A New Contract(Alvin, Lysander)

[Ian Riley]

Ian had spent a couple of weeks in the port city of Badon. The port was such a busy place that it had taken on a life of its own and become its own province of Lycia. Nobody could deny that the place was booming with life, be it good or bad. The truth of the matter for Ian was that this place was good for business. The lancer was in need of jobs, and because of all the different sorts that passed through the port there was always work to be had for a hired lance like himself. He decided to take a more long term, or at least long term as far as he could understand, contract from the notice board in one of the larger pubs.

The contract for this mark seemed simple enough. Just guard a scholarly fellow in his travels? That sounded right up Ian's alley. It was just dangerous enough to have some interesting, surprising possibilities, but just mundane enough to be a good job for someone fresh out of the academy like himself. Despite having dreams of being the greatest lancer in all of Elibe, Ian had no delusions that the road to get there would be long and difficult. Every stairway started with the first step, and this could be his. He took the notice down and decided to ask the bartender about the one who posted it.

"Aye. He was youthful. Certainly the scholarly sort, as you suggest. He said something about coming back to the bar in a couple o' hours to see if anyone was bitin'. If ya stick around, I imagine you'll see him again soon."

That was all Ian needed to hear. He sat down in one corner of the pub and waited. He ordered himself a glass of water, which was pricier than the strong drink they sold, and he sat down to relax and wait for his potential contractor to arrive again.

[Lysander]

Badon... the melting pot of Lycia.

Those were the words that tailed Lysander as he met eyes with the bustling port city for the first time some days ago. She had not been the pristine jewel of a town that he had secretly hoped, but it was still a blossoming multicultural center. Sailors, merchants, bakers, builders, and skilled artisans from all walks of life could be found here. Stalls lined the cobble avenues, awash with patrons. You had to get out there early in the morning to avoid the crowds lest you become stampede fodder. Regardless, Badon was the first sight of Lycia for many and the first taste of Elibe for others.

For Lysander, it seemed like the entire thoroughfare was cloaked in strange accents. Inflections seemed to cling to the air like fruit flies after a long-awaited rain, while conjugations snaked around every corner. The burgeoning mage could swear that although some dialects were Lycian in nature, they nearly presented as different languages altogether. Twice he had been stopped by a shoeshine boy whose brogue was almost unintelligible.

"Spare m' sum change yeh bruh, eh wot?" Lysander recalled in a strange sing-songy tone.

The bartender at the inn he was staying at was no different. It was a no-frills lodge and tavern with a clapboard frame that jutted into the back alley. Still, it seemed to be a hub of sorts for recent happenings in this part of town, for it contained a notice board that Lysander begrudgingly paid the fee for to post an offer on earlier that day. Thumbtacked, in half-torn, slightly crumpled parchment, read in fading ink:

To whom it may concern:
Young scholar seeks travel companions.
Physical prowess strongly preferred.
Respectable character a must.
Capable of handling self, but must err on side of caution.
If interested, meet at dusk at bay window table.

The last few words of the notice had been scrawled and minimized beyond recognition in order to suit the parchment's small size, so it was anyone's guess if they read "bay window table" or "bar wamdon tebl". Hopefully readers would get the idea.

After a brief stroll through Badon in the late afternoon, Lysander found himself ambling back up the short steps into the pub once more. He strode up to the bar, travel cloak still swishing in the remnants of breeze, and ordered a stout. When the pint of glowering crimson foam arrived forthwith, he took it in hand and ferried it to the agreed-upon table.

Much to his surprise, someone had already sat down. He looked quite young, with hair colored in such a way that would not look out of place among objects of brass, but Lysander surmised that he would not be here for the mere hell of it, especially if payment was on the line. The mage took a seat across from the youth, prompting the latter to look up.

"I..." Lysander began, but cleared his throat midway. He was not terribly good at pleasantries. This time, he opted for a slightly friendlier approach: "Well, hello. I take it you've read my little notice over there?"

[Alvin]

Alvin had left the orphanage in hopes of improving his healing arts, despite it being a benefit to the other orphans having his staff around. He wanted to become a well known doctor, one that helped the poor and he knew he wouldn't​ improve without traveling. He spent some time employed by a group of mercenaries traveling around Lycia battling monster, bandits, and their alcoholism.

To say the group was rowdy was an understatement. At first they fought against the monsters and bandits, but it turned into a pub tour. They traveled from city to city causing troubles, when Alvin noticed the trend he quitely left while they were doing their own thing. He was a couple town over and caught a ride to Badon with a group of merchants. The busy streets of the port was a new sight to the young orphan, it almost gave him a wanderlust feeling, to give up his dreams to find more exciting places such as this. He was snapped back to reality once he stumbled upon a notice board, he spent quite a bit of time just staring at the letters on it attempting to read it.

He spent at least an hour trying to make out the notes posted holding onto his staff tightly. Eventually an older man who noticed Alvin standing there for a while approached​ him, offering to help him read it. Alvin responded with a slow nod and kept his head pointed slightly downwards. After the man read all of the notes Alvin quitely thanked him. The man responded by patting him on the head and praising him for his commitment to trying to read.

He noticed it was getting late, in fear of missing the one who posted the note about seeking traveling companions he rushed to the meeting spot. Entering the building he saw two people talking and shuffled his feet in that direction. Gripping the string that kept his staff on his back with both hands he stared at the floor as he bagan to talk, barely louder than a whisper. "Excuse me, but by chance is one of you two the one that posted about a traveling companion?"

[Ian Riley]

Ian had waited patiently. Thankfully for Lysander, that wait hadn't been as long as you might have expected. Ian was by no means an impatient person, but that didn't mean he enjoyed waiting on someone else, least of all someone he didn't know. The young soldier immediately cocked an eyebrow and stared at the scholar with skepticism in his gaze simply on how the man approached him about the job.

The brightly haired young man looked over to Lysander with a smirk and just nodded. "Yes, that's right. I'm here for the scholarly fellow seeking companionship. I'm a lancer for hire, and I'm looking to do a bit of traveling myself. The direction and destination aren't important. I'm more after the adventure. Adventure requires coin, and that's where you come in. I point my lance at anything foul that comes your way, and you keep my pockets full. We both get where we're going, and maybe have a good time along the way. That's my hope, at least." He sat upright and rested his hands on his lap. He was about to speak again when someone else approached the table.

The young man that approached them spoke so softly that Ian almost couldn't hear him. He canted his head and eyed the healer for a moment before turning his gaze back to Lysander, "Despite his quiet manner, I think he's interested in joining us if I heard him right. If you've the coin to spare for two companions, I'd think it wise and prudent to have someone skilled in the healing arts along for both our sakes."

[Lysander]

Lysander scarcely found a chance to address the lancer before another youth came shuffling up to their table. He appeared about as young as the lancer, perhaps even younger. His demeanor revealed more than the youth was likely comfortable with showing; the way he carried himself was uncertain, nearly awkward. His speaking voice was barely a notch above a whisper, easily lost among the tavern rabble. Nevertheless, both Lysander and the lancer seemed to make it out well enough.

"Well, I suppose I've attracted quite a troupe," began Lysander dryly. "You both look eager, I'll wager that much. A lancer would be useful indeed. I'm a mage, you see, and as you've no doubt surmised by now, I can't take too many hits from physical weapons. One unfortunate hit could kill anyone, but..."

Lysander bunched up the fabric of his traveling cloak and lifted it, revealing a black cloth robe underneath. "...As you can see, I don't wear armor. Neither do you, priest."

Lysander shot an astute nod towards the youth with a staff fastened to his back. He was fidgeting with the string - likely a nervous habit. The crimson-haired mage had similar issues at times, typically around women.

"Have a seat," said Lysander, his head jerked in the direction of the young healer. "A healer would be invaluable to us." He sipped his stout nonchalantly as the priest settled himself. It tasted a bit like coffee, a lot like barley, and ever so slightly prompted visions of dark chocolate.

"As for you, lancer... there will be coin, I assure you. For both of you. I confess I have little to spare right now, but that is apt to change at some point. We have enough to eat and lodge for a spell, pardon the pun. Adventure, however, is inevitable."

Lysander had not intended to come off so folksy, but similar words from what he had long since proclaimed a bygone era for him came swimming back into his memory. Adventure is everywhere, all across the lands... his uncle once stated. Sometimes you have to make your own adventure, Thurston had once remarked. For a flicker of a moment, Lysander wondered if he had succumbed to that burn injury, or if he soldiered on with a permanently-disfigured face.

Snapping himself back to reality, Lysander said, "Anyway, I best not get ahead of myself. My name is Lysander. Pleased to meet you both." He extended his right hand to the lancer first.

[Alvin]

Alvin's pulse was racing, the last group he was with approached him after noticing his staff but this was the first time he walked up to a stranger and asked for 'work'. The young lad had normally kept to himself so this was way out of his comfort zone. One of them had talked about 'coin' for his work, Alvin was under the impression that he would provide them aid in time of need and they would provide him with protection when the need arise.

Alvin had taken the man's offer of a seat, sitting down while still fidgeting with the strong attached to his staff. He had referred to the other man as a 'lancer', himself as a mage and Alvin as a priest. He wasn't sure what a 'lancer' was, but he had heard the term mage used to talk about people who could use magic. The only priest Alvin knew of worked for the church, a holy man so to speak, Alvin knew that wasn't what he was, he would have to correct that man in a moment after he was done talking. He than introduced himself as Lysander, moving his hands away from the string Alvin placed them on the table in front of him.

"My name is Alvin, but I'm no priest. I'm simply a wondering orphan with no connection to the church." This time talking at a normal level. "It's a pleasure to meet the two of you." He finally added at the end.

[Ian Riley]

As Ian's would-be employer explained the current situation and his interest in both of the young men that had shown up at the meeting spot for a chance of employ, the lancer couldn't help but feel a little anxious. Sure, maybe there wasn't a large sum of coin in store for him, but that wasn't the point. Enough to sustain himself was really all he needed. The adventure, and perhaps a small touch of companionship, were what drew his interest in this regard. The young warrior nodded at Lysander in turn, "I don't require a lot. As long as the coin can sustain me and keep my armor mended and my weapon in useful condition, I've no qualms with traveling to the ends of the soil beneath our feet. I suppose I could travel by ship, too, if it were necessary. Never really tried it before."

He put a hand to his chin and pondered that thought, but only for a moment. He recalled a conversation with a certain pirate he'd met on the beachfront a few days ago and just smiled. If it meant he could further his skills, he'd ride a flying machine above the clouds if he had to. Riding a boat on the ocean was like child's play compared to something as grandiose as flying...if any normal person even could fly with a machine or not. Sure, they could ride wyverns and pegasi...but getting something like that purely for travel services seemed like a bit of a waste in his mind.

Ian's attention shifted over to Alvin when the pale young man finally spoke up. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too, Alvin." He looked back and forth between the two, "In case I've forgotten...my name is Ian Riley." The surname was a lie. He had discarded his noble title for the time being, and so he discarded his noble family name to prevent people from drawing the wrong conclusions about him.

[Lysander]

Lysander could not help but admire Ian's tenacity. The lancer had a certain naiveté about the world around him - but not the kind that would find him on the end of a lance or his head on a pike some hundred hands high. It seemed a fond byproduct of inexperience, not unlike the kind that Lysander had found himself faced with at Ian's age. In any case, Lysander was not much older than Ian, and he had only seen Bern and Lycia thus far. There was an entire continent that lay unfurled like a colossal carpet whose hues could only be described by genuinely present eyes.

As for the not-priest, well, that was a different story.

Alvin had a slight coldness to him that Lysander could not quite put his finger on. He probably mistook it for humbleness, perhaps a notch above total asceticism. Either way, the orphan boy was nowhere near as eager as Ian. But he had no need to be.

"I'm after an old manuscript," Lysander disseminated at last, seemingly without warning. "Not a legendary tome or anything like that, but a bard's unreleased volume of verse. I've heard conflicting rumors that have placed it in either Lycia or Etruria. And I intend to get it in my hands."

Lysander soon realized that his bookish incentive would probably not be shared by his compadres.

"My work..." Lysander gestured to a manila-aged parchment that was poking out of his sack. From the looks of it, one could tell it had been crumpled and smoothed back out dozens of times. "...More or less draws heavily on this bard's influence. If I could retrieve that manuscript, hand-copy it purely for reference purposes, then sell it... if we found the proper buyer, we could metaphorically be swimming in gold."

Keeping his promise of coin well on the table, Lysander took another thoughtful swig of stout as the two young men digested the information.

[Alvin]

The lackluster in Alvin's eyes, his tone, as well as his demeanor was obvious from the get go. That was until Lysander had mentioned being in search of an old manuscript, there was a sparkle in his eyes now. If he was searching for something like that it would mean he knows how to read full sentences vs being able to make out a word or two that Alvin could do. Learning to read was something he had always wanted to do, but being an orphan made it difficult. You either couldn't afford it, or if it was a free lesson it wasn't very good. But practice makes perfect.

Alvin cleared his throat a little before speaking again. "I-If you would help me learn to read along the way, you wouldn't have to pay me." He figured saving some coin wouldn't be a problem for Lysander if their mission was a success and found a buyer, but it was a gamble worth taking if they didn't find one, at least that's what Alvin had hoped he'd think. "I kinda know how to read, just a little." He added in quickly. While receiving gold would have been nice, the ability to read was a priceless gift.

The only other concern Alvin had outside of how he'd receive his payment was Ian. He reminded him of the gung-ho fighter wildly swinging his axe everywhere just a tad, but Ian did seem to have more of an intelligence to him compared to the other man.

[Ian Riley]

Ian was only mildly concerned that they were going after a book that was seemingly small time rather than some grand legendary artifact, but he figured that every adventure began somewhere, and hunting down a forgotten volume of bardic lore was far from the worst place to begin. After all, his employer was enthused about it, which meant that there had to be at least enough value in the tome to make it worth the venture and the coin he'd be paying for backup.

The lancer gave a nod and waved a hand dismissively, "Swimming in gold is all well and good, but I'm more interested in the content of his work. Who did this bard sing of? Or what? If their works are enough to draw the interest of a keen eyed scholar such as yourself, Lysander, then there must be more to it than just a simple, enjoyable melody. I'm more than capable of reading any sort of manuscript, although I'm likely not as well versed as you. Seeing it for my own eyes will be quite the treat."

Ian leaned back in his seat and smirked, "Well, boss, I'm in. No doubt about it, I was right to stick around for this job. It sounds like it's going to be interesting. Maybe we can all come out of it with more than just a few extra coins, too, I'd wager."

[Edgewind]

As the brilliance of the afternoon sky had dissolved into rich orange and purple hues in the onset of the coming night, the guise of Edward Meckanham had taken a seat at the bar. From the hastily scrawled request he had taken note of earlier in the afternoon, that seemed to be the intended meeting point for interested parties. Arriving early, intentionally, he had taken the liberty of purchasing a fine rum of the Western Isles. The rogue had developed a taste for it briefly after settling here so many years ago. It was rather pricey – both from its quality and the technicality that it wasn’t entirely legal – but it was his drink of choice. Shane inhaled deeply as he sipped the dark amber liquid, getting the full effect as smoky caramel danced on his tongue followed by the heat of fire.

Before he realized it, a trio had converged on a table by the bay window. That three obvious strangers from different walks of life would convene so suddenly drew his attention harshly from his cup. Could it have been he misunderstood the notice on the request board? One of the three certainly seemed to be of a bookish nature. Perhaps it was the one who penned the message? Opting to keep his distance initially and observe, the rogue snooped in on the idle chatter exchanged and confirmed the young mage was indeed the author. Before committing to such a task as to approach this hodgepodge of adventurers, Shane glanced each of them over. Not one of them even appeared to be of age to drink in this establishment, save perhaps the mage himself, if only barely. This soured the request for him a bit. He wasn’t here to look after children, that was a woman’s task. Still, as he placed the last of his coin on the bar counter to pay for his drink, he remembered that he was an enthusiastic youth himself, once, and let it slide.

The memory of his youth was bitterly humorous. Setting out to be a hero and change the world and then the convoluted path that had left him as this husk of who he wanted to be. A humorless smirk briefly flashed across his lips as he rose from the bar stool, blue duster coat swaying as he turned to stroll over to the table occupied by the three conversing travelers. Standing by the table with the rum in his left hand, his duster slid open to reveal a gray gambeson and a sheathed curved sword hanging by his left hip. “A lost bardic verse you say..? That is a.. quaint target for someone with your youth. Ah, but where are my manners? Edward.. Edward Meckanham, at your service. Sellsword by trade, but also a purveyor of many other talents as well.” The rogue wasted no time sidling in front of a free chair and slipping smoothly into it. A satisfying clack sounded as he lowered his mug of rum to the table. Offering his hand across the table to Lysander for a firm handshake, he spoke further without delay. “If it is a buyer you seek, I’m certain I can arrange.. something. Pull a few strings here.. few there.. then..” The wheels were turning, plans forming behind those brown eyes. His words trailed off from his throat, but in his mind they continued. Yes, if things went favorably perhaps his contacts could arrange a deal before this lost text was even acquired. He certainly needed a good payoff from this job, but perhaps he was trying too hard now.

Utilizing this moment strategically to enjoy another sip of his rum, he offered an expectant gaze to his would-be charge. He had spoken enough at the moment and would hear Lysander’s side before continuing. The matter of the mage’s younger companions still hung in the air as well. It would serve well to learn more of them if he was to be expected to work together with them.

[Lysander]

To Ian's inquiry, Lysander could not help but turn a receptive eye. He suddenly seemed wise beyond his years, or at the very least a cut above your average cutthroat.

"Ah," Lysander began. "You're in it for the history. Good. I hadn't assumed you were of a more... brutish... nature, but I'm nonetheless glad you're taking an interest in Adonato's work. Poor wretch, his work was left unfinished when the bandits reached him. I don't suppose any of them were literate, but that's besides the point."

The unworldly mage felt flattered in a sense. There was more to the young lancer that met the eye, and his astuteness was palpable from the get-go. Alvin, meanwhile, had openly admitted that his literacy needed work. Lysander turned to him next, hoping that his shaking would cease when the mage's reply came.

"I'd be glad to teach you, Alvin." Lysander said calmly in an attempt to mollify him. "Life skills are more valuable than any gold... although the latter certainly is tempting. We don't thrive without utilizing a few commodities along the way. But yes. I'll teach you to read. There are very few skills greater."

With the two young men now in proper company, Lysander leaned back in his chair. It creaked and moaned along the knotted wood of the tavern floor. An indescribable sensation then kneaded the length of his spine - somewhere between a chill and a prick. He disregarded it for the time being, for someone else was already striding over to their table.

The first thing that Lysander noticed was the individual's swishing blue coat, which lazily clung to his torso and swayed like a topsail in sea-breeze. He was older and seemed more learned in the ways of the world. His piercing gaze made that all the more evident. Before Lysander's brain could fully register the encounter in its nebulous confines, the man had already sat down with a beverage that Lysander knew was not sold at this pub and introduced himself. His interest was piqued.

"I don't suppose I need to repeat myself, then?" Lysander asked, gyrating his head in the man known as Edward's direction. The mysterious older man was in no way rigid, had a sweet smell on his breath, and his voice seemed utterly devoid of the innocent complacency that so plagued the youths of this generation, Lysander included. The mage was now in his twenties, however, and had gained some small breadth of understanding about the world. He debated on chiding Edward about his manners, but this was neither the time nor the place. Instead, he took careful note of the man's curved sword glinting from within its doublet.

"Edward, was it?" Lysander repeated without a response from his subject. "Your manner of speaking insinuates that you operate in subterfuge. Clearly, you have contacts." The mage's interest was fully piqued now. "But why, pray tell, would you offer your services to us? What's in it for you?"

The quid pro quo of the operation had to be laid out somewhere.

[Alvin]

Alvin was screaming like a giddy little girl internally when Lysander had agreed to teach him to read. While there was a chance that he was nothing more than a con artist that couldn't teach him how to read, there was an equal chance that he was able to stick to his word. Alvin had agreed with what Lysander had said, that some skills was worth more than money and had even attempted to use that to get free lessons with no luck.

Before Lysander could give them more information about this 'job' a fourth person had joined to table. This one was older looking, very gruff appearance, just something about him rubbed Alvin the wrong way. He pulled his hands closer to himself for a second before resting them on his lap, he then moved his feet directly in front of him. Like a turtle slowly poking it's head out of it's shell and quickly retreating, Alvin had remained silent once the new comer had arrived.

Alvin wasn't sure if it was his typical shy nature that caused him to react in this manner or if it was the man's appearance. In his gut there was a familiar feeling, one of betrayal. It was obvious that Lysander had a general idea of where they were going, Edward claims to know people who may pay top coin for it. Perhaps it would be wise to at least inform Lysander later on of his feeling, hopefully he wouldn't disregard Alvin on the account of him being 'just a child'.

[Ian Riley]

As Lysander addressed the concerns of Ian and Alvin, a fourth person approached the table. Ian didn't catch a glimpse of him until he spoke up. His lack of presence, whether accidental or intentional, drew a narrowed, suspicious gaze from the lancer. The young spearman didn't like him just on the grounds that he approached in such a deceptive way. On the other hand, if they could find a way to prove he was trustworthy, skills like that could be highly valuable even if he was only putting up bravado about his other talents.

His gaze shifted back to Lysander now to see how their boss reacted to the approach of this seemingly unsavory character. As he continued to remain silent during Lysander's and Edward's exchange, Ian took note that Lysander was just as, if not more, direct and meticulous in analyzing the way Edward carried himself and the way he spoke.

Ian did feel a bit more at ease with scrutinizing eyes like Lysander's on his side. The lancer breathed a small sigh of relief and looked over to Edward, "Your confidence is reassuring, but if you want to make a positive impression it may behoove you to act in a more personable and less suspicious manner in the future...even if that does happen to be your line of work. Not everyone is so relaxed in that sort of atmosphere. Tension at the wrong time will ruin group morale, and if you do get hired for this job, WE would be a group." He didn't speak coldly or brusquely. In fact, Ian's tone sounded sort of empty. It was something he'd learned to do from his time in training under his grandfather's tutelage. When you couldn't afford to let emotions misconvey the intentions of your words, you had to sever that aspect of your speech. But how would Lysander and Edward take his words? That was the real deciding factor.

[Edgewind]

Cutting right to the chase, hmm? If not for the tone of Lysander’s inquiry, it could have been mistaken as youthful impatience. No, there was something more to this mage. As it stood though, Shane owed an explanation, perhaps even to himself as well. As of the latter years, he’d been rather reluctant to consider jobs that led him away from Badon. What was different? What had changed. Truly, he’d been on the fence even as he waited. Perhaps it had just been a bit of wanderlust creeping in from the back of his mind. However, now he felt truly compelled to assist.

It all traced back to his own youth. Those fateful years with the traveling circus. Was it guilt? The man who took him in from the streets – almost like a second father to him – was dead because of his carelessness. Reginald Stradivant, ringmaster of the self-proclaimed ‘Greatest Show in Elibe,’ cut down like a common criminal. The man had a soft spot for strong alcohol and the written verse. Could the rogue atone for this grievous misstep by availing Elibe access to a lost work such as this? Well, no. It would honor the memory of the man, though. A great life cast away needlessly over one foolish mistake that segued into a chain of increasingly disastrous events. None of this was relevant to the immediate situation at hand, however. After all, there was no way he was divulging his past to these strangers. He’d lingered on these thoughts long enough.

Shane’s eyes sharpened once more, a noticeable change from the brief moment of deep thought that had clouded his visage with a hint of remorse he’d not been able to completely conceal. “I suppose you could say that I have a somewhat personal interest at stake, and of course I would expect compensation when the job is complete.” Taking a slight pause to exchange a glance around the table, the rogue continued. “Besides, I’m rather eager to get away from the smell of pirate.” There was a hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. That was his explanation. There was a subtle sincerity to it and every word of it had been truth, but was it enough? The reaction of the staff bearer and lancer hadn’t been the most promising. It came with the territory though. At the very least, however, the warrior youth did speak up.

“Hold there, friend. My intention wasn’t to descend upon your gathering in a suspicious manner. I had been under the impression that the intended meeting point was the bar over there.” Shane had indeed misread the posted request. “I’m not one to criticize, but Badon will be a clumsy or even dangerous place for you, especially so at night, if such behavior makes you uncomfortable.” How many close calls had he had over the years? Too many, really.

“Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your names. You have me at an advantage, I’m afraid.” Raising the mug of rum to his lips to indulge himself with a sip, he exchanged another round of glances around the table.