OOC FORUM HERE
———
“In light of the recent events, this region will continue to be held by the Mancini family, and I, as the Lady of this household, will retain all power once held by my husband, to secure the rich history of this family name.”
The vast ballroom was silent as Lady Aileen Mancini spoke, her firm voice echoing off the walls and floors, that had only been marked with her husbands blood days ago. It was an official statement, to both the peasants and the other nobles that had remained for the funeral of her husband. She still wore all black, a shroud over her green eyes as she read from the roll of parchment. Her grandfather stood at her side, probably planning to take responsibility, since she was a woman and therefore could not hold such property. But chances were, he would only be a figurehead while she ran things in the background. It was simply the kind of woman she was.
“As a precaution, to protect this family
and the border, I have hired the assistance of a few groups to defend this county from possible invasion, due to the weakness this attack has brought on. All criminals will be brought directly to me at any moment, no matter day or night, so I may address them myself, with this assistance of this hired help.”
With that, the hall began to clear, and Aileen settled in a chair, sighing gently and rubbing her temples. She eyed the crowd as they left, watching nobles turn and whisper to each other. Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed just the slightest, trying to pick out the Kings men.
“Sir Crow, have we caught The Jester...?” She mumbled, glancing to her husband’s former right hand, and most trusted guard. She of course had her suspicions on his motives, but for now, he happened to be the closest thing to a reliable ally she had. These mercenaries and rouges she had hired could only be trusted so much.
————
Across the city, tucked away on the riverbank and hidden amongst the bushes, a young man breathed slowly, shivering from the cold. His pale skin and grey hair dropped water, his shaking hands tying new, clean bandages around his side. His grey eyes, dull and rather empty-looking, moved across the water, watching the reflection of the sunset illuminate the slow-moving river.
He had gotten overzealous. He would admit that. The glory, the renown that came with being so infamous...he had gotten lazy. Romulus had just been lucky enough that the arrow hadn’t pierced anything vital, he would’ve been done for. He pulled his tunic back over his head and pushed his hair from his eyes, standing and looking around. His home was a few miles away...but his horse had gotten loose a day or two ago. He would need to steal a new one, or maybe buy it (though he wasn’t too keen on spending all his gold left on one).
He stood calmly, picking up the small satchel he carried with himself and walking away from the riverbank and into the streets. Romulus was a rather queer looking young man, with his all-around grey appearance and rather solemn behavior. He was something that most people avoided, though he seemed friendly enough; when greeted, even with mumbles, he would wave faintly and then lower his gaze, moving along.
He stared at the cobblestone as he walked, heading towards the inn he had stayed at for the week, to regather his belongings and hopefully be on his way.
———
“In light of the recent events, this region will continue to be held by the Mancini family, and I, as the Lady of this household, will retain all power once held by my husband, to secure the rich history of this family name.”
The vast ballroom was silent as Lady Aileen Mancini spoke, her firm voice echoing off the walls and floors, that had only been marked with her husbands blood days ago. It was an official statement, to both the peasants and the other nobles that had remained for the funeral of her husband. She still wore all black, a shroud over her green eyes as she read from the roll of parchment. Her grandfather stood at her side, probably planning to take responsibility, since she was a woman and therefore could not hold such property. But chances were, he would only be a figurehead while she ran things in the background. It was simply the kind of woman she was.
“As a precaution, to protect this family
and the border, I have hired the assistance of a few groups to defend this county from possible invasion, due to the weakness this attack has brought on. All criminals will be brought directly to me at any moment, no matter day or night, so I may address them myself, with this assistance of this hired help.”
With that, the hall began to clear, and Aileen settled in a chair, sighing gently and rubbing her temples. She eyed the crowd as they left, watching nobles turn and whisper to each other. Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed just the slightest, trying to pick out the Kings men.
“Sir Crow, have we caught The Jester...?” She mumbled, glancing to her husband’s former right hand, and most trusted guard. She of course had her suspicions on his motives, but for now, he happened to be the closest thing to a reliable ally she had. These mercenaries and rouges she had hired could only be trusted so much.
————
Across the city, tucked away on the riverbank and hidden amongst the bushes, a young man breathed slowly, shivering from the cold. His pale skin and grey hair dropped water, his shaking hands tying new, clean bandages around his side. His grey eyes, dull and rather empty-looking, moved across the water, watching the reflection of the sunset illuminate the slow-moving river.
He had gotten overzealous. He would admit that. The glory, the renown that came with being so infamous...he had gotten lazy. Romulus had just been lucky enough that the arrow hadn’t pierced anything vital, he would’ve been done for. He pulled his tunic back over his head and pushed his hair from his eyes, standing and looking around. His home was a few miles away...but his horse had gotten loose a day or two ago. He would need to steal a new one, or maybe buy it (though he wasn’t too keen on spending all his gold left on one).
He stood calmly, picking up the small satchel he carried with himself and walking away from the riverbank and into the streets. Romulus was a rather queer looking young man, with his all-around grey appearance and rather solemn behavior. He was something that most people avoided, though he seemed friendly enough; when greeted, even with mumbles, he would wave faintly and then lower his gaze, moving along.
He stared at the cobblestone as he walked, heading towards the inn he had stayed at for the week, to regather his belongings and hopefully be on his way.
When the Hanged Man had looked into Julius' glassy eyes for the final time, he felt nothing.
The weight of this realization settled in his gut like a stone. For two decades he had kept close to Julius like a faithful hound begging for scraps of affection. Yet over the years the lord had changed--or perhaps he hadn't changed at all--making the knight's heart slowly harden, a creeping petrification that left him dull inside. What had it all been for? Where had the fire gone? Why was he still here?
Because the thought of taking to the open road once again felt like an impossible task. Inertia kept him where he stood now: at Aileen's side, as still as a statue.
Anyone familiar with this court would recognize him by his limping gait and weary demeanor--he was an unlanded knight in service of House Mancini, a wanderer from an antique land, and a veteran of numerous wars. Most knew him by his grim title--the Hanged Man--or the moniker "Sir Crow." Though he had begun his service two decades ago, he seemed to have aged remarkably gracefully.
The Hanged Man briefly met his lady's eyes before lowering in deference. "Nay, my lady. Several patrols are combing the streets, but I can spare no more men for the task. I do not w-want to leave the castle unprotected." He clicked his tongue. "P-Perhaps ... it is a job best left to your hired swords, my lady?"
The weight of this realization settled in his gut like a stone. For two decades he had kept close to Julius like a faithful hound begging for scraps of affection. Yet over the years the lord had changed--or perhaps he hadn't changed at all--making the knight's heart slowly harden, a creeping petrification that left him dull inside. What had it all been for? Where had the fire gone? Why was he still here?
Because the thought of taking to the open road once again felt like an impossible task. Inertia kept him where he stood now: at Aileen's side, as still as a statue.
Anyone familiar with this court would recognize him by his limping gait and weary demeanor--he was an unlanded knight in service of House Mancini, a wanderer from an antique land, and a veteran of numerous wars. Most knew him by his grim title--the Hanged Man--or the moniker "Sir Crow." Though he had begun his service two decades ago, he seemed to have aged remarkably gracefully.
The Hanged Man briefly met his lady's eyes before lowering in deference. "Nay, my lady. Several patrols are combing the streets, but I can spare no more men for the task. I do not w-want to leave the castle unprotected." He clicked his tongue. "P-Perhaps ... it is a job best left to your hired swords, my lady?"
The last few days were a (not-so) pleasant blur to Raed. Hopping from tavern to tavern each night to chatter and befriend locals and travellers alike. Sleeping away the day. Finding herself waking up in unflattering places and being unfazed. Assisting whoever found her for a few hours just to work up a thirst and excuse herself to the nearest tavern.
It wasn't pretty, but she'd do anything to avoid the site of her most recent failure. Seeing the place only brought the replay of that night. All that blood splattered, panicking party-goers, and the mysterious killer had got away. They were only supposed to have been working for the Mancini for the week, being extra muscle to scare off trouble. It was supposed to be an easy gig.
In all the excitement, her buddy found himself stabbed and there was no telling whether it was the murderer or one of the other mercs or the Mancini's usual guards. Raed found him, flopping uselessly in a side hall.
Some said he was lucky, since it didn't kill him. But the strike severed something important and left him with a dead arm and difficulty getting around. He wouldn't be merc-ing ever again.
It was probably a miracle she remembered anything, with the amount of booze she'd been drinking. Though, she'd argue it was a curse. Either way, the drunken haze took the edge off by making it easier to distract herself. She could throw herself into strangers' stories, singing (badly), and offering her strong arms to solve disputes at the bar. So it worked, even if only for a little while.
Tonight followed the same pattern, though she was working her way to being kicked out of this inn. Its patrons weren't as much fun as some of the other places in town... They didn't appreciate her louder antics, nor were they in the mood to tell tales. "Damn," she slurred, laying the side of her face on the table, "I knew y'all in this here were sticks'n'mud but, haaa. Damn. A' this rate, yull see a grown woman cry! 's a depressing inn."
Honestly, its only merit seemed to be its distance from the Mancini estate.
It wasn't pretty, but she'd do anything to avoid the site of her most recent failure. Seeing the place only brought the replay of that night. All that blood splattered, panicking party-goers, and the mysterious killer had got away. They were only supposed to have been working for the Mancini for the week, being extra muscle to scare off trouble. It was supposed to be an easy gig.
In all the excitement, her buddy found himself stabbed and there was no telling whether it was the murderer or one of the other mercs or the Mancini's usual guards. Raed found him, flopping uselessly in a side hall.
Some said he was lucky, since it didn't kill him. But the strike severed something important and left him with a dead arm and difficulty getting around. He wouldn't be merc-ing ever again.
It was probably a miracle she remembered anything, with the amount of booze she'd been drinking. Though, she'd argue it was a curse. Either way, the drunken haze took the edge off by making it easier to distract herself. She could throw herself into strangers' stories, singing (badly), and offering her strong arms to solve disputes at the bar. So it worked, even if only for a little while.
Tonight followed the same pattern, though she was working her way to being kicked out of this inn. Its patrons weren't as much fun as some of the other places in town... They didn't appreciate her louder antics, nor were they in the mood to tell tales. "Damn," she slurred, laying the side of her face on the table, "I knew y'all in this here were sticks'n'mud but, haaa. Damn. A' this rate, yull see a grown woman cry! 's a depressing inn."
Honestly, its only merit seemed to be its distance from the Mancini estate.
Taff Emris Gelligen marched straight past the palace gates, waving briefly at the general of the armies lord Tron Pentre and duke Zerald who made no move to stop the prince's manservant from entering the royal palace, if anything, he was vastly late and long overdue.
King Conrad paced restless in the great hall reunited with his trusted counsellors and lords of the realm, clearly alarmed at the ever increasing reports of robbery, kidnapping and but more importantly and recently the high profile assassinations of the lords of his realm.
"This ongoing slaughter must stop, we must make a firm stand and unite all the forces of the land to work together to quench these wretched bandits" insisted in anger, leaning on the table as he addressed the royal entourage.
At that point, Taff burst in and disrupted the talks and decisions the king wished to announce.
"Is it true then?" questioned sternly watching the manservant Taff kneel to bow before the king and drop the head respectfully
"Yes, sire, the ball had barely started when his lordship's life, lord Julius life, came to an abrupt end at the hand of assassins" detailed Taff in confirmation causing the king to turn from the lords to the knights and guards.
"Not a word" mouthed prince Merthyr quietly behind the king's back as a warning to his manservant; he too had attended the ball against the king's wishes, awareness and express orders not to do so.
"I will have to take command of such dominion until such time at the Jester is found. He cannot have gone too far from the Mancini's dominions. We have to act quickly and decisively if we want that murderous Jester found and caught" insisted king Conrad who was probably more ruthless and muderous than the Jester though his executions were for the greater good of the kingdom, to maintain law, order and peace.
"That'll be all, servant" waved Conrad dismissing Taff and turning his attention to prince Merthyr his only son
Since the first couple of murders, king Conrad had placed the royal palace on lock down with extra vigilance and greater measures all round, the king sentencing his own son to constant supervision and lengthy curfew, under room arrest, for his own safety and protection, forbidden from approaching anyone who was not the lord knight, the king or his manservant Taff.
"See... thank our ancestors that I did not permit you to attend the ball, son, for all I know the Jester might have sliced your neck instead, if these outlaws hate nobles for being rich, imagine what they would not do to a prince had you been there for being the wealthiest... " pointed out Conrad speaking to Merthyr directly who was clearly doing his best to remain calm, polite and patient, not at all in agreement with any of this but knowing better than to contradict his father.
"Yes, sire" agreed reluctantly briefly, his freedom now all the more restricted with these additional grim news
"I have heard from well connected informants that the cause of the problem seems is all down to magic and its usage. There must be some truth to this claim. For no man can execute so many lords in such public settings and simply vanish from sight never to be seen again, so quickly" concluded Conrad
"I am issuing forthwith a decree to this kingdom, every dominion within and all other realms I rule upon. Henceforth magic shall be banned and all its creatures of any sort or kind will be put to death, for the greater good of the various dominions and kingdoms" declared Conrad firmly having the scribes note it down. "Drastic measures must be put in place to halt this widespread fear. Culprits must be named to appease the common folk. Any more noble deaths without visible retaliation would bring chaos upon our dominions" muttered Conrad clearly altered
"But father, that, is unfair, some of these creatures pose no harm or threat to anyone, they don't even live at cities or among men" protested Merthyr at the blanket outlaw of magic and execution of so many innocents
"Besides, many of these lords that have perished so far were known to be more criminal warlords than nobles at heart, they certainly did not practice justice, they were abusing power, oppressing their vassals, executing anyone who dared disagree or protest. They were pillaging the peasants out of their livelihoods, taxing them beyond survival, extortion and torture as well. Seems their only purpose were greed and power for their personal gain and enrichment rather than watching over the welfare of those under their care and command in your name, for the greater good of the realm" protested Merthyr openly challenging the king.
"Silence...a prince of the realm should know where his loyalty and duty lies. Our realm has many kingdoms, the kingdoms have many greater lords with vast dominions, close friends like Lord Julian, and those rule over lesser lords too bringing a structure of order and peace. It is imperative to protect them otherwise I will have to end up managing every inch of this land which is a taxing and arduous task. They are of great help in keeping peasants disciplined and instilling law and order" scolded Conrad.
"Go, Merthyr, apologize to our noble lords present and retire to your rooms to meditate your words" waved Conrad, letting his new decree be published and posted
"Anyone who has magic or practices it shall be made an enemy of the crown and kingdom, shall be tortured and put to death, those who shelter or aid them shall be imprisoned, or fined and sentenced to hard labour" waved Conrad firm on his decision, certain his words against magic must hold the truth to them
"Taff, you are to return to the lands of Mancini to offer the lady and the far too elderly lord, our royal condolences for their loss" waved Conrad sending the manservant to deliver the message and if he perished, better a servant boy than his knights or lords
"You will deliver this new decree as well, for their awareness. It is their duty to uphold my decision in matters of magic and the vermin that wield powers" muttered Conrad handing the additional parchment
Taff nodded and bowed leaving the room, only for Merthyr to walk alongside him. The pair bowing to the king and leaving the royal entourage to retreat, leaving lords and knights to talk further.
"I am accompanying you and not a word about this either" smiled Merthyr patting Taff's shoulder
"But if the king finds out... my neck is as good as broken, my life forfeit" muttered Taff uncomfortably
"I am the crown prince and you my manservant, I am coming too and not a word on the matter" insisted Merthyr pulling rank daring to defy the king.
"Of course your highness, as you wish, we march at dawn" nodded Taff hurrying to pack for the journey without much time to spare in between his arrival and departure
Taff was an immortal and powerful warlock many prophecies referred to him as Emrys, a sorcerer with druidian powers and command over magic and dragons like none other but, he was unusually humble too. He let a sight disheartened at the new attrocious law and felt he had done wisely choosing to conceal his power to become but a manservant and friend to the prince instead.
Merthyr was so much kind and fairer, he was certain he would make a better ruler, some day.
This new royal decree would force him to be all the more cautious about his powers altogether. He waited for nightfall to fall upon the kingdom before sneaking out unseen to the nearest river to rightfully complain.
"Elektra! Come at once to my presence" demanded impatient standing half hidden by the edge
"Well, well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my liege?" quizzed Elektra straining the water from her hair as she emerged from the water to speak to the seemless peasant.
"I told you not to give magic away to humans, all it ever brings is trouble, and handing curses is not the solution to it either" scolded Taff rightfully angry
"Come now, you should make use of your powers to rule the world, with that golden heart of yours there would be no need for weapons or wars" pointed out Elektra with a broad grin
"Don't ever say that again, I take pride in servitude, especially serving the prince, these humans have far more bravery, nobility and better qualities than you magical folk all put together" snapped Taff annoyed
"Now now, don't exclude yourself from our kind, magic flows through your veins instead of red blood." informed Elektra causing Taff to panic
"Hush you, talk any louder the entire living world might hear" hushed Taff "Who did you give magic to this time round?" demanded the warlock questioning the beauty with authority in his voice
"A handsome human, you know, your favourite kind" smiled wide the girl playing innocent
"What spell and at what price?" frowned Taff not falling for her games
"The looks see... I can have deep green eyes and a beautiful colourful red hair" pointed out Elektra showing off with a touch of vanity.
"Urgh you women will be the death of me... in fact the death of many" huffed Taff
"Anyways, the boy what spell?" insisted Taff waving his hand to return her form to what it should be
"A simple one that you already were born with, the ability to change his looks for long periods of time, you should try it some time you know, you could impersonate the obnoxious king, reverse the king's decree by taking up his looks and voice. After all.. if you do not... any death that follows is on you... young warlock..." taunted and accused Elektra
"To impersonate royalty is high treason" winced Taff somewhat offended at her suggestion of wrongdoing
"By their laws or ours?" teased and taunted Elektra further "Whose side are you on, humans or magic? You cannot deny your powers or shun them, warlock" informed Elektra in a frown
"Hush about that" pressed Taff insisting she kept the voice to a soft whisper level
"Did the boy die then when he threw himself wounded into the waters? You should know, the powers would return to you if he did" demanded Taff in a frown
"Ahhh well see that's for me to know and you to find out... sorcerer... unless you're willing to pay something in return like legs to walk on land... you know... a little price to pay for this finding" smiled Elektra with an innocent look and alluring voice
"Forget it... get back to your water... you sea witch..." snapped Taff walking away disgusted
"How charming to see you so angry, I rarely do..." smirked Elektra, clearly her heart as cold as icy water. "I'm sure he lives, besides he is a proper human, bold and braver by the looks of it, and certainly appreciates magic far more than you for he's not afraid to use it openly, I'm sure he'll be fine" giggled Elektra in a tease venturing back into the waters until Taff saw it fit to summon her again
"Run along and not a word about me or else I'll take your pretty voice away and you won't cast no more spells or lure more sailors to death" warned Taff knowing how much she valued her betwitching voice
"What will you do now that you know?" asked Elektra curious
"Find the boy of course, magic is not something to be meddled with, if he be worthy I won't interfere if he be unworthy at heart and motives, I might have to take your spell away and with it your flattering looks" muttered Taff leaving her and watching her vanish into still water.
He returned to the palace, waking Merthyr earlier as commanded by the prince and handing Merthyr a disguise by giving him some of his usual clothes so the pair could be allowed out as common servants.
They left promptly, Merthyr keen to keep a fast pace before anyone discovered his escapade, and they journeyed to go to find Lord Julian's wife and his elderly to offer support and condolences, first and foremost and deliver the two parchments, unaware of the content.
Merthyr also wanted to investigate the rumours about the Jester, meet him in person and ask hard questions about his motives, he wanted to experience freedom and live to the full all the adventures they might cross in their journey there and back, whilst Taff had the darker purpose of finding the human that bore the given magic no sooner the king's task was done.
After their long journey, they reached the gated entrance and waited to be allowed to see the grieving woman. They were stopped of course, more so with the enhanced security but when asked as to the purpose of his visit Taff spoke confident and unafraid.
"I am Taff the royal manservant, I wish to see the lady of the household on behalf of the king. His majesty sends condolences and the prince is forfeiting a season's worth of taxes from her lands to alleviate her losses" explained Taff extending the parchment that bore the seal with the royal coat of arms
"I also come to deliver the king's latest orders by royal decree" explained showing the parchment for that too, the latest announcement and decision to ban magic and persecute its users or any creature not human
King Conrad paced restless in the great hall reunited with his trusted counsellors and lords of the realm, clearly alarmed at the ever increasing reports of robbery, kidnapping and but more importantly and recently the high profile assassinations of the lords of his realm.
"This ongoing slaughter must stop, we must make a firm stand and unite all the forces of the land to work together to quench these wretched bandits" insisted in anger, leaning on the table as he addressed the royal entourage.
At that point, Taff burst in and disrupted the talks and decisions the king wished to announce.
"Is it true then?" questioned sternly watching the manservant Taff kneel to bow before the king and drop the head respectfully
"Yes, sire, the ball had barely started when his lordship's life, lord Julius life, came to an abrupt end at the hand of assassins" detailed Taff in confirmation causing the king to turn from the lords to the knights and guards.
"Not a word" mouthed prince Merthyr quietly behind the king's back as a warning to his manservant; he too had attended the ball against the king's wishes, awareness and express orders not to do so.
"I will have to take command of such dominion until such time at the Jester is found. He cannot have gone too far from the Mancini's dominions. We have to act quickly and decisively if we want that murderous Jester found and caught" insisted king Conrad who was probably more ruthless and muderous than the Jester though his executions were for the greater good of the kingdom, to maintain law, order and peace.
"That'll be all, servant" waved Conrad dismissing Taff and turning his attention to prince Merthyr his only son
Since the first couple of murders, king Conrad had placed the royal palace on lock down with extra vigilance and greater measures all round, the king sentencing his own son to constant supervision and lengthy curfew, under room arrest, for his own safety and protection, forbidden from approaching anyone who was not the lord knight, the king or his manservant Taff.
"See... thank our ancestors that I did not permit you to attend the ball, son, for all I know the Jester might have sliced your neck instead, if these outlaws hate nobles for being rich, imagine what they would not do to a prince had you been there for being the wealthiest... " pointed out Conrad speaking to Merthyr directly who was clearly doing his best to remain calm, polite and patient, not at all in agreement with any of this but knowing better than to contradict his father.
"Yes, sire" agreed reluctantly briefly, his freedom now all the more restricted with these additional grim news
"I have heard from well connected informants that the cause of the problem seems is all down to magic and its usage. There must be some truth to this claim. For no man can execute so many lords in such public settings and simply vanish from sight never to be seen again, so quickly" concluded Conrad
"I am issuing forthwith a decree to this kingdom, every dominion within and all other realms I rule upon. Henceforth magic shall be banned and all its creatures of any sort or kind will be put to death, for the greater good of the various dominions and kingdoms" declared Conrad firmly having the scribes note it down. "Drastic measures must be put in place to halt this widespread fear. Culprits must be named to appease the common folk. Any more noble deaths without visible retaliation would bring chaos upon our dominions" muttered Conrad clearly altered
"But father, that, is unfair, some of these creatures pose no harm or threat to anyone, they don't even live at cities or among men" protested Merthyr at the blanket outlaw of magic and execution of so many innocents
"Besides, many of these lords that have perished so far were known to be more criminal warlords than nobles at heart, they certainly did not practice justice, they were abusing power, oppressing their vassals, executing anyone who dared disagree or protest. They were pillaging the peasants out of their livelihoods, taxing them beyond survival, extortion and torture as well. Seems their only purpose were greed and power for their personal gain and enrichment rather than watching over the welfare of those under their care and command in your name, for the greater good of the realm" protested Merthyr openly challenging the king.
"Silence...a prince of the realm should know where his loyalty and duty lies. Our realm has many kingdoms, the kingdoms have many greater lords with vast dominions, close friends like Lord Julian, and those rule over lesser lords too bringing a structure of order and peace. It is imperative to protect them otherwise I will have to end up managing every inch of this land which is a taxing and arduous task. They are of great help in keeping peasants disciplined and instilling law and order" scolded Conrad.
"Go, Merthyr, apologize to our noble lords present and retire to your rooms to meditate your words" waved Conrad, letting his new decree be published and posted
"Anyone who has magic or practices it shall be made an enemy of the crown and kingdom, shall be tortured and put to death, those who shelter or aid them shall be imprisoned, or fined and sentenced to hard labour" waved Conrad firm on his decision, certain his words against magic must hold the truth to them
"Taff, you are to return to the lands of Mancini to offer the lady and the far too elderly lord, our royal condolences for their loss" waved Conrad sending the manservant to deliver the message and if he perished, better a servant boy than his knights or lords
"You will deliver this new decree as well, for their awareness. It is their duty to uphold my decision in matters of magic and the vermin that wield powers" muttered Conrad handing the additional parchment
Taff nodded and bowed leaving the room, only for Merthyr to walk alongside him. The pair bowing to the king and leaving the royal entourage to retreat, leaving lords and knights to talk further.
"I am accompanying you and not a word about this either" smiled Merthyr patting Taff's shoulder
"But if the king finds out... my neck is as good as broken, my life forfeit" muttered Taff uncomfortably
"I am the crown prince and you my manservant, I am coming too and not a word on the matter" insisted Merthyr pulling rank daring to defy the king.
"Of course your highness, as you wish, we march at dawn" nodded Taff hurrying to pack for the journey without much time to spare in between his arrival and departure
Taff was an immortal and powerful warlock many prophecies referred to him as Emrys, a sorcerer with druidian powers and command over magic and dragons like none other but, he was unusually humble too. He let a sight disheartened at the new attrocious law and felt he had done wisely choosing to conceal his power to become but a manservant and friend to the prince instead.
Merthyr was so much kind and fairer, he was certain he would make a better ruler, some day.
This new royal decree would force him to be all the more cautious about his powers altogether. He waited for nightfall to fall upon the kingdom before sneaking out unseen to the nearest river to rightfully complain.
"Elektra! Come at once to my presence" demanded impatient standing half hidden by the edge
"Well, well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my liege?" quizzed Elektra straining the water from her hair as she emerged from the water to speak to the seemless peasant.
"I told you not to give magic away to humans, all it ever brings is trouble, and handing curses is not the solution to it either" scolded Taff rightfully angry
"Come now, you should make use of your powers to rule the world, with that golden heart of yours there would be no need for weapons or wars" pointed out Elektra with a broad grin
"Don't ever say that again, I take pride in servitude, especially serving the prince, these humans have far more bravery, nobility and better qualities than you magical folk all put together" snapped Taff annoyed
"Now now, don't exclude yourself from our kind, magic flows through your veins instead of red blood." informed Elektra causing Taff to panic
"Hush you, talk any louder the entire living world might hear" hushed Taff "Who did you give magic to this time round?" demanded the warlock questioning the beauty with authority in his voice
"A handsome human, you know, your favourite kind" smiled wide the girl playing innocent
"What spell and at what price?" frowned Taff not falling for her games
"The looks see... I can have deep green eyes and a beautiful colourful red hair" pointed out Elektra showing off with a touch of vanity.
"Urgh you women will be the death of me... in fact the death of many" huffed Taff
"Anyways, the boy what spell?" insisted Taff waving his hand to return her form to what it should be
"A simple one that you already were born with, the ability to change his looks for long periods of time, you should try it some time you know, you could impersonate the obnoxious king, reverse the king's decree by taking up his looks and voice. After all.. if you do not... any death that follows is on you... young warlock..." taunted and accused Elektra
"To impersonate royalty is high treason" winced Taff somewhat offended at her suggestion of wrongdoing
"By their laws or ours?" teased and taunted Elektra further "Whose side are you on, humans or magic? You cannot deny your powers or shun them, warlock" informed Elektra in a frown
"Hush about that" pressed Taff insisting she kept the voice to a soft whisper level
"Did the boy die then when he threw himself wounded into the waters? You should know, the powers would return to you if he did" demanded Taff in a frown
"Ahhh well see that's for me to know and you to find out... sorcerer... unless you're willing to pay something in return like legs to walk on land... you know... a little price to pay for this finding" smiled Elektra with an innocent look and alluring voice
"Forget it... get back to your water... you sea witch..." snapped Taff walking away disgusted
"How charming to see you so angry, I rarely do..." smirked Elektra, clearly her heart as cold as icy water. "I'm sure he lives, besides he is a proper human, bold and braver by the looks of it, and certainly appreciates magic far more than you for he's not afraid to use it openly, I'm sure he'll be fine" giggled Elektra in a tease venturing back into the waters until Taff saw it fit to summon her again
"Run along and not a word about me or else I'll take your pretty voice away and you won't cast no more spells or lure more sailors to death" warned Taff knowing how much she valued her betwitching voice
"What will you do now that you know?" asked Elektra curious
"Find the boy of course, magic is not something to be meddled with, if he be worthy I won't interfere if he be unworthy at heart and motives, I might have to take your spell away and with it your flattering looks" muttered Taff leaving her and watching her vanish into still water.
He returned to the palace, waking Merthyr earlier as commanded by the prince and handing Merthyr a disguise by giving him some of his usual clothes so the pair could be allowed out as common servants.
They left promptly, Merthyr keen to keep a fast pace before anyone discovered his escapade, and they journeyed to go to find Lord Julian's wife and his elderly to offer support and condolences, first and foremost and deliver the two parchments, unaware of the content.
Merthyr also wanted to investigate the rumours about the Jester, meet him in person and ask hard questions about his motives, he wanted to experience freedom and live to the full all the adventures they might cross in their journey there and back, whilst Taff had the darker purpose of finding the human that bore the given magic no sooner the king's task was done.
After their long journey, they reached the gated entrance and waited to be allowed to see the grieving woman. They were stopped of course, more so with the enhanced security but when asked as to the purpose of his visit Taff spoke confident and unafraid.
"I am Taff the royal manservant, I wish to see the lady of the household on behalf of the king. His majesty sends condolences and the prince is forfeiting a season's worth of taxes from her lands to alleviate her losses" explained Taff extending the parchment that bore the seal with the royal coat of arms
"I also come to deliver the king's latest orders by royal decree" explained showing the parchment for that too, the latest announcement and decision to ban magic and persecute its users or any creature not human
Eike walked by himself along weathered cobblestone streets, rosy cheeked and smiling. So far today had been good, with promise of well-paid work in the coming days and enough coin already possessed to buy him some time at one of his favorite inns. The young man couldn't help but wear his heart on his sleeve, with a spring in his step so lively one would think the bag he carried were filled with feathers. (A slight shuffle of goods from within told another story.) Work was not easy to come by, so long as it was work for a free man and not a serf, so it was good cause for celebration. When he got there the young sorcerer hoped to buy a meal and some drink to help settle him forget the harsh journey south.
He did not let the apprehensive murmurings of other paupers get to him but it was impossible to overlook them. A foreigner as he was (with his accent, his sun-burnt skin and his pale blonde hair) it was impossible to convince local folk to confide their worries to him; so he didn't try. He only trusted that he'd learn what was on their minds once he'd reached his destination and asked the bartender.
It wasn't long before he turned and strode down a familiar stretch of road. The foreigner walked perhaps halfway from that corner to the inn before smelling something so notably unpleasant it stopped him in his tracks and caused him to waver. The air felt thick and the colors of the world around him seemed to fade, if for a moment. Light-headed, he turned to look around and find the source of the stench whilst covering his nose. Strangely, doing the latter didn't seem to lessen the feeling.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he heard a particularly unhealthy cough sound from behind a nearby building. It was the beginning of an episode; ragged, dry and unsettlingly familiar to Eike. His mirth died down, giving way to alarm and caution. It couldn't be. He had to make sure.
So the young sorcerer stepped around the structure to peek at what lay behind it. There he saw a small opening, where a rich family usually grew their garden. Most of it was fine and well tended but a bunch of basil was trampled, the plant's leaves flattened in the muck. The protective fence surrounding it was half-destroyed, and just beyond it sat the individual responsible; he was still coughing by the time the young man spotted him.
Ortrun walked around the fence to get a better look. The guilty party wore a hooded, gray cloak and sat hunched forward, spitting blood onto the soil. Eike stopped in his tracks, tentatively asking, "D-do you need help, friend?"
The man on the ground coughed twice and groaned, bobbing forward a bit before turning to stare back at him. Pale blue eyes bore through the sorcerer but he hardly noticed that; it was difficult to notice when the flesh nearest to his right eye was marred by a telltale, freckle-like rash. It was even harder when, as Eike regarded the man's neck, he saw it dotted by bulbous growths. Blood dribbled down from the ailed one's mouth as he gave the foreigner a look as dead as the disease was likely to make him.
The sick man took a breath before asking (in Irish Gaelic, to Eike's surprise), "Where... am I?" Ortrun closed the gap between them and responded without hesitation, "Far from home, friend. Let me help you." The sorcerer knelt beside him and rested his bag on the ground, retrieving medical supplies from within. He couldn't let this shadow invade the city and kill his kinsman.
_
It took the better part of an hour to treat the sick man. The spells Eike wove to keep the illness from killing again sapped his strength; so much that when he hoisted his patient from the floor he wavered and had no choice but to set him down again. Frustrated, he told the man to wait a moment while he found help before walking the rest of the way to the inn.
Usually he'd have thrown the doors open in excitement but this time the young man entered carefully, scanning the sparse crowd within for a helping hand. The bartender was the most familiar face there so he made his way to the counter to ask for it. Before he reached his acquaintance he spotted Raed.
"I knew y'all in this here were sticks'n'mud but, haaa. Damn. A' this rate, yull see a grown woman cry! 's a depressing inn."
Eike felt a bit of morbid humor after hearing this, so on impulse he approached the mercenary and leaned forward, pushing his mop-hair from his face to ask, "Bored, are you? Because I could use some help with something small, if you don't mind."
He did not let the apprehensive murmurings of other paupers get to him but it was impossible to overlook them. A foreigner as he was (with his accent, his sun-burnt skin and his pale blonde hair) it was impossible to convince local folk to confide their worries to him; so he didn't try. He only trusted that he'd learn what was on their minds once he'd reached his destination and asked the bartender.
It wasn't long before he turned and strode down a familiar stretch of road. The foreigner walked perhaps halfway from that corner to the inn before smelling something so notably unpleasant it stopped him in his tracks and caused him to waver. The air felt thick and the colors of the world around him seemed to fade, if for a moment. Light-headed, he turned to look around and find the source of the stench whilst covering his nose. Strangely, doing the latter didn't seem to lessen the feeling.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he heard a particularly unhealthy cough sound from behind a nearby building. It was the beginning of an episode; ragged, dry and unsettlingly familiar to Eike. His mirth died down, giving way to alarm and caution. It couldn't be. He had to make sure.
So the young sorcerer stepped around the structure to peek at what lay behind it. There he saw a small opening, where a rich family usually grew their garden. Most of it was fine and well tended but a bunch of basil was trampled, the plant's leaves flattened in the muck. The protective fence surrounding it was half-destroyed, and just beyond it sat the individual responsible; he was still coughing by the time the young man spotted him.
Ortrun walked around the fence to get a better look. The guilty party wore a hooded, gray cloak and sat hunched forward, spitting blood onto the soil. Eike stopped in his tracks, tentatively asking, "D-do you need help, friend?"
The man on the ground coughed twice and groaned, bobbing forward a bit before turning to stare back at him. Pale blue eyes bore through the sorcerer but he hardly noticed that; it was difficult to notice when the flesh nearest to his right eye was marred by a telltale, freckle-like rash. It was even harder when, as Eike regarded the man's neck, he saw it dotted by bulbous growths. Blood dribbled down from the ailed one's mouth as he gave the foreigner a look as dead as the disease was likely to make him.
The sick man took a breath before asking (in Irish Gaelic, to Eike's surprise), "Where... am I?" Ortrun closed the gap between them and responded without hesitation, "Far from home, friend. Let me help you." The sorcerer knelt beside him and rested his bag on the ground, retrieving medical supplies from within. He couldn't let this shadow invade the city and kill his kinsman.
_
It took the better part of an hour to treat the sick man. The spells Eike wove to keep the illness from killing again sapped his strength; so much that when he hoisted his patient from the floor he wavered and had no choice but to set him down again. Frustrated, he told the man to wait a moment while he found help before walking the rest of the way to the inn.
Usually he'd have thrown the doors open in excitement but this time the young man entered carefully, scanning the sparse crowd within for a helping hand. The bartender was the most familiar face there so he made his way to the counter to ask for it. Before he reached his acquaintance he spotted Raed.
"I knew y'all in this here were sticks'n'mud but, haaa. Damn. A' this rate, yull see a grown woman cry! 's a depressing inn."
Eike felt a bit of morbid humor after hearing this, so on impulse he approached the mercenary and leaned forward, pushing his mop-hair from his face to ask, "Bored, are you? Because I could use some help with something small, if you don't mind."
Isidore Steraveste; that was the proffered name of the nobleman who had been sitting mostly undetected in the Mancini funeral. Such a perfectly crafted role with little holes had taken years to perfect. Records had been pilfered long ago, accounts were rather full, and in perfect theory he could live the high life and retire with the wealth if he so desired. He even had a mansion to the name, complete with servants, so long as he kept the visual facade. However, the wanderlust remained and the easily bored man had never left the thrill and the hunt that he had gained with the thrill of the art of conning.
The warning and the measures that the Lady Mancini issued was such a bother. It was a nuisance more than anything actually damning. But, he had regarded the events of a couple of days a go with a grain of salt. Concern was a sentiment that he often felt was below him, but that didn't stop him from wanting to offer the barest shred of advice when he felt such was needed. He was quite fickle that way, bowing to his every other whim. The pseudo-noble could wait, to do as he would, or, he could leave and not hear another word of this complete mockery. Feeling a little underestimated and perhaps just a tad wounded by the whole speech, the so-named Isidore took precaution and took his sweet time, before slipping free of the meeting and into the night. The whole of the nobility and all of their grout was a rather stuffy business anyhow, and his lungs were freed by the crisp evening air.
It was only when he had made his way out of the district and into the surrounding outskirts, ducking behind an alley where no one would see him, did he doff the illusion. No longer was he the branded Steraveste, a flamboyant noble who have come to light with new money and quite a trade fleet behind his belt. Now, he was perhaps a truer facet of himself. Yes, it was still a facade, though one he felt much more comfortable with. In fact, he hardly responded to his real name anymore. This version was his truest form of the self, as ironic as it was. He was the great showman Stallion Knight, the suave trickster and conman whose abilities allowed him to do as he pleased.
In one way, he was dressed more as a gentleman now than even his noble counterpart. He wore a sleeker, simpler black and red-plaid suit, acres better than the scruffy fashion that was of the more elite. His signature tophat, mask, and cape were remnants of his days as a performer. Though, in a way, they still fit, as he was still performing the dance of life, still being the showman that was needed to sleight and sashay his way comfortably.
Like a specter, he fled the outskirts and fled the city altogether. He knew where to find the man. This life was all about connections. And for a man who could be anyone, frankly, it was easy to gain such. Though, again ironically, such a man that he sought now knew of both the facades as well as this particular form, and this particular name. For the man was like he, a master of the illusory.
By the time Romulus made it towards the inn, Stallion was hidden in the shadow nearest the back entrance where he had guessed the man would surely come. His white-and-red mask stood out faintly in the dark, and his arms were crossed, leaning with his shoulder against the wall of the inn. "You're getting sloppy," he remarked absently, watching Romulus walk past him.
The warning and the measures that the Lady Mancini issued was such a bother. It was a nuisance more than anything actually damning. But, he had regarded the events of a couple of days a go with a grain of salt. Concern was a sentiment that he often felt was below him, but that didn't stop him from wanting to offer the barest shred of advice when he felt such was needed. He was quite fickle that way, bowing to his every other whim. The pseudo-noble could wait, to do as he would, or, he could leave and not hear another word of this complete mockery. Feeling a little underestimated and perhaps just a tad wounded by the whole speech, the so-named Isidore took precaution and took his sweet time, before slipping free of the meeting and into the night. The whole of the nobility and all of their grout was a rather stuffy business anyhow, and his lungs were freed by the crisp evening air.
It was only when he had made his way out of the district and into the surrounding outskirts, ducking behind an alley where no one would see him, did he doff the illusion. No longer was he the branded Steraveste, a flamboyant noble who have come to light with new money and quite a trade fleet behind his belt. Now, he was perhaps a truer facet of himself. Yes, it was still a facade, though one he felt much more comfortable with. In fact, he hardly responded to his real name anymore. This version was his truest form of the self, as ironic as it was. He was the great showman Stallion Knight, the suave trickster and conman whose abilities allowed him to do as he pleased.
In one way, he was dressed more as a gentleman now than even his noble counterpart. He wore a sleeker, simpler black and red-plaid suit, acres better than the scruffy fashion that was of the more elite. His signature tophat, mask, and cape were remnants of his days as a performer. Though, in a way, they still fit, as he was still performing the dance of life, still being the showman that was needed to sleight and sashay his way comfortably.
Like a specter, he fled the outskirts and fled the city altogether. He knew where to find the man. This life was all about connections. And for a man who could be anyone, frankly, it was easy to gain such. Though, again ironically, such a man that he sought now knew of both the facades as well as this particular form, and this particular name. For the man was like he, a master of the illusory.
By the time Romulus made it towards the inn, Stallion was hidden in the shadow nearest the back entrance where he had guessed the man would surely come. His white-and-red mask stood out faintly in the dark, and his arms were crossed, leaning with his shoulder against the wall of the inn. "You're getting sloppy," he remarked absently, watching Romulus walk past him.
Raith Jackson or The Executioner as he was known to nearly all other living beings lurked in the shadows of the main hall. It wasn't that he was attempting to conceal his presence, but merely for the fact that lurking seemed to be his natural state of being. No matter where he went or how illuminated he was, the warrior seemed to have an uncanny habit of always appearing as if he was melting into the shadows, even when there weren't any there.
This partly came from his habit of standing in the furthermost corner to the biggest number of people and silently observing them. This task of carefully studying people, had been one in which he had been busying himself with, ever since the moment he'd stepped foot inside the castle grounds. Eyeballs peeking out from under his cloak and darting back and forth around that eyeless steel helm.
Alongside him loomed another figure, this one as equally disturbing as their partner. With a full height that just reached above that of The Executioner they posed an imposing figure, one which was seemingly polar opposite the aforementioned warrior, for no matter how hard they tried, it seemed impossible for them to practically conceal their presence. Instead the way the held themselves alongside their height gave off the impression that they were always towering over someone, even when that someone was on the other side of the room.
The differences only widened between the two when clothing was concerned. While The Executioner displayed a heavy set of plate amour, one which hid every feature from view. This figure produced the same effect from a heavy crimson robe, alongside a deep lilac mask, the two together conspiring to hide ever portion of the body from public viewing.
It was only when the majority of nobles and other non-essential staff had departed from the hall did the pair of mercenaries begin to move. Executioner gliding from shadow to shadow, while the other appeared to increase in size the closer they got.
"My Lady, what task do you wish taken care of?"
Passion, the voice which sprung suddenly like a leaping tiger from Executioners helm was full of it. Not passion in any loving sense, but a burning desire to be given an order to complete.
Eerily the eyeballs, which until now had been mostly hiding beneath the furls of his billowing scarlet cloak, rose up into the air. Two of them fixing Aileen with their unblinking scrutiny. A third moved itself until it began floating in a circular pattern around Crow's head, examining the haggard knight. For the final two, they merely wandered to and fro about his own head, keeping an almost perfect 360% view of the hall at all times.
This partly came from his habit of standing in the furthermost corner to the biggest number of people and silently observing them. This task of carefully studying people, had been one in which he had been busying himself with, ever since the moment he'd stepped foot inside the castle grounds. Eyeballs peeking out from under his cloak and darting back and forth around that eyeless steel helm.
Alongside him loomed another figure, this one as equally disturbing as their partner. With a full height that just reached above that of The Executioner they posed an imposing figure, one which was seemingly polar opposite the aforementioned warrior, for no matter how hard they tried, it seemed impossible for them to practically conceal their presence. Instead the way the held themselves alongside their height gave off the impression that they were always towering over someone, even when that someone was on the other side of the room.
The differences only widened between the two when clothing was concerned. While The Executioner displayed a heavy set of plate amour, one which hid every feature from view. This figure produced the same effect from a heavy crimson robe, alongside a deep lilac mask, the two together conspiring to hide ever portion of the body from public viewing.
It was only when the majority of nobles and other non-essential staff had departed from the hall did the pair of mercenaries begin to move. Executioner gliding from shadow to shadow, while the other appeared to increase in size the closer they got.
"My Lady, what task do you wish taken care of?"
Passion, the voice which sprung suddenly like a leaping tiger from Executioners helm was full of it. Not passion in any loving sense, but a burning desire to be given an order to complete.
Eerily the eyeballs, which until now had been mostly hiding beneath the furls of his billowing scarlet cloak, rose up into the air. Two of them fixing Aileen with their unblinking scrutiny. A third moved itself until it began floating in a circular pattern around Crow's head, examining the haggard knight. For the final two, they merely wandered to and fro about his own head, keeping an almost perfect 360% view of the hall at all times.
"....Perhaps I should have considered going around this place instead of through it."
He was never one for drama. It got people into places where they weren't really needed. Drama was the least of his problems right now. The real situation now, was how to get out of said drama. That being said, it wasn't easy at all, what with all the unnecessary attention he pulled wherever he went. Infamous among the people and mercanaries everywhere, the soulless lad was. 'The Lethal Dance', people called him. It was a name they had mentioned for a good year now. Did Orpheus like it? ....It was always difficult to tell.
When he arrived in town, the first thing that he heard about was yet another infamous name–much like his own. The Jester. Sounded a bit familiar, sure, but it wasn't worth investigating for him. All he had to do was get through the city and continue on his way to his actual destination. ....Speaking of which. He pulled out his pocketwatch to have a look at the time. A bit late to be resuming his travels now. So he figured that a short rest would be in order.
There was no need to ask for directions to the tavern. Once he stepped inside the place though, he had regretted his decision immediately. It was but a simple slip of the mind. How was he going to drink with his mask on? ....Nevermind. Maybe he would just get some food for the road instead.
With a light sigh, he made his way over to the counter and took an empty seat near Raed. His finger went over the bullets on his belt, counting them absentmindedly. Force of habit for him. Always did look at bullets too much.
He was never one for drama. It got people into places where they weren't really needed. Drama was the least of his problems right now. The real situation now, was how to get out of said drama. That being said, it wasn't easy at all, what with all the unnecessary attention he pulled wherever he went. Infamous among the people and mercanaries everywhere, the soulless lad was. 'The Lethal Dance', people called him. It was a name they had mentioned for a good year now. Did Orpheus like it? ....It was always difficult to tell.
When he arrived in town, the first thing that he heard about was yet another infamous name–much like his own. The Jester. Sounded a bit familiar, sure, but it wasn't worth investigating for him. All he had to do was get through the city and continue on his way to his actual destination. ....Speaking of which. He pulled out his pocketwatch to have a look at the time. A bit late to be resuming his travels now. So he figured that a short rest would be in order.
There was no need to ask for directions to the tavern. Once he stepped inside the place though, he had regretted his decision immediately. It was but a simple slip of the mind. How was he going to drink with his mask on? ....Nevermind. Maybe he would just get some food for the road instead.
With a light sigh, he made his way over to the counter and took an empty seat near Raed. His finger went over the bullets on his belt, counting them absentmindedly. Force of habit for him. Always did look at bullets too much.
Aileen pursed her lips at Crow’s words, drumming her fingers on the armrest of her seat, before Taff was lead in by a pale skinned bandit; one of the groups she had hired, certainly.
“Lady Aileen,” The woman bowed, though the way her lips pulled into a wide grin, this woman meant no respect by the gesture, “Zhe King has se—“
“That will be all, Iskra, the man can speak for himself.” She snapped, causing the bandit to narrow her eyes in response. But, seeming to know her place in this situation (and not too fond of pissing off this woman who offered her sanctuary for the time being), the bandit backed away, walking from the hall as Taff repeated his message.
“Send my thanks to his highnesses, and especially to our young Prince. His kindness is refreshing in these dark times.” She mused for a moment, reading over the paper that contained the ban of magic and its creatures, “My oh my...this is quite severe...”
A wicked grin had wound its way onto the woman’s face, “Onyx Bandits, Id like to ask you all a favor.”
They perked up at their summoning, eyes turning over to her from across the room as she smiled warmly, “We shall keep this decree quiet for a short time. I ask that you all go spread the message...all magic users and those who are not human must come to the manor, to... register, with the Lady of the household.”
The Onyx bandits grins grew wide, and it was obvious that this “registration” wasn’t going to be pretty. She looked to The Executioner, “Prepare the gallows, we’ll be needing them soon here...and Crow,” she smiled, “Go prepare the dungeon, make sure everything is ready. We will have many guests soon...”
—————
“I got cocky...” Romulus mumbled, rubbing his side as if it ached at the mention. The pale young man leaned back on the opposite wall, “Can’t blame me. I’ve been on fire lately...Lord Julius deserved the death he got. Just as the others did...but do you think they’re onto me?”
The young man closed his eyes, the bright light of the sun hurting his rather sensitive pale eyes. Romulus was never good in such bright lighting. But then again, what Assassin liked the light? It was an uncommon trait for sure...light made work difficult, light cast shadows that told stories and shared secrets. He reached up and tied his hair back in a low ponytail, letting the thin grey strands that wouldn’t remain back fall around his face.
Romulus was an odd one, certainly, his personality quite contrasting to that of The Jester. He was quiet and, besides for when playing his music and singing, preferred to remain on the sidelines, listening rather than speaking. And lucky for him, his ghostly appearance, and the rumors he was cursed, meant he hardly had to worry about being asked too many questions. Even guards shied away from him, not interested enough in his story to risk a curse themselves.
“Lady Aileen,” The woman bowed, though the way her lips pulled into a wide grin, this woman meant no respect by the gesture, “Zhe King has se—“
“That will be all, Iskra, the man can speak for himself.” She snapped, causing the bandit to narrow her eyes in response. But, seeming to know her place in this situation (and not too fond of pissing off this woman who offered her sanctuary for the time being), the bandit backed away, walking from the hall as Taff repeated his message.
“Send my thanks to his highnesses, and especially to our young Prince. His kindness is refreshing in these dark times.” She mused for a moment, reading over the paper that contained the ban of magic and its creatures, “My oh my...this is quite severe...”
A wicked grin had wound its way onto the woman’s face, “Onyx Bandits, Id like to ask you all a favor.”
They perked up at their summoning, eyes turning over to her from across the room as she smiled warmly, “We shall keep this decree quiet for a short time. I ask that you all go spread the message...all magic users and those who are not human must come to the manor, to... register, with the Lady of the household.”
The Onyx bandits grins grew wide, and it was obvious that this “registration” wasn’t going to be pretty. She looked to The Executioner, “Prepare the gallows, we’ll be needing them soon here...and Crow,” she smiled, “Go prepare the dungeon, make sure everything is ready. We will have many guests soon...”
—————
“I got cocky...” Romulus mumbled, rubbing his side as if it ached at the mention. The pale young man leaned back on the opposite wall, “Can’t blame me. I’ve been on fire lately...Lord Julius deserved the death he got. Just as the others did...but do you think they’re onto me?”
The young man closed his eyes, the bright light of the sun hurting his rather sensitive pale eyes. Romulus was never good in such bright lighting. But then again, what Assassin liked the light? It was an uncommon trait for sure...light made work difficult, light cast shadows that told stories and shared secrets. He reached up and tied his hair back in a low ponytail, letting the thin grey strands that wouldn’t remain back fall around his face.
Romulus was an odd one, certainly, his personality quite contrasting to that of The Jester. He was quiet and, besides for when playing his music and singing, preferred to remain on the sidelines, listening rather than speaking. And lucky for him, his ghostly appearance, and the rumors he was cursed, meant he hardly had to worry about being asked too many questions. Even guards shied away from him, not interested enough in his story to risk a curse themselves.
Raed watched as anyone entered, seeing as there wasn't anything better to do. Strangers all, but some more so than others. Interesting people drew interest, or however that went. So both the goateed blonde and the bullet-counting mystery were noted and the information filed away for later.
Or at least, that's what she'd have done if she weren't shit-faced.
As it were, she was dimly aware that the masked gunslinger should be of more interest than she currently afforded him. And the blonde never would have stood a chance of being remembered, if not for the fact that he spoke to her. First anyone had done all night.
Head still resting on the wood, she looked up at him. For a moment, it seemed she didn't understand a word he said.
Then she grinned and got to her feet, swaying when she got there (and briefly pressing against the masked man seated nearby). "Well, sure! Handsome man asks fer help, who'm I to turn 'im down." She beamed down at him, hands on her hips. A spark of mischief danced through her eyes and her smile turned brassy. "Unless this 'small' thing is your man-bits, 'cuz I can't help ya with that. But anythin' else's'fair game."
Or at least, that's what she'd have done if she weren't shit-faced.
As it were, she was dimly aware that the masked gunslinger should be of more interest than she currently afforded him. And the blonde never would have stood a chance of being remembered, if not for the fact that he spoke to her. First anyone had done all night.
Head still resting on the wood, she looked up at him. For a moment, it seemed she didn't understand a word he said.
Then she grinned and got to her feet, swaying when she got there (and briefly pressing against the masked man seated nearby). "Well, sure! Handsome man asks fer help, who'm I to turn 'im down." She beamed down at him, hands on her hips. A spark of mischief danced through her eyes and her smile turned brassy. "Unless this 'small' thing is your man-bits, 'cuz I can't help ya with that. But anythin' else's'fair game."
"Un-fortunately," Stallion tilted his head with the affirmative response. The word was spoken with something of a sigh, something of a resigned irk tainting the word. "As much as I abhor the 'noble' and pompous little twat that I must impersonate for no other purpose than to gather information about the higher scruffs, it actually came in handy this time," he drawled with a heavy tinge of sarcasm, as was his habit. As if everything in the world was just a nuisance to him.
The illusionist was quite fickle. On moment he could seem to enjoy his work and the next he may abhor it. It was often difficult to tell what he was thinking because of his nature as a performer; his trait as an illusionist extended beyond mere appearance and ability, his mannerisms and attitude seemed to shift with unspoken tides as well. Romulus may have been wary of this man at first, but would have come to know that despite his vacillations and preference to show up whenever and wherever the blazes he wanted to, there was always one thing that he could be counted upon: to give reliable information. The very fact that Stallion would be so freely willing to give such information is if he had developed somewhat of a liking of the other illusionist, regardless of reason. Perhaps he saw Romulus as a kindred spirit and a fellow illusionist and performer. Or perhaps the favor was just another random shift of his tide. Who knew, really?
"I left early, though I seemed to have caught that there's an evident hatred to any magic users in particular, and there's only one way that could go," he mused, not needing to mention the fact that magic-users in general would probably be persecuted, captured, maybe killed, the whole works. "If there's any time to step up your game and keep low, now's the time. Where ya headed?"
The illusionist was quite fickle. On moment he could seem to enjoy his work and the next he may abhor it. It was often difficult to tell what he was thinking because of his nature as a performer; his trait as an illusionist extended beyond mere appearance and ability, his mannerisms and attitude seemed to shift with unspoken tides as well. Romulus may have been wary of this man at first, but would have come to know that despite his vacillations and preference to show up whenever and wherever the blazes he wanted to, there was always one thing that he could be counted upon: to give reliable information. The very fact that Stallion would be so freely willing to give such information is if he had developed somewhat of a liking of the other illusionist, regardless of reason. Perhaps he saw Romulus as a kindred spirit and a fellow illusionist and performer. Or perhaps the favor was just another random shift of his tide. Who knew, really?
"I left early, though I seemed to have caught that there's an evident hatred to any magic users in particular, and there's only one way that could go," he mused, not needing to mention the fact that magic-users in general would probably be persecuted, captured, maybe killed, the whole works. "If there's any time to step up your game and keep low, now's the time. Where ya headed?"
Taff looked at Aileen briefly and sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself a little as he always did. This was by far the hardest part of his job, the hard blow he had a duty to deliver
"Given your recent losses and, in line with the realm's laws and customary, king Conrad has appointed a new lord to these lands and dominions so that you may rest and mourn in peace, undisturbed and unburdened by any duty to the crown, as your husband held.
Lord Tron Pentre, the new liege lord of these lands has requested that I offer you and your family his condolences and inform you he is on his way here already. He will arrive soon to relieve this household from further responsibilities over the lands and its people" recited Taff dealing the harsh blow in the most humane manner possible, all the while making her aware that her power was being taken from her, that she had already been replaced, as gentle and politely as Taff could manage.
Then came her command to Sir Crow that the dungeons ought to be prepared right away. Merthyr and Taff looked at each other bewildered, assuming she intended to have them restrained. Perhaps he had recognized the prince, or perhaps she wanted to teach the king a lesson in women's power by making an example of his royal servants and messengers. In any case they could easily get locked up and tortured if they remained any longer so they broke out into a run, heading to the balcony and throwing themselves overboard into the fast flowing waters below, exactly like they had seen The Jester do, all but a few days earlier during the feast, scattering for dear life and freedom
"Given your recent losses and, in line with the realm's laws and customary, king Conrad has appointed a new lord to these lands and dominions so that you may rest and mourn in peace, undisturbed and unburdened by any duty to the crown, as your husband held.
Lord Tron Pentre, the new liege lord of these lands has requested that I offer you and your family his condolences and inform you he is on his way here already. He will arrive soon to relieve this household from further responsibilities over the lands and its people" recited Taff dealing the harsh blow in the most humane manner possible, all the while making her aware that her power was being taken from her, that she had already been replaced, as gentle and politely as Taff could manage.
Then came her command to Sir Crow that the dungeons ought to be prepared right away. Merthyr and Taff looked at each other bewildered, assuming she intended to have them restrained. Perhaps he had recognized the prince, or perhaps she wanted to teach the king a lesson in women's power by making an example of his royal servants and messengers. In any case they could easily get locked up and tortured if they remained any longer so they broke out into a run, heading to the balcony and throwing themselves overboard into the fast flowing waters below, exactly like they had seen The Jester do, all but a few days earlier during the feast, scattering for dear life and freedom
At least at the start the two hooded figures watched the unfolding spectacle with detached passivity, the only indication that they hadn't fallen asleep under their masks was that the eyes continued circling the room and those within it endlessly. Their physical bodies seemed almost rooted in their positions, both busily engaging themselves in a game of living statues.
Only the mention of an outlawing of magical beings managed to get even the slightest of movements out of the two. A movement to the effect of Executioner raising one hand sharply then lowering it as gently as possible. The movement as it was seemed only to be directed towards his companion, its meaning however was known only to the two.
When movement finally came the duo waited until the royal emissaries had thrown themselves from the window in the moat below to begin forward movement once more. Yet the first of these came not from their normal limbs, but from a lump hidden under Executioner's cloak. The cloak was with precise care and deliberation pushed outwards as six spikes of solidified blood began to construct themselves along the spine of his armour. Dropping to his hands and feet, Executioners entire body seemed to meta-morph from upright knight, skulking in the shadows to a spider like humanoid.
Oddly the entire thing happened in almost total silence, creating the appearance that possibly it might just be the shadows playing tricks on the living. It was only when the v-shaped appendages began to move propelling Executioner towards the same window that Merthyr had thrown himself through that the other began to move. Starting a slow but lumbering charge towards the exit of the hall and towards the outer doors of the castle.
Only the mention of an outlawing of magical beings managed to get even the slightest of movements out of the two. A movement to the effect of Executioner raising one hand sharply then lowering it as gently as possible. The movement as it was seemed only to be directed towards his companion, its meaning however was known only to the two.
When movement finally came the duo waited until the royal emissaries had thrown themselves from the window in the moat below to begin forward movement once more. Yet the first of these came not from their normal limbs, but from a lump hidden under Executioner's cloak. The cloak was with precise care and deliberation pushed outwards as six spikes of solidified blood began to construct themselves along the spine of his armour. Dropping to his hands and feet, Executioners entire body seemed to meta-morph from upright knight, skulking in the shadows to a spider like humanoid.
Oddly the entire thing happened in almost total silence, creating the appearance that possibly it might just be the shadows playing tricks on the living. It was only when the v-shaped appendages began to move propelling Executioner towards the same window that Merthyr had thrown himself through that the other began to move. Starting a slow but lumbering charge towards the exit of the hall and towards the outer doors of the castle.
The Hanged Man wrinkled his nose at the intrusion of the eyeball, and lifted a hand to shoo it away as if it were a fly. He fixed the Executioner with a stare--not quite a glare. He didn't have long to scrutinize, however, since at that point the king's men were led in and brought before the lady. Their message was wholly unappreciated. How dare some strange lord come in to usurp Mancini rule, while Julius' body wasn't even cold?
But it was the written note that provoked more of a reaction from Aileen. The Hanged Man glanced down at it, but couldn't make hide nor hair of the message--he was famously illiterate. Then Taff and the other boy decided to make a run for it. Crow stared, exasperated. Whatever was on that paper was enough to drive the world batty, it seemed. He was tempted to just let them go. Thankfully the grim Executioner was there--he would certainly do a better job of apprehending the boys, though the way he went about it was not what the Hanged Man expected. He bristled as the Executioner dropped down low and began to … change. There was no better word for the silent, gruesome display unfolding before him. The knight’s hand fell to his falchion, but he didn’t make a move—Aileen had mentioned that the Executioner had some form of fell magic, but hadn’t expounded on its exact nature. “G-goddess below!" he barked. "Bones!"
The spidery Executioner trundled out of the room. The Hanged Man's skin crawled at the sight of it--he stared, raptly, until remembering that his lady had given him a command. "Ah, aye ... aye ... my lady, your w-will be done." He bowed curtly to her and left her side, albeit hesitantly.
The dungeons were down in the bowels of the keep, beyond a warren of dank passageways designed to prevent easy escape. The Hanged Man had them memorized, though only because his humble chambers were down here, chosen for their proximity to the winecellar. He badly wanted to stop there for a drink but knew it wouldn’t be prudent. “Up and at them, lugs,” he barked to the lazing gaolers. Several of the cells were being used for storage, and Crow set the men to work clearing them out.
But it was the written note that provoked more of a reaction from Aileen. The Hanged Man glanced down at it, but couldn't make hide nor hair of the message--he was famously illiterate. Then Taff and the other boy decided to make a run for it. Crow stared, exasperated. Whatever was on that paper was enough to drive the world batty, it seemed. He was tempted to just let them go. Thankfully the grim Executioner was there--he would certainly do a better job of apprehending the boys, though the way he went about it was not what the Hanged Man expected. He bristled as the Executioner dropped down low and began to … change. There was no better word for the silent, gruesome display unfolding before him. The knight’s hand fell to his falchion, but he didn’t make a move—Aileen had mentioned that the Executioner had some form of fell magic, but hadn’t expounded on its exact nature. “G-goddess below!" he barked. "Bones!"
The spidery Executioner trundled out of the room. The Hanged Man's skin crawled at the sight of it--he stared, raptly, until remembering that his lady had given him a command. "Ah, aye ... aye ... my lady, your w-will be done." He bowed curtly to her and left her side, albeit hesitantly.
The dungeons were down in the bowels of the keep, beyond a warren of dank passageways designed to prevent easy escape. The Hanged Man had them memorized, though only because his humble chambers were down here, chosen for their proximity to the winecellar. He badly wanted to stop there for a drink but knew it wouldn’t be prudent. “Up and at them, lugs,” he barked to the lazing gaolers. Several of the cells were being used for storage, and Crow set the men to work clearing them out.
Upon asking for assistance, Eike felt the moment that passed as though it were hours. The seemingly groggy look on the woman's face suggested to him then that she might not have been the best person to ask, after all. Still, he waited, feeling that the alternate might be too rude. Then, when she sprang up from her seat, Eike nearly startled. It was as if her soul were absent until that instant!
Her confirmation brought a smile to the young sorcerer's face. He shifted his footing a bit, turning back part way towards the door. Her following, teasing comment gave him pause once again. Ortrun's face went from normal to flushed in a matter of seconds; it was flattering in a way, but mostly baffling.
Eike looked back at her and chuckled a bit nervously. "Ah, no miss, I do not do those things." He pushed the door back open and continued, "Though this might be a bit messy, I fear."
Her confirmation brought a smile to the young sorcerer's face. He shifted his footing a bit, turning back part way towards the door. Her following, teasing comment gave him pause once again. Ortrun's face went from normal to flushed in a matter of seconds; it was flattering in a way, but mostly baffling.
Eike looked back at her and chuckled a bit nervously. "Ah, no miss, I do not do those things." He pushed the door back open and continued, "Though this might be a bit messy, I fear."
Aileen sighed once the room had mostly cleared, pressing her thin fingers to her temples and letting out a huff of air, one she had been holding since the Executioner began his change. No matter how much she heard, nothing prepared her to actuall witness such an ability....
“Guards.” She said suddenly, as if it had just hit her, and the remaining men turned their attention to her. Wide-eyed, she replayed the scene of the servants jumping off the balcony...just as The Jester had done but days ago....
“I want those two found. Quickly. Before Lord Pentre arrives, or you’ll be losing more than just your pay.” She hissed, venom in her tone as the men hurried from the room.
————
“Where...? Well I guess home.” Romulus rubbed his neck, glancing at the sky again, “I fear my garden has overgrown...I spent far too long in this city, that is certain, ragazzo.”
He felt along his waist for the small pouch, reaching in and pulling out a handful of strange looking candies; Romulus always had a sweet tooth, it wasn’t surprising he had gone and gotten himself something, “Would you like some? I picked them up from a little stall on my way here...” he offered the small candies to Stallion just as the bandits appeared on the main road, the pale woman reaching the center of the courtyard. With his hand still outstretched, Romulus waited, listening to the woman speak in her thick accent.
“Under zhe King’s Orders, all magical and non-human persons must go re...register vith Lady Aileen at zhe manor.” Iskra read from the paper she had taken with her; it had been difficult enough to read let alone pronounce properly, English or not, so she crumbled it up and shoved it into a pouch, “Zhis must be done. Not Regis..err...registering....vill be punished by lashes or death.”
“Right, right...” Romulus mumbled, obviously not liking the sound of that, “I guess that’s my cue to leave...”
“Guards.” She said suddenly, as if it had just hit her, and the remaining men turned their attention to her. Wide-eyed, she replayed the scene of the servants jumping off the balcony...just as The Jester had done but days ago....
“I want those two found. Quickly. Before Lord Pentre arrives, or you’ll be losing more than just your pay.” She hissed, venom in her tone as the men hurried from the room.
————
“Where...? Well I guess home.” Romulus rubbed his neck, glancing at the sky again, “I fear my garden has overgrown...I spent far too long in this city, that is certain, ragazzo.”
He felt along his waist for the small pouch, reaching in and pulling out a handful of strange looking candies; Romulus always had a sweet tooth, it wasn’t surprising he had gone and gotten himself something, “Would you like some? I picked them up from a little stall on my way here...” he offered the small candies to Stallion just as the bandits appeared on the main road, the pale woman reaching the center of the courtyard. With his hand still outstretched, Romulus waited, listening to the woman speak in her thick accent.
“Under zhe King’s Orders, all magical and non-human persons must go re...register vith Lady Aileen at zhe manor.” Iskra read from the paper she had taken with her; it had been difficult enough to read let alone pronounce properly, English or not, so she crumbled it up and shoved it into a pouch, “Zhis must be done. Not Regis..err...registering....vill be punished by lashes or death.”
“Right, right...” Romulus mumbled, obviously not liking the sound of that, “I guess that’s my cue to leave...”
Taff had no fear of the fast flowing waters as he jumped below, entrusting himself into Elektra's care. The mermaids, faes and nymphs would be more than elated to have the warlock swim among them and would take gentle care of him, guiding him to safety. Taff took a deep breath as he plunged into the waters below then relaxed, letting the current of the water drag him to safer shores. Though Merthyr had not been so lucky.
In his haste to toss Taff into safety and protect him from harm, Merthyr was hit, he had a bad jump and worse fall.
At first his foot caught the edge of the marble bannister in a loud hit that cracked his ankle, effectively rendering his foot painful, swollen and unusuable. The distraction of the sharp pain causing him to loose attention and concentration and smash into the growths beneath before hitting the water itself, broken tree branches impaling Merthyr on the stomach and thigh, before the current dragged him away. He was bleeding and would need a healer soon. This incident would severely hamper their escape and impede their return to the royal palace altogether until Merthyr recovered enough. These same injuries slowed the prince much too much to escape the city at all.
Still Merthyr said nothing to Taff about the extent of his injuries, despite the soaked clothes, they felt lucky to have left with their lives intact, for now.
Merthry limped to the darker alleyways seeking refuge and safety, in their haste to hide they stumbled into Stallion and Romulus and Iskra and paused stiffly.
"Er... greetings..." saluted Taff briefly gazing at those present, his eyes locking on Romulus able to sense Elektra's touch and spell. This had to be the boy. Though confusing enough he also felt such presence nearby for Eike carried Thalia's touch, the twin spirits having too similar magic to distinguish either with clarity.
There was a long pause of tense silence, Merthyr finding Stallion somewhat familiar. Of course, the prince had met all nobles and, with the trickery, duke Isidore ranked among them. They were well acquainted and he could tell Stallion's mannerisms and features from miles away but... the clothes and location and timing were so out of touch that it had the prince hesitating
To break such tension, Taff focused on the urgent task to hand. He could not practice magic openly before the prince never mind in the middle of the street, it would have to wait.
"We mean no harm... my friend is hurt after a bad fall... do you know of any healer at this late hour? or a shelter that is modest enough in pricing?" asked Taff watching Merthyr lean heavily against him, almost collapsing as the pain increased and fever set in, the blood loss not helping matters at hand.
Perhaps Aileen's thugs arrows had struck Merthyr too after all and the youth said nothing to not worry Taff about any of it. His shoulder, side, thigh, foot wrecked painfully so by the bad fall already, anything else were extras.
Seeing their state, the wet clothes, messy appearance, the late hour, the haste, the injuries, it was clear these two were fugitives. Though Taff tried to divert attention from that fact, for now, letting them talk among themselves until they were acknowledged and gotten a good enough answer for where to head to next, and if no replies came through then they would trail further down the road to the nearest tavern.
Little did Taff know Iskra worked for Aileen and these were all assassins, bandits, slavers and rogues, placing him and Merthyr in as much a danger if not more than handing themselves to Aileen's guards and knights.
In his haste to toss Taff into safety and protect him from harm, Merthyr was hit, he had a bad jump and worse fall.
At first his foot caught the edge of the marble bannister in a loud hit that cracked his ankle, effectively rendering his foot painful, swollen and unusuable. The distraction of the sharp pain causing him to loose attention and concentration and smash into the growths beneath before hitting the water itself, broken tree branches impaling Merthyr on the stomach and thigh, before the current dragged him away. He was bleeding and would need a healer soon. This incident would severely hamper their escape and impede their return to the royal palace altogether until Merthyr recovered enough. These same injuries slowed the prince much too much to escape the city at all.
Still Merthyr said nothing to Taff about the extent of his injuries, despite the soaked clothes, they felt lucky to have left with their lives intact, for now.
Merthry limped to the darker alleyways seeking refuge and safety, in their haste to hide they stumbled into Stallion and Romulus and Iskra and paused stiffly.
"Er... greetings..." saluted Taff briefly gazing at those present, his eyes locking on Romulus able to sense Elektra's touch and spell. This had to be the boy. Though confusing enough he also felt such presence nearby for Eike carried Thalia's touch, the twin spirits having too similar magic to distinguish either with clarity.
There was a long pause of tense silence, Merthyr finding Stallion somewhat familiar. Of course, the prince had met all nobles and, with the trickery, duke Isidore ranked among them. They were well acquainted and he could tell Stallion's mannerisms and features from miles away but... the clothes and location and timing were so out of touch that it had the prince hesitating
To break such tension, Taff focused on the urgent task to hand. He could not practice magic openly before the prince never mind in the middle of the street, it would have to wait.
"We mean no harm... my friend is hurt after a bad fall... do you know of any healer at this late hour? or a shelter that is modest enough in pricing?" asked Taff watching Merthyr lean heavily against him, almost collapsing as the pain increased and fever set in, the blood loss not helping matters at hand.
Perhaps Aileen's thugs arrows had struck Merthyr too after all and the youth said nothing to not worry Taff about any of it. His shoulder, side, thigh, foot wrecked painfully so by the bad fall already, anything else were extras.
Seeing their state, the wet clothes, messy appearance, the late hour, the haste, the injuries, it was clear these two were fugitives. Though Taff tried to divert attention from that fact, for now, letting them talk among themselves until they were acknowledged and gotten a good enough answer for where to head to next, and if no replies came through then they would trail further down the road to the nearest tavern.
Little did Taff know Iskra worked for Aileen and these were all assassins, bandits, slavers and rogues, placing him and Merthyr in as much a danger if not more than handing themselves to Aileen's guards and knights.
While everyone who had left the building through the window had done so by jumping, Executioner chose no such method. Instead opting to use the crimson spikes to hook himself onto the outside wall. such a position may not have been the most inconspicuous way of tracking down his prey, yet it gave a distinct advantage. For now instead of plummeting into the currents below the spider like being could skitter down the wall at his own leisure.
As the six limbs of blood propelled the inhuman being down the side of the wall, the five eyeballs floated down to the water's surface. Speeding along to where the water met the opposite bank, there the search began.
It wasn't long till they found what they needed to, trails of water and sickly gore staining the edge where the injured Merthyr had begun his escape attempt with Taff. A small buzz of pleasure rushed through the eyeballs, their movements becoming faster and more excited.
This after all was what Executioner lived for, to obey whatever task given to him. All so that he might one day return to the life he'd lost. So it was with a spring in his step that Executioner leaped over the body of water and up onto the nearby roofs. It was there he underwent another chance, keeping the spider-like body but adding to it a mass of tendrils hanging from his downwards facing chest. Each one a strand of dark scarlet blood.
Sending one eye off to guide his partner to the scene the remaining ones gathered around his body, three underneath scanning the alley. The fourth remained above, keeping a watchful gaze over the cities skyline.
Now all that remained was to hunt his prey, so with both sides of his body on either edge of the alley and the tendrils hanging down the centre he set off. Swiftly following the trail to where his quarry stood chatting.
As the six limbs of blood propelled the inhuman being down the side of the wall, the five eyeballs floated down to the water's surface. Speeding along to where the water met the opposite bank, there the search began.
It wasn't long till they found what they needed to, trails of water and sickly gore staining the edge where the injured Merthyr had begun his escape attempt with Taff. A small buzz of pleasure rushed through the eyeballs, their movements becoming faster and more excited.
This after all was what Executioner lived for, to obey whatever task given to him. All so that he might one day return to the life he'd lost. So it was with a spring in his step that Executioner leaped over the body of water and up onto the nearby roofs. It was there he underwent another chance, keeping the spider-like body but adding to it a mass of tendrils hanging from his downwards facing chest. Each one a strand of dark scarlet blood.
Sending one eye off to guide his partner to the scene the remaining ones gathered around his body, three underneath scanning the alley. The fourth remained above, keeping a watchful gaze over the cities skyline.
Now all that remained was to hunt his prey, so with both sides of his body on either edge of the alley and the tendrils hanging down the centre he set off. Swiftly following the trail to where his quarry stood chatting.
Stallion nodded to Romulus, a twinge of a smile manifesting at the corner of his lip as he accepted a couple of pieces of sweets, acknowledging his gesture of goodwill. "Yes, I do think it would be wise--"
Immediately he glanced to his left, and it was this movement that possibly made Merthyr and Taff stop in their tracks. Stallion froze at the sight of the Prince. His performer's mind, upon seeing him, almost immediately leapt to action, and the carefully manicured persona of Duke Isidore Steraveste threatened to speak--and would have done so to ruin him had the illusionist not held his tongue. Prince Merthyr! What in the skylights are you doing here? The scenario played itself in his mind although he did not move or speak. The practiced persona was so easy to slip into that he had to make the conscious decision not to use it now. I thought you would be at the funeral of Lord Mancini?
No, it was a terrible idea. Technically, Duke Steraveste had been invited--and gods forbid, had attended--the funeral. He wondered if anyone had noticed that he was there no longer. Regardless, Stallion felt safe in the knowledge that Merthyr could never be sure to recognize him properly. Not only was the performer currently wearing his signature white-and-red mask, which covered a good section of his face, but the current air of mystery that pervaded the aura of the Black Stallion, with his magician's attire and showman's gambit--neither of which he had when posing as Isidore--would never lend any credibility to any vague and boorish idea that the two were one and the same. Not to mention that the two personas had different eye and hair color, thanks to Stallion's own gift of illusion. Leaving too quickly would certainly bring suspicion but perhaps playing the part of a good Samaritan would alleviate tension enough to deflect any possible theory of suspicion before he made his exit. However, it was Romulus who was in much greater need of an escape. After all, it was his head that the Mancini's were ultimately after.
Stallion discreetly placed himself somewhat between the two wet fugitives and Romulus as he lifted his arms up in a gesture of goodwill, the smallest of a cordial smile upon his face as he addressed Merthyr and Taff. "Please, my good fellow here is about to retire for the evening, and you're in luck; the building beside where we stand is actually an inn." He made a beckoning gesture. "Come quickly, then; I have places to be as well, but perhaps I can squeeze in a kind turn for you two."
If his words weren't an evident enough hint to Romulus to get the hell out and make his escape, he didn't know what was.
Immediately he glanced to his left, and it was this movement that possibly made Merthyr and Taff stop in their tracks. Stallion froze at the sight of the Prince. His performer's mind, upon seeing him, almost immediately leapt to action, and the carefully manicured persona of Duke Isidore Steraveste threatened to speak--and would have done so to ruin him had the illusionist not held his tongue. Prince Merthyr! What in the skylights are you doing here? The scenario played itself in his mind although he did not move or speak. The practiced persona was so easy to slip into that he had to make the conscious decision not to use it now. I thought you would be at the funeral of Lord Mancini?
No, it was a terrible idea. Technically, Duke Steraveste had been invited--and gods forbid, had attended--the funeral. He wondered if anyone had noticed that he was there no longer. Regardless, Stallion felt safe in the knowledge that Merthyr could never be sure to recognize him properly. Not only was the performer currently wearing his signature white-and-red mask, which covered a good section of his face, but the current air of mystery that pervaded the aura of the Black Stallion, with his magician's attire and showman's gambit--neither of which he had when posing as Isidore--would never lend any credibility to any vague and boorish idea that the two were one and the same. Not to mention that the two personas had different eye and hair color, thanks to Stallion's own gift of illusion. Leaving too quickly would certainly bring suspicion but perhaps playing the part of a good Samaritan would alleviate tension enough to deflect any possible theory of suspicion before he made his exit. However, it was Romulus who was in much greater need of an escape. After all, it was his head that the Mancini's were ultimately after.
Stallion discreetly placed himself somewhat between the two wet fugitives and Romulus as he lifted his arms up in a gesture of goodwill, the smallest of a cordial smile upon his face as he addressed Merthyr and Taff. "Please, my good fellow here is about to retire for the evening, and you're in luck; the building beside where we stand is actually an inn." He made a beckoning gesture. "Come quickly, then; I have places to be as well, but perhaps I can squeeze in a kind turn for you two."
If his words weren't an evident enough hint to Romulus to get the hell out and make his escape, he didn't know what was.
“Well, Stallion, Ill be going.” Romulus mumbled suddenly, quickly picking up his pack and turning down the alleyway, hoping to make his escape. And that happened to be when he heard the faint clicking noises. Romulus stopped, turning a bit to look back at Stallion, Taff and Merthyr, his eyes going big at the looming shadow that advanced along the alleyway.
Whatever that..thing was, he knew it was bad news. And judging on the arrival of these runaways, and the timing of this thing, it was after them. He could tell (or, at least he thought he could) that, based on their clothing they were but servants, who were probably in trouble after their master did something. Romulus was a killer, but he also had a soft spot for the poor and underprivileged in the world. He would be absolutely enraged to find out he was helping the Prince, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?
Romulus rushed forwards, and without so much as asking slid his arm under Merthyr’s shoulder, before just cleanly picking him up off the ground, hoping to eliminate the trail that led that creature, “Let’s hurry, I don’t...like the looks of that.” Romulus paused, “I can bring you all to the place I’m staying, I...have some medical supplies there. I travel quite a bit so I learned to care for myself...” he muttered, obviously trying to explain himself and escape Taff’s prying gaze.
Iskra, at the square, had spotted Taff and Merthyr, but paid no mind, not having been there for the scene they made and certainly not thinking them nobles; perhaps beggars at best. That was, Until Romulus came into view, lifting Merthyr. Her eyes sparkled; what a strange appearance, surely someone like that had secrets to tell, or powers. She stepped down from the platform, walking along the street and calling out to them, “Ay, you zhere! Ghost boi!”
Romulus looked up, very accustomed to being called in such a way, and when he spotted Iskra, he grimaced. No, this wasn’t a good situation at all. He ignored her calls and just dipped further into the alleyways, hoping that Taff and perhaps Stallion would follow.
Iskra didnt give chase, instead folding her arms with a wicked grin on her face, “My my...” His escape told her everything she needed to know. Perhaps she would go searching for him the next morning...
Whatever that..thing was, he knew it was bad news. And judging on the arrival of these runaways, and the timing of this thing, it was after them. He could tell (or, at least he thought he could) that, based on their clothing they were but servants, who were probably in trouble after their master did something. Romulus was a killer, but he also had a soft spot for the poor and underprivileged in the world. He would be absolutely enraged to find out he was helping the Prince, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?
Romulus rushed forwards, and without so much as asking slid his arm under Merthyr’s shoulder, before just cleanly picking him up off the ground, hoping to eliminate the trail that led that creature, “Let’s hurry, I don’t...like the looks of that.” Romulus paused, “I can bring you all to the place I’m staying, I...have some medical supplies there. I travel quite a bit so I learned to care for myself...” he muttered, obviously trying to explain himself and escape Taff’s prying gaze.
Iskra, at the square, had spotted Taff and Merthyr, but paid no mind, not having been there for the scene they made and certainly not thinking them nobles; perhaps beggars at best. That was, Until Romulus came into view, lifting Merthyr. Her eyes sparkled; what a strange appearance, surely someone like that had secrets to tell, or powers. She stepped down from the platform, walking along the street and calling out to them, “Ay, you zhere! Ghost boi!”
Romulus looked up, very accustomed to being called in such a way, and when he spotted Iskra, he grimaced. No, this wasn’t a good situation at all. He ignored her calls and just dipped further into the alleyways, hoping that Taff and perhaps Stallion would follow.
Iskra didnt give chase, instead folding her arms with a wicked grin on her face, “My my...” His escape told her everything she needed to know. Perhaps she would go searching for him the next morning...
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