forearm in a futile attempt to free herself, but her vision was getting spots. She couldn’t pass out, no, she had... to stay... awa-
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Post by Charlotte on Jan 8, 2015 23:39:17 GMT -6
Darkness was all Charlotte saw when she woke from dozing off. It was pitch black, but she knew she was in a small cellar alongside a few large barrels and assumed was underground due to the dank, stale air. She was sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair faced away from the entrance, and the uneven back dug under her shoulder blades, making it hard to move her arms. Her hands were tied behind the back of the chair, and her legs were tied one each to the legs of the chair. There was a two inch long cut just above the blonde’s right brow that had been bleeding before she fell asleep. Her lip was also split, though she didn't notice much more than the taste of blood on her tongue since there was a cloth gagging her. And to top it off, her temples were pounding with a headache still. Damn, she’d hoped a few moments of sleep would make it go away.
While she couldn’t be 100% sure what had happened until she spoke with Balsam, Charlotte presumed one of his men had betrayed them to the Bishop or had gotten too mouthy around one of the Bishop’s men unknowingly. Unless it had been a direct betrayal, there wouldn’t a way to track any of this back to Balsam, so Charlotte hoped one of his men had just grown careless and had gotten himself killed. At the present moment, though, Charlotte didn’t care how or why she ended up here; she just wanted to get out alive.
After some time passed, a door slammed open behind her, startling the consultant, and the small cellar was illuminated by a lamp one of the men entering carried. “Good,” the lower of the two voices said, “you learned from the last time you fell asleep. Bishop doesn’t take kindly to workers sleeping on the job.”
Charlotte tried to turn her head to look back, but a sharp pain in her neck kept her facing forward. By now she should have known to watch her mouth, but she was furious, so any semblance of restraint and tact was gone. As soon as a pair of hands removed the gag from her mouth, she couldn't help but mouth off at her captors. “Back to keep beating on a poor young woman, are you?" These two men had been the only people she'd seen since being tied up in the cellar, and as was evidenced by her cuts and presumed bruises they'd been less than kind. "Such a great use of your skill and – AH!”
Before she could continue, one of the men grabbed a fistful of Charlotte’s hair, jerking it to pull her chair backwards. Unable to right herself, the chair balanced on its back two legs for a moment before toppling to the ground. The blonde's arms and balled-up hands hit the ground first, a sickening crack and searing pain shooting through her right arm. Charlotte yelped as her weight and the chair crushed her arms and hands while the back of her head slammed into the cold dirt floor. Limbs and head throbbing and the wind knocked out of her, Charlotte struggled to catch her breath for a few moments, tears in the corners of her eyes, before she finally erupted in a fit of coughs. As she did, the man holding the oil lamp stood over her, a look of disgust on his face.
“Quiet yourself, you filthy woman, or I’ll do it for you,” he hissed, pulling the chair back upright with his free hand. “Clean her wound, will you? I’m sure Miss Charlotte here would be devastated if it scarred.”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. These two men - one tall, brown haired, young, broad shouldered; the other short, stocky, black and white peppered hair, and older – they had come into the cellar quite a few times, and each time they never called her by name. She’d never given any of the Bishop’s men any name besides Myscha, and she certainly hadn’t told these mooks who she was either. That name was sacred and guarded, and somehow, this nobody had obtained it and was using it freely.
“How do you know that name?” Charlotte spat as the stockier man moved towards her with a damp rag. Charlotte tried to move her head away from him, but he grabbed the back of her head, forcing her to hold still as he pushed the rancid thing, soaked in salted vinegar, to her brow. Instantly the wound felt as if it was on fire, eliciting a scream as she tried but failed to struggle away. He twisted and turned the rag, reopening what had already closed.
The brown-haired man chuckled, setting down the oil lamp on a small table in the corner of the cellar. “It doesn’t concern you, now does it? Who knows your name won’t matter much if you die in this cellar, so I’d suggest you give us what we’re asking.”
“I already told you,” Charlotte shouted, a mixture of tears, vinegar, and blood streaming down her face, “I don’t have the stone! A man named... Saturos confiscated it from me! He said he’d bring it to the Bishop!”
Charlotte couldn’t see as her eyes were closed, but the brown haired man shook his head and crossed his arms. “You take us for fools, don’t you? Telling us what you already told us? We know you’re lying, so drop the act!”
The stocky man’s stunted fingers pushed the rag harder against the blonde’s wound, keeping the searing pain in her brow. A sob shook Charlotte’s body; her patience was running thin, and her body ached. “It’s the truth, so if you’re going to kill me stop wasting my time with this nonsense and just do it!”
Suddenly, the vinegar rag was removed from her forehead, but quickly after she felt a hand grasp at the leather on her chest. The stronger man locked his gaze on Charlotte’s opened eyes, his face only a few inches away from hers. She tried to turn away, but his other hand grabbed her jaw, forcing her to make eye contact with him as he breathed hot, venomous breath on her face.
“There are a lot worse things that can happen,” the brown-haired man hissed, saliva spattering the blonde’s cheek, “so I’d drop the tough guy act. You’ve been trying my patience, miss.”
Charlotte glared at the man, words coming through gritted teeth. “If I had more to tell you, I truly would, but I –“
The man released her jaw, roughly turning her face to the left, causing Charlotte to gasp at the sudden pain in her neck as he cut her off. “In the village I’m from, you know what we did with harlots like you?” Pausing for a moment, the man paced out of Charlotte's line of vision. “See, I’m from a small village in Northern Etruria, and most places like that are like little families, miss. So when we find a bad apple, we need to make sure people know who it is so they can be... avoided.”
The man lifted a section of Charlotte’s hair, turning it over in his hand. “See, long hair is a sign of purity and beauty where I am from. It’s a privilege," he wrapped the piece around his hand, "that impure women aren’t," and tugged tightly, pulling Charlotte's head back, "privy to."
Looking up at the man and neck painfully stretched, Charlotte huffed. "What's your point?" Her eyes were stinging, and tears were still coursing down the sides of her face. She didn't like what the brown haired man was implying, and as she heard the sound of a blade leavings its scabbard, she realized one of her worst fears could very well be realized. Cuts and bruises healed in a few weeks, maybe a month, but her long hair had taken years to cultivate. Charlotte was a woman ruled by her appearance, and she cared meticulously for her blonde locks. Losing them was unthinkable.
The brown-haired man gathered the rest of her hair into his hands, holding it tight as he brought his blade into her line of vision. "I'll ask one more time: where is the Bishop's stone?"
Charlotte’s face twisted, trying to pull her hair from the man’s grasp and struggling in her chair. “Saturos is bringing it to the bishop,” she blurted, the same reason spilling from her lips again, “If you find him or just wait, you’ll know I’ve been telling the truth this whole -”
Before she could continue, the older man approached, the same black cloth in his hands which he pressed over Charlotte’s mouth before she could finish, tying it tightly at the nape of her neck to gag her again. As soon as he stepped back, in one swift motion, the brown-haired man tugged on the whole of Charlotte’s hair while bringing his blade through the tautly-pulled tresses. The hair split easily, the long, severed locks falling from the brown haired man’s hands to the ground as Charlotte’s head swung forward. Eyes wide, Charlotte felt another sob push at her chest. This wasn’t happening, she was dreaming, wasn’t she? She hadn’t woken from her nap yet, right? There was no way the man had just cut one of her most cared for assets from her. Another sob tore through her chest this time the alien feeling of cold air pierced her lower neck. Looking down at her feet, she saw haphazard mass of golden threads that could only be her hair, and finally, the emotionless woman was overcome.
“You bastard!” Charlotte screamed against the cloth in her mouth, shaking violently in her chair, trying to turn herself over. The tips of her bluntly chopped hair lightly grazed her shoulders as she whipped her head around, ignoring the searing pain in her neck. “You damn bastard!” She quickly devolved into angry yells against the gag as she continued to struggle against the ropes holding her to the chair, turning and twisting as she nearly succeeded in knocking her chair to the ground.
The brown-haired man gave a short ‘tsk’ at the blonde, catching her chair before it fell. Still crying, Charlotte continued fighting against her restraints, feeling the rope burn her wrists as she tried to twist her arms from them as her captor steadied her chair upright.
“Your own loathsome actions have caused this, Charlotte, remember that.” The brown-haired man brought his fist to meet Charlotte’s cheekbone; a great pain, amplified by her headache, seared through her body from her head to her toes, and suddenly, despite the light from the flickering of the oil lamp, everything was dark again.
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Saturos Prox
Swordmaster
The Wildcard
I'm almost incapable of lying. I'd be a terrible spy.
Posts: 351
Etruria Fame: 1
Profession: Undercover Operative
Affinity: Anima
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Post by Saturos Prox on Jan 11, 2015 17:40:44 GMT -6
The Etrurian operative had been wholly ready to hand off the stolen gemstone to Aurelian's men, wash his hands of the matter, and rest easy knowing Myscha had not been molested by men with little but stern orders and unquenched avarice on their minds. That's what he'd been ready for, at least, but upon returning to the gemcutter's hut, Saturos had not been greeted by the gruff, angry looking men he had hoped to pass his acquired burden onto. No, only the lone visage of the elderly gemcutter remained to meet him, and worse, it claimed that the two men from earlier had left to follow Saturos only minutes after he had set off after Myscha.
Yes, that had indeed been worrisome. Saturos had taken no notice of them on his way out, which meant they had possessed no intentions of revealing their presence to him, and on top of that, he had not seen the two soldiers at all on his way back to the mine, which meant that whatever route they had traveled, it was probably taking them to the auxillary docks. Normally that would have been of little issue. The men would head to the docks, find Myscha, and after the woman explained the situation, they would head back to the gemcutter, where Saturos would be patiently waiting, to recieve their package on their return. Normally. But seeing as Aurelian's thugs had followed Saturos due to what he could only diagnose as an unwillingness to get double-crossed twice in a row, they would no doubt be suspicious of any explanation the theiving woman would give them. If they managed to catch up to the Myscha before Saturos could intercept them, they would accost the blonde demand their due of the her, one which would be impossible for her to give them because she no longer posssessed it. And even if she told the truth and they did believe her, they would probably accept nothing less than her life for the inconvenience of making them look like incompetant fools. She was, after all, a theif.
So Saturos, riding as fast as his horse would dare go across the treacherous terrain, arrived at Myscha's port of depature with more than a fair bit of haste in his step. He had to get to Myscha before they did, but unlike him they had not taken precious time returning to the mean. That gave them a huge time advantage, but fortunately, Saturos could still see the masts of a frigate being prepared and readied for its imminent departure. That meant that Myscha could not have, as of yet, left the island which also meant she wasn't safe. Damn it, what a blunder. He should have expected Aurelian's men to take matters into their own hands, especially considering Myscha had already double-crossed them once. It was sloppy of him not to have a contigency.
But fretting about decisions that could have been made was what had gotten Myscha into this mess in the first place, and Saturos, for all his faux humility, liked to think he was at least somewhat above such mistakes.
First the ship, then. Hopefully Myscha was smart enough to lay low in her cabin, because waltzing around the port right now just made her any easy target for any nefarious malcontents. So Saturos strode down the rough, dirt roard towards the gangplank, passing the scattered buildings that serviced whatever buisnesses had set up shop in the costal depot. It really wasn't much; just a tavern, a few seasonal fishmonger stalls, and a whole lot of storage sheds, but you didn't need much to run such a small port like this. The docks could only handle about three boats at once, which meant there were probably no more than a hundred men in port at any time. Good for him, too. He wouldn't have to go sifting through crowds to find what he needed to.
But as Saturos made his way to the anchored frigate, the glint of sunlight against red wax caught his eye. It was off to the side of the road, just at the mouth of the an alley that cut between the back of the local tavern and a dingy storage. From this distance it looked like... a letter? The operative slowed his pace and adjusted his direction to take him right over to the fallen parcel. It was a small envelope laying face down in the dirt. Wait, that seal. Saturos crouched down and picked up the crinkled paper. There was no writing on it, but the seal on the back was unmistakable. Aurelian's personal signet. This was the letter Myscha had been carrying to the mine. Saturos's face contorted with suspicious confusion. Why was it on the ground? You didn't just drop envelopes like this, even if your negotiations with the giving party were going south.
Well if he had it now, he might as well read it, though he was, at this point, already quite sure of what he would find. Opening the top flap of the envelope, Saturos slid the note hidden inside and unfolded it. His eyes drifted analytically to and fro across the elegant, embroidered writing that decorated the face of the letter. Hmmm, dragonstone? So that's what the little blue rock currently sitting in his pocket was? Facsinating. No wonder Aurelian was being so secretive about this. If Kraft knew Aurelian had found a dragonstone and had not immediately turned it over to him, heads would roll. Not only that, but this letter clearly identified its sender as the bishop, and its addressee as Myscha. This was definitely NOT something either of them wanted lying around. All it would take is one little tip of this to the Prophet and they were both dead.
A pang of urgency washed over Saturos. So here was the letter, but then... where was Myscha?
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Post by Charlotte on Jan 14, 2015 13:00:27 GMT -6
“She’s going to be out for a while.”
“Thank Elimine for that. So mouthy, that one.”
Tyree, the brown haired man, massaged the bloodied knuckles of his right hand with his left, shaking his head. They'd be sore for a bit and would likely bruise, but the discomfort would pass. How frustrating that he and Dirk had to deal with this Charlotte woman until Valen and Booker arrived at the port to collect her. He was of course willing to house her in the cellar of the storage shed they owned on the northern edge of the docks, since it was business relating to the Bishop himself, but it didn’t make the woman any less infuriating.
Thankfully Valen and Booker had arrived about 20 minutes ago and had been resting near the small desk in the back of the shed. For being a shed, it was one of the larger ones – at least a 5x5 room with the cellar below, which the bishop used to export from the Isles wares he wanted handled with discretion. Tyree used the main floor to keep his fishing gear and whatnot, but he was more than please to offer the hidden cellar for the bishop’s purposes. He was a fierce believer in Elimine and did whatever he could to serve her, after all.
As Tyree put the oil lamp down on the desk Valen rested his boots on, he sighed. “She’s still giving the same story as before. Says the package is with some man, Satoras I believe? Said he’d bring it to the Bishop for her.”
Valen crossed his arms. “Then she’s still lying,” he said, shaking his head. “You confiscated the letter from her, I presume?”
Tyree looked over at Dirk, who had been disturbingly digging in his nose with his pinky. With everyone looking at him, he hastily removed the finger from his nostril, wiping his hand on his jerkin. “Wha’, don’ look ah meh! It was yur fishin’ mate who up an’ grabbed her.”
The sound of heavy boots shook the floor, as Valen leaned forward. “Tyree, where is the letter?”
Tyree shrugged; the letter sounded important to Valen, but Tyree had no idea why. "She didn't have anything on her when we put her down there. She probably either stashed it somewhere or destroyed it."
"So you're trying to tell me," Valen said, voice full of anger, "that this thief just threw away a letter with the Bishop's seal on it?! The woman may be a whore, Tyree, but she's no imbecile! Even an idiot fishmonger like you knows how valuable a letter like that is!"
Valen's tempers were flaring, but so were Tyree's at the man's insult. "Oh, don't blame this on me, Valen! You're lucky we even caught the girl when we did, or she'd be be halfway to the mainland and you'd be in the gallows!"
Booker, who had been sitting silently in the corner since arriving, finally chimed in, interrupting Valen and Tyree's shouting. "We must find it," he declared, his voice unusually mousy considering his ample figure, "before someone else does, of course. Most unfortunate for us if it's missing on our watch."
Valen looked over to Booker as if he'd never heard the man speak before, though his features were still turned with frustration. "Dirk, go with Booker. The two of you are going find the letter. You can split up and search the port."
Dirk was wide-eyed; while he was a strong and tall man, unlike Booker, he was clearly less sure of himself. "But tha' letter could be anywhere!"
"We don't have much of a choice, do we?" Valen looked around to the three men, those his eyes rested on Booker the longest, knowing he'd understand better than the fishermen their predicament. "The Bishop wouldn't take kindly to negligence with things belonging to him."
Tyree fumed, but he knew that Valen was right. He hadn’t realized that a letter bearing the seal of the bishop himself was currently missing. Even if the information inside was meaningless, losing something like that was extremely foolish. Even if it wasn’t their fault, it would become theirs as soon as the error was discovered. So if Valen wanted someone to go looking for the letter, then so be it.
“Dirk, just go with Booker and start looking,” Tyree conceded, looking sternly at Dirk, who sighed but nodded. While the two were partners, Tyree could ultimately get Dirk to do whatever he asked, especially if Tyree deemed it important. "Valen and I will stay back, look after the woman."
Booker wasted no time, standing and motioning for Dirk to follow. “No time to waste.” Dirk shuffled off after Booker as he swung the door to the humble shed open, slamming it behind him as soon as Dirk was through. Tyree assumed they’d go to the town first, since that was the last place Charlotte was at, but the letter truly could be anywhere. Lucky for them, they were afforded a bit of extra time since they were so far detached from the mainland, but it wouldn’t be much. When Valen and Dirk missed their arrival, more of the Bishop’s men would come searching, and they wouldn’t be happy to find the sealed letter missing.
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Saturos Prox
Swordmaster
The Wildcard
I'm almost incapable of lying. I'd be a terrible spy.
Posts: 351
Etruria Fame: 1
Profession: Undercover Operative
Affinity: Anima
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Post by Saturos Prox on Jan 25, 2015 22:24:43 GMT -6
Saturos was examining a muddy footprint left on a cobbled together cobblestone path when he heard the faint chatter of two men approaching from a distance. Not wishing to be seen first if he didn’t have to, the teal-haired operative pulled his cloak over his head and ducked behind a nearby house, and just as he made himself scarce, the two men came past the alley Saturos had been scoping out. One was a tall, rougher looking man with weathered skin and an unkempt brown beard that hung stiff with dried seawater, while the other was a very familiar face: one of the bishop’s men from the mine. It wasn’t the tall one with the the large shoulders and the shrill voice, no, it was the shorter one, with the hooked nose and the excellent hair. Unlike his more common looking companion, his eyes were alert and ready, like a foxhound looking for its quarry.
Biting his lip, the sneakier Etrurian pulled himself back into his hiding spot. Were they looking for Myscha? It was a definite possibility, but why wouldn’t they be looking on the boat? Had they already apprehended her?
“We grabbed ‘er right o’er there,” muttered the fisherman as he pointed a gnarled finger a ways down the street. “If it fell out, it would somewhere 'round here.” The other man merely nodded as he mimicked the gesture, then took a couple of steps in the mentioned direction before pausing and looking around. Then shot a glance into the alley that Saturos was hiding in. The tall Etrurian shrunk back at the gaze, making sure he could not be seen until the other Etrurian looked away.
So they had her. Damn it. Now were they looking for him? Maybe; Saturos had little to no doubt that Myscha informed them that she had given him the stone, but the way the two men were scanning the ground made Saturos think they were looking for something else entirely. There was also the fact that the rougher man had mentioned an “it”. Was it the stone they were looking for? If that was indeed the case, then that meant they did not believe whatever Myscha had told them. Unconsciously he fingered the letter sitting his coat pocket. Perhaps they were looking for the letter? Given its contents, it made a fair amount of sense that these men would be looking for it. It was arguably just as important as the stone given the current circumstances.
Saturos chewed on the edge of his cloak as he analyzed the situation. How was one to proceed from here? His primary objective was to find Myscha, but he didn’t know where she was. These men, however, did, and neither of them knew who he was, so there was no issue with making himself seen. At the same time, it wasn't like he could just walk up and ask them where they had put the blonde haired woman they had abducted. In fact, anything even close to that line of questioning would no doubt raise red flags for the shorter man, so talking would not work here.
Stealth was also a non-option. The operative could tail them, but time was of the essence, and he had no idea when they would be heading back to whatever rathole they were currently holding Myscha in. He also knew of nothing he could safely pickpocket off of them that would lead him to where he needed to go. Saturos snorted quietly but frustratedly. He needed their minds, but he didn't need them. It was times like these that Saturos lamented his inability to literally pick brains for information. Remove the head, open the skull, find whatever you're looking for.
The reality of the situation was that if Saturos wanted to secure any sort of long term safety for Myscha, the two goons from the mines at least would need to be dealt with. Permenantly. The confusion left in their wake would be more than enough for a smart woman like Myscha to get as far away as possible without leaving any tracks.
It had come to this, then. As his hand rested on the hilt of his bastard sword, a small part of Saturos felt outplayed. He had always taken no small amount of pride in being able to manipulate and manuver his way to his goals without displays of violence. Being forced to commit an act as brutish and wasteful as murder was, to him, a personal defeat.
And yet the blade was drawn, silently, slowly, from the hiding spot under the Etrurian's cloak. Its steel, dutifully polished to an impressive sheen, glinted in the evening sunset, red like the crimson blood that was about to stain it. The man who wielded it muttered but a single sentence, a contrite petition to his god, then with blade angle forwards dashed towards the two men standing just a couple yards away.
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Post by Charlotte on Feb 1, 2015 17:04:10 GMT -6
Booker methodically hobbled down the street in the direction that Dirk had motioned him in, a dissatisfied “hmph” rising in his throat as he looked around, seeing no letter in plain sight. The groomed man had no idea how the Bishop’s advisors could trust these imbeciles to hide valuables for him when they couldn’t handle keeping track of a letter important enough to bear the bishop’s seal! If they hadn’t been the one’s handling the woman before he and Valen had arrived, they would have no doubt been disposed of as soon as their error had been discovered. Unfortunately they were needed for the time being, but make no mistake that once their use had been expended they would be dealt with.
Waddling over to a cart that was stowed under the window of the local tavern, Booker bent down, looking underneath it to see if the letter would be there. They’d likely have to retrace the woman’s steps some way before they’d come close to finding the letter. Another shame, considering she too would need to be kept alive longer than necessary. No doubt Valen would be screaming at her this very moment, trying to pull whatever information about the letter he could from her.
And still there was the issue of the stone, Booker thought frustratedly as he shuffled back towards the alley, though turning his attention to a small pile of discarded napkins, papers, and other assorted things that he shifted with his foot. The bishop would be expecting the package within the week, and they were already behind schedule. No doubt, even if they had the stone, the delivery would be late at this point, but they had no stone, and the only thing they knew was whatever lies the blonde was spewing to try and save her own skin. Booker had no doubt she’d already sold the stone to one of her cronies, so as soon as the letter was found, she’d be disposed of too. Booker and Valen would likely have their pay cut for this, but as long as the woman was dealt with, Booker was confident they’d at least keep their jobs - and their lives.
A frustrated sigh escaping his rotund cheeks, Booker glanced down the alley one more time before looking back to Dirk, who was closeby but wandering aimlessly down the street. Booker could clearly see the man was worried, but there was no place for that right now. He needed to be helping Booker, but all he was concerned with was his own skin.
“Hey,” Booker spoke sternly, his hand moving to carefully smooth his hair, “What are you doing? You should be loo - ah!” Standing in front of the alley, the broad man stumbled forward and tried to breathe as a sharp pain seared in his abdomen. His legs becoming numb, he would have fallen to the ground had a hand not grasped his shoulder, forcing him to remain upright as he looked at Dirk, who appeared frozen with fear as he looked on Booker.
Booker coughed, the taste of blood coming to his mouth as he looked down, seeing the blood-stained end of a sword coming through his torso. It was surreal, so much so that he found he didn’t know what to say. If Dirk hadn’t been a fool, gaping at Booker as he had been harpooned, maybe Booker could have been saved. But instead the man with the incredible hair simply tried to reach behind him, hoping to at least turn and see his killer before the growing darkness overcame him. Unfortunately with the sun having finally set, the streets were quiet and dark, leaving no one but the damn useless fisherman as a witness as Booker crumpled to the ground, his heaving breaths giving way as the blood spilling from his wound brought him into unconsciousness.
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Saturos Prox
Swordmaster
The Wildcard
I'm almost incapable of lying. I'd be a terrible spy.
Posts: 351
Etruria Fame: 1
Profession: Undercover Operative
Affinity: Anima
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Post by Saturos Prox on Feb 4, 2015 13:20:12 GMT -6
Ignoring the panicking fisherman’s gasping and stammering, Saturos held his position, staring distantly over his victim's shoulder as he waited to make sure his blow was a fatal one. Blood continued to stream from the man's chest, and once the muscles in the his body began to loosen the operative knew there would be no further struggle. It had been a clean kill, right through the heart. With the blood flow to his brain so rapidly reduced, this man wouldn't feel much pain. Good.
Grimly satisfied with the outcome, Saturos slowly removed his blade from the dying Etrurian’s back. Saturos supported Booker's weight as the man's legs gave out, then guided the man’s limp frame down to the ground. There was a pitiful look on Saturos's face as he looked down at the other man.
“I understand I am the aggressor in this instance, and for that I am sorry,” the operative whispered with a frown, before gently lowering his victim’s head onto the cobblestone. “However I cannot allow the Bishop or his men to kill my new associate. May Elimine’s light guide you into the next life, wherever that may be.” Saturos touched his middle and forefinger to his forehead, then placed them on Booker’s. The prayer, however quick, was genuine. He did not enjoy taking lives. He found it crude and wasteful, and an offense to creation. Unfortunately, because many didn’t share his sentiment, it was sometimes the only choice he was given.
As Aurelian’s fallen servant slipped into unconsciousness, soon death, Saturos closed the man’s eyelids with a wave of his hand, then slowly rose to his feet. His head hung a bit forward with regret.
“I do not wish to kill you, but as you have just seen, I am perfectly capable of doing it,” announced Saturos. He geustured to the slain Booker, then pulled a white cloth out of his jacket. He ran the cloth along the full length of his blade, then once the sword was clean, stuffed it back into the pocket he pulled it from. “It will benefit both of us if you don’t give me a reason to bloody my sword again. Where is the woman?”
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Post by Charlotte on Feb 4, 2015 23:38:29 GMT -6
The slam of a door from somewhere upstairs startled Charlotte back to consciousness, her now wide eyes met with pitch black as she whipped her head up from her chest. A bad idea in retrospect, as pain instantly filled her head, as if it were trying to push out from behind her eyes. crap, she whispered to herself, clenching her left hand into a fist and shutting her eyes. It wasn’t like she could see anything anyways.
When no one appeared in the cellar a few seconds after hearing the door slam, Charlotte figured the men had finally left the building. And it was about time, too, considering Charlotte had to find a way out of here, and fast. It was clear that Saturos wouldn’t deliver the stone soon enough for her to be loosed from her captors. Even if he did, the blonde was starting to get the feeling that they weren’t going to be letting her go even if the handsome teal-haired man appeared with the stone. They’d want to make an example of her, show what happens when someone crosses the Bishop. Charlotte didn’t blame them, but it would be an incredibly stupid move.
Still, the threat of death was a disconcerting one. Death wasn’t something Charlotte thought about often, but being tied up in a damp cellar with her fate in the hands of Etrurians made her unsure if she would see the sunlight again. In her experience, Etrurians didn’t use much reason in any aspect of their life. My crops are dead from drought? Pray about it instead of figuring out how to irrigate in more water! Grandma’s sick? Pray over her instead of taking her to a doctor! Someone nearly outsmarted me? Beat them up and kill them instead of trying to learn from them, reutilize their skills! Charlotte huffed disgustedly. Etrurians were more wasteful than Lycian nobles, and that was saying something.
But lamenting about a nation’s collective shortsightedness wouldn’t get her out of the cellar. Charlotte wiggled her body in her chair, twisting her ankles under the ropes binding them, hoping they might give way due to poor knotmanship. But of course, the knots were well crafted, as if tied by a sailor - which wasn’t unbelievable, they were in a port afterall. And with her right arm likely broken, she could barely twist her wrists in their bindings without sobs drumming her chest from the pain. And trying to knock her chair over her chair with the chance to break it would just infuriate her captors when they found her having tried to escape.
From the first time in a long time, Charlotte was stuck.
“WHERE’S THE DAMN LETTER?!” A man’s shrill voice roared from upstairs, followed swiftly by another door slam. Charlotte flinched, knowing that door had been opened for her this time. A tornado ripped down the stairs into the cellar as Valen tore into the room, practically throwing the lamp he brought with him to the table in the corner before lunging at Charlotte. The cool metal fingers of his gantlet grabbed her cheeks, forcing her to look at him as his other hand grasped her shoulder. He dug his fingers as hard as he could into the socket of her right shoulder, and a dry scream tore at the consultant’s throat as red-hot pain shot through her broken arm and shook her head to toe.
“Tell me now, or so help me I’ll force it out of you!”
----
Dirk gasped and stuttered as he watched the bloody and stabbed Booker laid to the ground by the cloaked assassin. He was frozen in place, panicking as he watched the assassin remove his blade and clean it, barely registering the words coming from his mouth. Did Tyree know this was what he’d gotten them into? Sure, he and Tyree made a bit of money on the side from the Bishop smuggling gems and other things back to Etruria for him, but no one said anything about being killed!
The salty, wide-eyed fisherman gulped, having at least heard the man ask where the woman was. Of course, he was looking for the blonde one! Tyree and Booker had talked to her, but Tyree had told Dirk to stay upstairs and wait with Valen. He wasn’t really sure why, until he’d heard the woman yelling of course. Dirk wasn’t keen on ‘making’ the woman talk, but Tyree had said it was necessary, and Dirk trusted Tyree to make the right decision.
The cloaked man’s red eyes were cutting through him as he waited for Dirk to answer, but Dirk didn’t have the slightest what to say. He instinctively looked to his left and right as if looking for counsel, but of course he found none. Tyree of course would be furious if Dirk told the man where they were keeping the beautiful blonde haired woman, but then again, Tyree wasn’t staring down a skilled assassin with a bloodied sword in his hand. Dirk was strong, sure, and he was brave against the terrors of the sea, but he was no fighter. He had a wife he loved dearly, and children he couldn’t let down! Tyree would have to understand that!
“Um, uhhh,” His voice cracked, clearing his throat as he shakily pointed down the alleyway, “Th-tha’ storage shed, d-down tha’ road and to the left thar. Thar’s a b-broken wheelbarrow ou’ fron’, missin’ one o’ it’s wheels, can’t miss it.” He paused, gulping as he tried to inch back a bit. Unfortunately, his back hit the wall with not even a half a step.
“I don’ want any trouble, 'lright?”
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Saturos Prox
Swordmaster
The Wildcard
I'm almost incapable of lying. I'd be a terrible spy.
Posts: 351
Etruria Fame: 1
Profession: Undercover Operative
Affinity: Anima
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Post by Saturos Prox on Feb 12, 2015 19:20:45 GMT -6
“I don’t either,” said Saturos, his gaze migrating from the fisherman’s terrified face to the road that the man had, with a shaky finger, indicated to him. The operative had a calm air about him, nothing like a man who had just killed someone. Was it experience that made him callous, or was it something else? Outwardly, he was a mystery. “I appreciate your cooperation.” The swordsman took a step forward to get a better look. He couldn’t see the described shed from where he was currently standing, which at the very least meant that the man hadn’t just pointed out some random building he saw to get Saturos to go away, but it was hardly an answer he could trust in full.
The tall Etrurian sighed, sliding his drawn blade back into its sheath, then turned towards the fisherman who was now backed up against a wall. Saturos did pity the poor man. For someone who probably spent their life in the relative everyday monotony of shipyard work, watching someone practically executed in front of your eyes by a complete stranger had to be a harrowing experience. Unfortunately Saturos wasn’t currently in the position to accommodate horrified witnesses. And yes, that truly was unfortunate.
“I apologize,” Saturos began, holding out a conciliatory hand. He made sure not approach the terrified fisherman. He didn’t need him to spook and run off. “But unfortunately I’m in too much of a hurry to take you for your word. To make sure you’re not pulling the wool over my eyes, please lead me to the shed in question.” The Etrurian had been very obvious about putting his jian back in its scabbard, but just to be safe, he pulled his cloak aside to reveal his swords, both of them, safely sheathed.
“I have no intention of harming you. If it makes you feel better, I will even walk in the lead.”
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Post by Charlotte on Feb 21, 2015 22:07:00 GMT -6
Even with the teal haired assassin acting as calmly as he did, Dirk had no reason to believe he was safe or would be excluded from meeting the same fate as Booker. So even though he asked politely to be led to the shed, Dirk knew he didn’t have much of a choice or he’d end up with a sword through his chest too. Oh, Tyree would be furious with him, Dirk just knew it! He was certain to cut him out of the business; Dirk would have to find another job entirely he bet. Maybe he’d have to move his family to another port after all of this. Tyree was a very angry man when things didn’t go his way, Dirk knew that firsthand.
At this point, though, for the sake of his family Dirk had to trust the man wouldn’t harm him, and he had to do what he said. So the sailor crossed his arms, giving a gruff, uncomfortable nod to the man as he started walking in the direction of the shed, walking side by side with the man as they walked through the empty streets. He was deliberate in not looking at his small home as they passed it, his walk speeding up as he didn’t want his wife to see him like this. Dirk was no soldier; he’d only seen the dead once they were already dead, and from being old or a sea accident at that. He felt drained, as if he’d been out to sea for months, so if leading this man to the shed would keep him away from Dirk and his family, that was just fine with Dirk.
That being said, Dirk still had to show caution when approaching, since for all he knew Valen and Tyree would be watching for their return. He was mindful to avoid the front, seeing as there were a handful of windows they could be seen through, instead leading the teal haired man through an alley which took them to the back of the storehouse. The things Dirk told him to look for weren’t there, but the sailor had no reason to lie as he pointed at the small structure.
“Thas’ it,” Dirk said plainly, though his voice shook with relief. “Door’s around front; tha’ blonde’s in tha’ basement.”
While he wanted to walk away immediately and leave, even someone as simple as Dirk knew not to walk away until the armed man dismissed him. Nonetheless, he was worried, so he made the one and only request he could of the man in front of him.
“Jus’... try not ta’ kill tha’ brown haired short one, alright?” Maybe Tyree was cruel, but he was still Dirk's friend.
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Saturos Prox
Swordmaster
The Wildcard
I'm almost incapable of lying. I'd be a terrible spy.
Posts: 351
Etruria Fame: 1
Profession: Undercover Operative
Affinity: Anima
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Post by Saturos Prox on Mar 10, 2015 0:20:25 GMT -6
Saturos silently walked beside the sailor as he allowed himself to be led through the port town. The gruff man was understandably tense, after all he had just witness a fairly casual murder, and while Saturos wanted to break the discomfort in the air with a quip or an observation, he figured it a small mercy to allow his upset guide to continue forward in silence. And as they walked, Saturos was careful to take note of the direction they were heading and confirm that they were following the directions as the sailor had originally described them when he had first felt threatened. If there was any difference in how they traveled now, it could very well mean he was being led into a trap, or that the man was purposely misleading Saturos if just to get rid of him.
But fortunately for the both of them, they walked down the road a ways, made a left, then continued down the road some more before slowing in front of what definitely looked like a storage shed. Exactly as first told. There was no wheelbarrow out front as had been previously described, but the sailor seemed to notice it with a nervous look before he led Saturos around the back. The operative also noticed that the man kept nervously glancing at the windows, which was a clear sign they were going to the right location. The sailor didn't want to be seen leading the enemy right to their hideout, sparking is repeated and wary looks, and made sure to give the glass openings a wide berth.
So the two reached the back of the storehouse, then came to a complete stop in front of a cellar door. The sailor quivered as he announced their arrival. Saturos simply nodded as he examined the door. It was an old, cracked thing; bleached by the morning sun and rusted to the point where it demanded replacement. It probably wouldn't stand up to much physical abuse if the operative decided to force his way in, but the last thing he wanted to do was announce his entry. It would be hard enough getting in without the rusted joints sounding the alarm-
“Jus’... try not ta’ kill tha’ brown haired short one, alright?”
Saturos, thumb to his chin, looked over at his guide. His eyes quickly fell in sad realization. The operative had figured this man was some unfortunate soul who had been gang-pressed into working for the bishop's dogs. He hadn't stopped to consider that this gruff, salty looking sailor had actually entered into a friendly relationship with these men. Ugh, and he had resolved to make this quick and clean.
"I'll see what I can do," he said with a slight nod, though his face was probably not very reassuring. Realizing this, Saturos just gave the man a friendly salute, a sort of awkward end to the budding conversation, and walked over to the cellar door. He bent down and pressed lightly on the door's face. There was a slight whine as the hinges weakly protested the pressure, but nothing to make Saturos think the door would make too much noise. Slowly, then, he wrapped his hand around the handle and gently opened the portal. A squeak, but little else. Hopefully no one down stairs had heard it, which he believed was probably the case since he couldn't hear anything himself.
"Don't wait around for me," Saturos joked as he disappeared into the basement.
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Post by Charlotte on Mar 10, 2015 22:14:28 GMT -6
If there was one thing Charlotte could be grateful for, it was that Valen’s visits to the basement were quick and explosive, unlike the mousy, brown-haired man’s drawn out affairs. Valen was straight and to the point: he screamed at Charlotte for a bit, got a few good hits in to try and make her reveal something, but once it was clear Charlotte still didn’t have anything to say, he’d storm back out of the cellar, making a big fuss of slamming the doors while leaving the blonde on her own again.
She was alone again now, though a few things were different after her wonderful visit with the bishop’s lackey. Valen had taken the liberty of digging his thumb – covered in the metal of his gauntlet of course – directly into the cut that was already above Charlotte’s eye. Not only was it painful, but the cut had widened into a gash and now was steadily bleeding, forcing her to keep her right eye shut to keep blood from getting in it. She also couldn’t feel her right arm or hand at all, though she was sure that would change the moment she tried to move it again.
The best thing, though, was that in his rage, Valen had left the lamp on the table in the corner, leaving the room dimly illuminated and allowing Charlotte to focus on something other than pain. The cellar was spacious for a sub-level – a ten by ten area at the very least in front of her, not counting what she couldn’t see behind her. The walls and ceiling were a haphazard assortment of dark brown building stone, but the ground was clearly just old dirt – which likely proved useful, allowing them to lower the floor as they needed or bury things they needed to hide. Considering their treatment of her, Charlotte wouldn’t have been surprised if a few bodies were disposed of beneath her very feet.
The blonde counted 7 wine barrels along the left wall, the furthest from her which contained a myriad of rusty blades and axes. 9 beat-up and sun-bleached crates were stacked and arranged along the back wall, and an assortment of shelves covered the majority of the right wall, with different odds-and-ends packages filling their mildew-stained shelves. Directly in front of her were three more stacked crates that looked like they originated from this dock, though she hadn’t the slightest to what they contained. And just behind her to the right was the small table that the lamp illuminated the room from, likely used as a desk or sorting table when shipments came.
The idea of being in a room with so many presumably valuable artifacts or pieces was torturous to the tied-up thief, as she knew even one of those packages on the shelf could probably help her strike a hefty payday if sold to the right person. A few of the wrapped pieces looked like weapons, while other items were contained in boxes wrapped in butcher paper, keeping the contents a mystery. Vials and pouches she spotted likely contained illegal substances that originated in the Isles from the pirates and needed to be smuggled into the mainland, and the tiniest of parcels might even contain expensive jewels or unreported valuable resources from the mines. Oh, if only she could parse through those packages, the things she could find and use against the bastard who’d put her here!
But Charlotte was still very aware that all of the blackmail in Elibe was useless if she ended up dead, which was becoming closer to a reality with every passing moment. The thought was an unpleasant one, but she didn’t offer anything but proof of a failed job for the Bishop’s men. Even though she’d stolen the stone, it wasn’t like she could convince them she’d handed it off to someone else that she believed would bring it back to the bishop. That was a hard sell, even for her.
Oh, that was it, she couldn’t just sit here! Even if she was caught splayed out on the ground, at least she could die knowing she tried to escape instead of just waiting for them to come back. Charlotte began squirming again, though being careful not to move her right side above her waist as a thought came to her. Twisting her ankles in her bindings, she aimed to loosen them just enough to try something that she’d done once before when someone had bound her at the ankles like this with her boots on. It was a long shot, but if it worked...
Aha! Charlotte nearly cried with joy as she felt her left ankle move past the binding in her shoe, allowing her to slip her foot past as well. The boots went to her knees, but thankfully Charlotte was exceptionally limber; with a quick maneuver she freed her entire left leg. Instantly her left foot shot to hold down the tip of her boot as she did the same maneuver with her right. As soon as she kicked the right boot off, the consultant sighed. She could manage this now.
The blonde knew she wouldn’t be able to get her hands untied until she got away, but she could at least get out of this chair. While there was a rope tied around her chest, it wasn’t as tight as her hand and ankle bindings. So sucking in her chest and stomach, Charlotte put her feet on the seat of the chair, slowly wiggling herself up while biting her cheek as she could unfortunately feel her right arm again. Ignoring the pain, however, thanks to her lithe frame she was actually able to wiggle her way out of the ropes until she was standing on the chair.
“Ha!” Charlotte exclaimed triumphantly, though she immediately regretted speaking as she heard the creak of one of the stairs behind her - the same one that always rasped and told her someone was descending when they didn’t slam the cellar doors shut. Which of the Bishop's men was coming down, and so soon after Valen had graced her with his presence? Hands still behind her back and one eye still closed as her gash still bled, the thief stumbled down from the chair, sending it flying backwards into the table. While she didn't look back, she only had to hear the clink of glass against the dirt floor to know she only had a split second to use the light that was left. So ignoring the shooting pain in her foot and right side, she ducked behind the crates that had been in front of her. Thankfully the lamp hadn't broken, but rolling under the table, it gave barely enough light to see anything other than someone's feet.
Holding her breath, her eyes darted around, trying to see if there was some other way out, but of course she knew the cellar entrance was the only way in and out of the basement. But she couldn't just let whoever it was just find her cowering like this; maybe if she got the jump on them, she could run past them and out the door. She'd had enough time to remember how the room was laid out, and it was her only shot now. One... Charlotte did her best to wipe the fresh blood from her brow and eye, Two... She dug her feet into the ground, peeking around as low as she could to see where the man's feet were, Three! As soon as her eyes connected with a set of boots, Charlotte jumped to her feet, charging forward with her left shoulder poised to hit her visitor in the stomach.
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