The night was cold - hail had fallen earlier in the day - and the city of Guril-Forsihe was shrouded in mist. The streets had grown quiet now that the work of the day was done with, but those in the lounge of Tom's Tubs did their best battle with both silence and chill.

Drink was flowing from the barrels that gave the flophouse its name. Tom was attempting to lead the room in a rendition of a bawdy song, stood atop a table waving his tankard around, his mop of reddish hair flapping in his eyes. Only a few of the room's occupants were responding - a couple of middle-aged sailors well into their cups.

A healthy fire burned in the grate on the left, casting an orange glow across the dirty, cobwebbed walls. One of the rickety, mismatched chairs that served as furniture had finally given up on life and now continued to be useful as firewood.

In a corner of the small, crowded room sat three of the residents. They were young men, but their eyes held shadows beyond their years. Talk was quiet amongst them as they awaited the arrival of their friend.

"Our Tom's going to go far, methinks".

Harry, one of the older-looking of the fellows in the corner (or perhaps the most ill-used), scratched at the bristles on the side of his face and took a look at his nails. "Sick sick sick!" he mumbled.

"You lot said Sikhandyn was on his way. Where the hell is he?" Despite the words, Harry's tone was relaxed and familiar. "There's work to be done."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:57, Thu 04 June 2009.

"Oh, Tom won't be leaving this place to minstrel anytime soon, that's for sure," Jos chimed in.

He piped in one more response after Harry asked after Sikhandyn's whereabouts: "Gor, who knows with that one.  I saw 'im around noon today, so who knows what he could be up to by now.  But he knows to be here, just give 'im a minute."

Diarmuid listened and nodded when it was appropriate. He was splitting his attention between listening and oiling his sword and scabbard. It was still making a sinister metallic sound when he drew it and this apparently something he needed to work on. Beside his chair an assortment of protective and lethal items were waiting their turn for some care and attention.

There was a trace of a grin on his features, but he appeared as watchful as a rat when cats are about.

"I expect it's important matters of the occult he's about." Harry said with a wink. "I suppose we can just sit here and oil our blades while we wait."

"Oh, aye.  What matter of the occult ain't important?  'Specially to Sikh, most of all," Jos concluded.  He pulled out his bowstring and began checking it for any weak spots, or any sections that needed a little more oil.  The bow itself was too big to be examined at the table, so that would have to wait.

Harry raised his eyebrow at his childhood friend. "Jos, you planning on strangling someone, are you?" He nodded at the other man, Diarmuid, still oiling his blade. "At least he's new about town."

Harry leaned his bulky frame back, the chair creaking with the strain, and placed a knee on the table edge to hold himself steady. "Right pair of brigands, you two. No wonder there's none of the fairer sex sat at this table with the two of you here to frighten them off." He took a splinter off the table edge. "Good thing at least one of us has manners." With that comment, Harry started to dig about his back teeth, examining the point of the splinter every now and again.

"Nah, only your fat neck Harry.  And this string won't do the job," Jos shot back quickly.  He did grow self-conscious then, and tucked the bowstring back away.  He craned his neck around to try and spot Sikhandyn if the other man had arrived.

"You do that," Harry said, sucking at his teeth, "and you'll have half the Rethayns and the Breganzas hunting after you. Likely the Kesemrob too. Blood's thicker, like they say, and I've connections which go beyond blood."

Harry rocked forward on his chair and glared at Jos. "As you'd know if you ever listened!"

As he approached Tom's Tubs, Sikhandyn could hear the horrible song - nah, noises - coming from inside the flophouse. Tom, it seemed, was at it again... After facing the bitter cold and the biting wind, the wizard would still have to put up with that final insult to his ears and to music itself.

With a disgusted grunt, the young man entered the crowded room. In an effort to ignore Tom's attempts at singing, he chose instead to focus on the pleasant, sudden feeling of warmth in his body... Sikhandyn's eyes quickly located his friends - sitting quietly in their usual corner, readying their weapons as if preparing to go hunting. The wizard had offered to meet at Simon's house - more spacious, more discreet, less noisy: in a word, more convenient - but for some obscure reason, his mates had grown dependent on Tom and his establishment.

"Good evening, am I late?" Sikhandyn said in a jovial tone as he approached the group. Without waiting for an answer, the young man immediately sat down at the table.

"So..." he continued in a lower voice. "What are we drinking tonight, and what is the opportunity?" he asked, his eyes fixed on Harry.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:17, Thu 04 June 2009.

When Harry talked about not attracting girls Diarmuid looked around, his eyes searching the room. He even looked under his chair. Just then Sikandyn walked in. This didn't stop Diarmuid though.

"I don't know how to break this to you Hal...but.. those creatures standing over there singing along to that execrable song.. well they're not girls. So what did you... Ah, naw forget it."

Diarmuid grinned and slid his sword into its scabbard until he heard a click, it was almost silent now.

"Does a bear?" he said with a grin. Then .."Naw, rest your weary.." said Diarmuid throwing out truncated well known phrases in lieu of complete sentences.

He extended a leg and pulled a chair closer with his foot. "Keep talking, it'll take our minds off the music."

"Yes you are late," said Harry with a scowl, "which means that what we are drinking depends on how much coin you have about you."

"Opportunities is it? Well, nothing like getting to the point, eh? Gather close lads. Lean in."

"First, most urgent for a yay or nay as to whether we'll take it, is a missing person. The silver's a Lady and a nob to boot*. Most distraught, she is."

"The other two we can think about for a day or two. Both are out of town, so we might want to worry abut those bandit stories; new gang. For one, the silver's a man of the cloth and wants escorting out of town. There's an angle, or he wouldn't have asked me, but we don't know what the angle is."

"The last one is going to be a rumble out of town. The silver's a nob again, wants a dam destroying, only it's a new dam and it isn't his. So we can expect to be interrupted."

"So lads. What's it to be?


* Silver = client. Nob = noble

Jos thought about trying to fire back at Harry, but saw that the time for jokes had past.  It was all business for now.  He thought for a moment then, because Harry had been wrong.  He had listened and heard all three jobs laid out.  He wanted more details though.  "Ya think that we could do the first one quick, and then take on the second or third after?  Or maybe somehow take both the second and third together?  Like, say the feller wants to go someplace near that there dam?  Don't get me wrong, the coin is good from one job.  But if we could squeeze in two, I'm all for it."

Diarmuid nodded at Jos's query, apparently of a similar mind.

"We'll also need to cover our backs somehow. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not looking to become an expendable asset in the ongoing noble maneuvers. If this doesn't go well we need an out, or an some information of value, to stay alive."

"Aye, well," Harry rumbled, "One is heading west, the priest; the other is upriver, the dam. I'm not sure I want to get involved in a land feud either. Not until our operation is a bit more developed. Besides, the rival might be a customer of ours one day."

"As for the lady and her father, I was thinking along similar lines. We could at least start the investigation, promise no more, to see if we are getting somewhere. If we aren't, we suggest she see a priest and get out of it. If we are, all well and good. In a day or two, we see how we are with the other jobs."

"Good? Agreed?"

Diarmuid nodded and started peeling an apple with a very sharp looking knife. He appeared to be blithely unconcerned and nonchalant. A stranger walking in would say he was on the verge of passing out. That was just Diarmuid being Diarmuid though. The outside bore no resemblance to the inside.

"Missing persons seems to be the one. Don't need to destroy anything or assisting a fugitive in a flight from justice when there's other work to be had."

He was about to put a slice of apple in his mouth, but paused in that action to speak again. Diarmuid doesn't speak and eat. He chooses one or the other.

"Of course if he's coming to you he has reason to get out of town. Could be there's a counter ambush on the table there. Purely speculative though."

The apple slice comes up then drops down again. It was going to get to his mouth eventually.

"As for the missing gent, well likely as not he's missing for a reason and rumors could be gotten from the street on that score."

"Say, if that's your area of expertise Hal, what you doing sitting here?"

Diarmuid grinned slowly, his eyebrows rose expectantly.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:44, Fri 05 June 2009.

"Oh, he's gotcha there Hal," Jos chimed in once again.  "I think that'll do us well then.  We start with the missing feller, makin' no promises.  And if it comes to it, we can always take the other feller outta town later."

Diarmuid's apple had made Jos realize his own hunger, and he began to look around for any food that he could snag for himself.  He already knew that he only had trail rations in his own bag, so he didn't bother looking there.

"Tha's decided then," Harry said, "and as for what I'm doing sitting here, why I'm waiting for the drink our occult friend offered to buy me. Helps free the tongue up for investigative work."

Sikhandyn sighed. Either the singing was covering his friends' voices, or their low literacy levels made it difficult for them to communicate their thoughts clearly. Or he was becoming deaf. Anyway - the young man enjoyed their company, and had virtually no other family left.

"Hey... It's pretty clean business!" Sikhandyn said, visibly surprised to hear Harry come up with a legit business proposal - yet secretly wondering what the catch would be.

Sikhandyn then turned to the innkeeper.
"Tom, could we have four cups of wine over here please?" he shouted.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:04, Fri 05 June 2009.

Tom paused mid cater-waul, arms flung wide, blinking almost comically. Shaking his head he roared:

"Wine? What the hells do you think this is man, a tavern?!"

Nevertheless, he clattered down off the table and staggered over to a shelf, where he grabbed four mugs. He proceeded to fill these with ale, then stumbled over to the table, spilling not a little along the way.

He handed round the slightly dirty mugs, then leant on the nearest wall with arms folded, listening curiously. His head wobbled and eyes drooped - the man was clearly the worse for wear.

"This establishment has class!" Harry grinned at Tom, testing the depth of the man's stupor with a verbal prod and reluctant to continue discussing their plans with him listening.

"And you are going to be putting Illiamia out of business with your quality brews." He supped at the ale, foam marking the bristles on his upper lip.

Tom dipped his chin against his chest, puffing out his cheeks a little. A couple of the regulars recognised this as a sign of impending vomit and began to raise a cheer, until Tom raised his head again and let out a mighty belch. The onlookers booed.

He shook his head.

"Illiamia...mm...nah, haven't you heard? Her ale tastes...funny...these days. They're saying it's an experiment! I bet she just bought it cheap somewhere though eh? Knocking it off on the punters, hah!"

Tom elbowed the nearest of the group, Jos, vigorously.

"Cheap? Well it wasn't here then, by the sound of things."

Harry was feeling funny.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:23, Sat 06 June 2009.

Jos had halfway expected the prod from Tom.  He'd found that the deeper into his cups that Tom went, the rougher he got.  Which was no real surprise.  And this wasn't the first time that Tom had 'nudged' him either.  Somehow, even when he was that far gone, Tom managed to manuever himself next to Jos whenever he did it.

Probably because Tom had two inches and thirty pounds on Jos.  Where Tom lost at least that much to Harry, Diarmuid was just as likely to skin Tom as the apple he held, and Sikhandyn had convinced the man long ago that he could shrivel Tom's manhood down to the size of a thimble.  The man's sense of self-preservation was uncanny.

Diarmuid finished his apple, put the core in a pouch and cleaned his knife on a rag.

"Well gentlemen, there's work to be done and best we were about it."

Diarmuid was often like this, sounding like some poncy actor on the stage. He rose from his chair, which having seen better days, creaked alarmingly.

"Come on Joss stop rough-housing it with Tom." he added, sword in his hand, though apparently he meant to sheathe it shortly.

"Tom, you know, maybe you want to find yourself a girl?"

Diarmuid grinned boyishly but, as ever, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Harry got up as well, once he had downed his beer. "Well, lads, I think we will have to retire to Sikhandyn's after all, for a spot of planning." He walked past Tom, giving the fellow a gentle pat on his cheek. "Enjoy yourself Tom, there's a good lad."

Sikhandyn bids Tom goodbye, and prepares to lead the group to his home.

Jos, all too happy to escape Tom before he attempted his dreaded headlock, drained the last of his beer, then gathered up his belongings and followed suit with his three companions.  Sikhandyn's place would work just fine for a planning session, then it would be time to start in on the legwork for the job.

Diarmuid sheathed his sword, it sitthed quietly into the scabbard and clicked home, and with his shield on his back, he took a last look around the room. Pulling up his hood against the cold he followed the others out into the misty darkness of Guril-Forsihe.

Blustering a little bit, Tom made half-hearted protests at the implication that his place wasn't good enough. However, he seemed to recognise that the four had business to attend to and let them leave without too much hassle.

Sikhandyn led the way through the quiet, foggy streets of lower Guril-Forsihe. His sense of direction through the shrouded city was almost uncanny; he took turnings that were impossible to distinguish from any other. The fog leant a strange air to the night. It was hard to tell from how far away sounds came. At one moment a group of drunken youths seemed to be some way away, only to emerge seconds later before them. At another, the tapping cane of an old man sounded right in the ears of the group, but it's user was never seen.

One sailor, drunk, leered and cursed briefly at the four friends, before seeing their weapons and the way they walked - he gave them a wide berth after that.

Sikhandyn's house was typical for the area - two storeys, the upper jutting out a few feet. The wooden construction was bowed with age but sturdy, the facade decorated with shingles and shells as was traditional. There were two rooms downstairs, and two up - a standard layout.

The inside was dark and cold, for Sikhandyn could not leave a fire burning in an unattended house.

"Now where did I put it... Oh yes." Sikhandyn said, as he picked up an old oil lamp that had been left inside, in the shadows by the door. The wizard then produced a flint and a piece of steel; a few seconds later, the lamp was lit.

"Follow me, gentlemen. Let us go upstairs, one of the rooms there has a table and some chairs."

Sikhandyn suddenly realized the need to heat the house.

"Before we do, however - help me restart the fire in the chimney."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:44, Sun 07 June 2009.

Diarmuid's eyebrows rose in apparent amusement. "Can't you, I dunno, throw fire at it or something? Flick your fingers for an invisible servitor?" he remarked cooly, something which was characteristically Diarmuid.

Diarmuid could talk about the best way to gut a man in the same cool neutral tone that he would use to talk about peeling an apple. Self contained to the point of making people feel nervous, he regarded the world with an almost anaemic gaze.

"Ahhh... but you see, magic should never be used for petty amusement, my friend." Sikhandyn answered coldly.

He tried to keep his inquisitive eyes riveted on Diarmuid, but the angry look on the wizard's face quickly softened and he suddenly burst into laughter.

"Nay, whom am I kidding; I just do not know the proper spells, Darmuid... And until I do, I have to do things manually - hopefully with some help from my friends." Sikhandyn added with a wink.

Jos took the hint and moved over to the fireplace to help get it started.  He made a pile of small pieces, then whittled a pile of shavings for tinder, placing them in the heart of his fire-to-be.  He borrowed Sikhandyn's flint rather than get his own out, and then knocked the sparks onto the finest tinder he could find.  He blew on them to get the airflow going, and then stood up, returned the flint, and looked to the stairs, saying "That-a-way?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Mon 08 June 2009.

Sikhandyn nodded.
"Yes. If I remember correctly, there should be a bottle of wine and a few cups upstairs." he answered.

Most people would have flinched at the harsh tone Sinkhandyn used. Diarmuid wasn't one of them. His eyebrows rose in mild amusement, then as Sinkhandyn turned it into a joke Diarmuid half smiled, which in his case was merely a nuance on his usual expression.

Harry had been throughtful all this while. When they were all finally comfortable and ready to discuss plans, he spoke, in a more serious tone than before. "Well, lads. Our theorizing about it being a quick job may have been a bit premature. The silver is Erina and it's her father, old Heiroth, who's gone missing. You know she never married because she's got her wild eye and no man'd take her. And he's as mad as anything. But...he never misses the fair despite all that, and this time he did. He's got his house a couple of days away so we might end up going there to investigate. That'd mean crying off the other jobs."

Jos listened to Harry as replied back: "Well, I think we should stick to it and get to it then.  Finding an ol' crazy bugger should be less dangerous than the other two, and it shouldn't earn us any ire from anyone either.  More 'n likely, the fool just wandered off into the forest and can't find his way home.  And if we can't double up, we can't.  It was just wishful thinking on my part."

Diarmuid is his usual phlegmatic self. He doesn't show much, but somehow manages to give the impressions that lots of sharp little wheels are whirring away inside his head..

"Could be any number of things. Could be Erina is getting tired of being asked to marry and did her old man in. Of course she'd have to go through the motions of having someone look for him."

"Could be someone got tired of waiting for Erina to make up her mind and is holding her old man hostage till a marriage is consumated and the family jewels come down to him."

"Could be any number of things, wrong place wrong time, nobles playing chess again."

"I'd suggest trusting no-one on a job like this. Or on any job for that matter. On something like this we need to do our homework, but not be seen to be doing our homework for that matter".

"I suggest asking around and see who bites. I'm certainly up for planning an ambush."

Sikhandyn nods as Jos mentions his preference for that job. He then listens carefully to Diarmuid's suggestions. The wizard agrees with all his points, but feels the need to express some reservations regarding his last idea.

"I concur, and find your suggestions brilliant... However, if we are planning an ambush, let it not take place here."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:38, Thu 11 June 2009.

"Mebbe we should find out if there will actually be any fighting before we plan an ambush.  Unless you want to ambush me some more ale Diarmuid, I'm all for that.

I reckon we should have someone go and talk to Erina, real quick-like, just to see what she knows.  Maybe the last time she saw him, all that rubbish.  I think that Harry and Diarmuid should go do that.  Sikh and I could go have a drink in a few of the nicer taverns while you two are at that, just to see if there's any news making its way about that we haven't heard yet, eh?"

Jos thought that his first steps were quite acceptable, because the direct line, Erina, and the indirect line, the taverns, were really the only two sources of information that he knew about.

Diarmuid shrugged, apparently not in the least discomfited by, the rejection of his ambush idea.

"It was a suggestion designed for your protection. If it's a noble chess game then there could be black pawns in the inns and other places, but if you feel you can handle any circumstances by yourselves, well that's your call, of course."

Harry grinned at Jos. "Nice plan; you hit the taverns. Well, I'm up for it. Diarmuid, who exactly were you planning on ambushing?"

Diarmuid shook his head..

It's purely a precaution. Dangle an enquiry in noble infested waters and see if anyone bites. Jos and Sikandyn should be aware that asking questions about noble affairs might stir up a world of trouble. All I'm talking about is back up if their names change to bait.

Harry seemed the most familiar with this kind of missions. Sikhandyn therefore decided to keep quiet and see what sensible solution would emerge from the discussion.

With a smile on his face, he offered some more wine to Jos.

"I like the way you think, Diarmuid." This wasn't news to Diarmuid, but he knew, as did the others, that Harry liked to think he had to keep things sweet among the four of them. "I'll go see the lady and see how much she's ctually offering us, then I'll meet you at the usual haunts. I might stop off on the way and make some enquiries of my own at the market and one or two other places."

He grinned, "Then we can go back to Tom's and work on tomorrow's hangover."

Sikhandyn empties his cup and puts it back on the table.
"This certainly sounds like a plan. Meanwhile, I shall visit a few taverns with Jos - to collect additional information, naturally..."

The wizard pauses.
"We can then meet again at Tom's... Though I must confess that I am not thrilled with the prospect, as you very well know Harry." he adds with a wink.

Leaving behind the Sikhandyn's house - which had barely had time to warm to the fire before he had to put it out again - the four friends braved the fog once more.

Jos and Sikhandyn headed for the nearest tavern, already falling into character as a couple of young bravos for whom the night was yet young. Diarmuid made for the stables to collect his mount, from whence he would return to loiter in the area of the taverns, following the other two at a discreet distance as they moved on.

Meanwhile, Harry went alone to visit Erina.

---

In the taverns, Jos and Sikhandyn began subtly dropping names and steering talk towards their areas of interest. Most were ready to disparage Erina as an ugly recluse, but a few seemed to respect her strength of will. It seemed she and her father were the last of their line, but Erina had held out against all offers to buy the buiness premises for which she held the leases.

---

Harry approached the sleepy guard at Erina's door and requested admittance. At first indignant at the late hour, he changed his tune when Harry spoke the password he'd been provided the day before, and nodded him inside. Erina was still up, sat in her drawing room with the light from a single candle. Her dark blue nightgown seemed to blend with the deeper shadows in the room. She read a book in the flickering glow, but looked up when Harry entered.

Though her lazy eye was unflattering, and her appearance plain, Erina's gaze held Harry effortlessly, seeming to see through his head to the wall behind. She explained calmly that she was willing to pay 300 gold worth of coins and gems for the safe return of her father. Harry was told he was to escort the man here, regardless of whether or not he wanted to come along.

Back out on the streets, Harry headed for the taverns. He took but one drink in each one, his expertly placed words and gestures directing patrons to reveal useful information. It seemed that Erina's father was a mage - his isolation often put down to his mysterious experiments.

---

Diarmuid stood quietly by his horse, watching his breath mist in the air. It was no match for the great steaming clouds produced by his horse. Passers-by were few and far between. This was neither the city nor the night to be abroad alone, and he felt it. Even the whores wandered together in groups. Now and then one would call out to the young man, baring some flesh in an effort to tempt him.

A few minutes after he'd followed Jos and Sikhandyn into an even less desirable neighbourhood, two rough looking fellows eyed him up from across the street, then approached. Both were well muscled and had the signs of toughened fighters - broken noses, missing teeth, and puffy-looking hands.

Hands on their daggers, they commented casually on the fine specimen that was Diarmuid's horse. Actually, they said, I think we'll take it. Another voice from behind affirmed that yes, Diarmuid was going to be giving up his pretty mount, now.

Diarmuid says one word

Attack

And let Tuatha start kicking and biting these guys in front of him into next week. His cloak swept back revealing a drawn longsword. He turned on the man behind him confident that his warhorse Tuatha would guard his flank as he turned, as it was trained to do. All of this of course revealed that he was wearing armor. Diarmuid went on the offensive. He needed the money and since it was three on one he didn't need to restrain himself.

Diarmuid smiled and attempted to run through the man behind him, using his longsword for its reach advantage.

One word and the world exploded into motion.

Tuatha reared and shrieked in outrage, lashing out with both hooves. Diarmuid, God help him, was wearing this crazy, lunatic smile on his face as he slashed at the man in front of him feeling the sword connect. Behind him Tuatha was outdoing her master in carnage, blood spattered hoofs.

It was all too strange given that there were three of them and one of him. It was somehow an offence against reason that this lone man and his horse should go on the attack, nothing held back, all with a look of almost furious delight on his face.
----
Diarmuid rolled 22 using 1d20+4. Diarmuid Sword Attack.
Diarmuid rolled 4 using 1d8+3. Sword Damage

Diarmuid rolled 15 using 1d20+4. Tuatha Attack 1st Hoof.
Diarmuid rolled 7 using 1d4+3. 1st Hoof Damage.

Diarmuid rolled 22 using 1d20+4. Tuatha 2nd Hoof Attack.
Diarmuid rolled 6 using 1d4+3. 2nd Hoof Damage.

Diarmuid rolled 19 using 1d20-1. Tuatha Bite Attack.
Diarmuid rolled 4 using 1d3+1. Tuatha Bite Damage.

This message was last edited by the player at 09:48, Fri 19 June 2009.

The men in front of Diarmiud cursed and staggered back, attempting to deflect the blows of their sudden assailants.

From the corner of his eye, Diarmuid saw Tuatha's target go down in a spray of blood and crunch of bone, a muted cry escaping the unfortunate mugger's lips.

Swinging his sword in a wide arc, Diarmuid caught his fellow a glancing cut on his left arm. The man responded by trying to slip under Diarmuid's guard, but he was too slow, and Diarmuid shoved him hard with his free hand.

Suddenly he felt a pain in the lower left of his back; the thug behind had taken advantage whilst the other two fought, and made his attack - fortunately it seemed Diarmuid's armour had held, and the wound was only a bruise.

---

OOC: 3 hp damage to you

Diarmuid silently cursed the fog that had somehow turned him around and turned side on to his rear assailant as Tuatha launched himself at Diarmuid's other foe. He was still grinning though. These thugs wouldn't live to prey on anyone else.

-
13:22, Today: Diarmuid rolled 16 using 1d20+4. Sword attack
13:22, Today: Diarmuid rolled 4 using 1d8+3. Sword Damage.

13:23, Today: Diarmuid rolled 14 using 1d20+4. Tuatha Hoof 1.
13:24, Today: Diarmuid rolled 4 using 1d4+3. Tuatha Hoof damage.

13:24, Today: Diarmuid rolled 16 using 1d20+4. Tuatha Hoof 2.
20:02, Today: Diarmuid rolled 7 using 1d4+3. Tuatha Hoof Damage 2.

13:25, Today: Diarmuid rolled 12 using 1d20-1. Bite Attack.
13:25, Today: Diarmuid rolled 2 using 1d3+1. Bite Damage .


This message was last edited by the player at 11:03, Sat 20 June 2009.

Diarmuid thrust with his blade at the man who'd managed to get a blow in under cover of the fog. The fellow twisted to avoid the thrust, but caught a nasty cut along his ribs. He cried out in pain and fear, and as Tuatha felled his second comrade, he turned and made swift feet into the night.

Heads began to peer out from nearby buildings, a wary aspect to their expressions; in this neighbourhood, one didn't pay too much attention to goings-on in the street.

Nevertheless, one old sailor bravely left his place in the tavern and came across to Diarmuid, arms held palm outward to indicate peaceful intentions. He took in the scene with a glance. Two bodies lay upon the cobbles. One was clearly beyond help, his face smashed in by one of Tuatha's hooves. The other lay groaning, clutching his abdomen.

The sailor muttered to Diarmuid: "Lad, go! Go, before the watch arrive - no-one here'll put you in it, but if you're here when the guard comes you'll be for it; this one's dead."

---

Meanwhile, in a nearby tavern, the crys and clashes of the brief struggle caught Jos' ear as he supped upon his ale. Investigating, he recognised the shape of his escort, sword drawn and bodies at his feet, just as the sailor stepped out from the establishment next door.

Diarmuid helped himself to the weapons and pouch from the dead man in seconds. Then turning to the groaning man he looked at his sword, obviously thinking of running him through.

Diarmuid was breathing heavily but his face was calm and his gaze reflective. It was an expression one used when deciding between fish and chicken not when deciding a man's fate.

When the sailor spoke this broke his reverie. After a moment he opted for just kicking him in the head, laying him out flat on the ground. He then helped himself to his weapons and pouch as well.

"Three on one, I'm not sorry. Just glad they tried that on me rather than another. Night's safer as a result." he said, sounding like a peasant hero out of the stories, even as he mounted up.

"Bastards had it coming."

He looked over in Jos' direction though other faces were there as well..

"I'll see lover boy shortly." he said cryptically, it being far from clear who he was talking to.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:44, Mon 22 June 2009.

The instant that Jos recognized Diarmuid, he leapt to his feet, threw a few last coinc down to pay for his drink, and then bolted out the door.  For a man of Jos's quickness, it didn't take long to run down the street to where the combat had taken place.

He instinctively knew what the sailor had told Diarmuid, even though he had still been yards away when it was said.  When he reached his friend, he panted out a quick message.  "... it's me,.. let's go.  Quickly..... let the watch try and...... figure out how these..... fellows got it," he finally got out, with a glance at the mangled corpses.  He still had never gotten used to the way that Tuatha could kill a man.

Jos motioned that Diarmuid should mount to make a quick escape.  He didn't know what Tuatha felt about riding double, but he was hoping the horse was ok with it.  Just so he didn't end up like those toughs had.

Diarmuid hefted Jos up with practised ease. Diarmuid's physique was deceptive, though he didn't have the mass of a muscle bound bruiser, what muscles he had were like steel cable.

Onlookers didn't really see Diarmuid urging his horse forward, it seemed to happen almost of its own accord. Doubtless they thought him some noble's son or some such, what peasant would ride a horse with such skill?

Diarmuid didn't ride quickly, it being misty, but he still headed down towards the docks where the thoroughfares were wider for the large wagons. That would mean less chance of riding over someone in the mist, though Tuatha's senses were invariably good for avoiding such things.

As Harry made his way out of the latest tavern he'd been visiting, his eye caught a commotion down a side street. As he watched, a pair who looked suspiciously like two of his companions mounted up and rode off in the direction of the seafront. Crumpled forms lay on the ground, and a small crowd was gathering, though there didn't seem to be a great deal of excitement; this scene was a familiar one.

Sikhandyn, meanwhile, had noted his friend Jos disappearing out of the door without a word. Following, he too was in time to see the pair make their exit.

Catching sight of each other, Harry and Sikhandyn met up to discuss their next move.

---

Diarmuid and Jos reached the docks with no further trouble, though they drew a few strange glances with Jos riding double. They didn't seem to have been followed. Jos knew from experience there was a chance the watch would begin looking for them, but the locals weren't likely to give out a description.

Diarmuid helped Jos down, wincing with the exertion. Diarmuid was not entirely uninjured it seems.

Diarmuid clapped Tuatha on his flank and Tuatha stamped and fretted in the manner of proud and aggressive warhorses everywhere. Doubtless he was a bit of a handful not being gelded and all, but it is said that stallions make the best warhorses and it is pretty difficult to put a gelding to stud.

"Some pretty stupid thieves folk hereabouts, you see a horse with a bowcase on it you have to figure the rider knows how to use a sword. Still, to the victor goes the spoils".

Diarmuid grinned tightly and showed the knives and pouches he had collected.

"I'll need you to find out who those three were and whether or not they're connected to anyone of importance."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:06, Wed 24 June 2009.

Sikhandyn walks up to his friend and whispers a few words in his ear:
"Hey Harry - it seems our friends got in trouble already. One minute Jos is with me, the next he's riding a horse with Diarmuid, leaving at least one dead man behind."

The wizard pauses.
"I think we should try and figure out who those attackers are working for. After all, we have no reason to flee... What do you say."

"Aye, you don't attack Diarmuid unless someone's paying you well." Harry whispered to his friend then looked around. Deciding it was fairly safe, he jostled his way into the thin crowd with the odd jape about cracking heads on paving stones, then bent down to take a look at Diarmuid's assailants.

Sikhandyn quickly followed Harry, scanning the crowd for possible enemy observers posing as anonymous onlookers.

Without knowing what he was looking for, Sikhandyn couldn't pick out one rough-looking tavern goer from another. Down here in the lower city at night, the revellers were labourers, sailors, and the like. Even the women looked capable in a fight, and none seemed to be taking more than a passing interest in the scene before them.

Harry looked over the bodies quickly, but in detail. The men wore simple, roughspun clothes. Noticeably, they wore no belt pouch, and their dagger-sheathes were empty. Both were tatooed in the manner of dock labourers. Of those tattoos that were not hidden by their garments, Harry could see none that indicated affiliation with any local gangs or crews. No, it wasn't possible to make out much more than that the men had been in a good few fights in their time; unfortunately for one of them, this had been his last.

Harry had barely a minute to look over the bodies before a teenage lad came running up to the crowd, calling out in a low voice that carried a little way:
"The watch, the watch are coming!"

Jos quickly rifled through the spoils that Diarmuid presented him.  If they were unlucky, which was more than likely, the purses would only contain coins.  A little luck would mean a jewel or two.  A good slice of luck would mean some kind of document or other means of identifying them.  Not that he'd be able to work off a piece of paper with squiggles on it; he was illiterate.  But Sikhandyn could certainly read, and he'd never bothered to ask Diarmuid or Harry if they could.

He also afforded a quick glance at the knives to see if they were just common pieces of steel or if they had been more unique.

Diarmuid doesn't smile, nor does his tone match the rather upbeat words he uses.

Excellent, I think holding onto the daggers would be a bad idea. We should stash them somewhere and pick them up when we're leaving the city. We can sell them easily enough outside. Let's head back to Tom's, I need to rest up. Took a knife to the back.

Harry stood erect and brushed down his trousers. Seeing a look of suspicion directed at him, he smiled aand winked conspiratorially. "Can't be too careful, eh?" he said.

With one last look at the wounded man, consciously saving the face for later, Harry wandered off at a calm, nothing-happening-here pace.

Sikhandyn left the scene following a separate path through the crowd, but managing to catch up with Harry a little further away.

Diarmuid led the way back through the city towards Tom's place, Tuatha following on behind, his drawn longsword still concealed in his cloak.

He was pondering how much he could get for his poncy shortbow, given that he had a mind to get one of those highly strung composite bows. He'd seen a strong archer loose an arrow that went straight through a knight in plate armor once whereas he ventured the bow in his bow case would see its arrow bounce off a sun toughened grandmother. Fighting up close and personal was exciting, but the real pleasure was riding around some idiot with only a sword loosing arrows into him.

He particularly enjoyed it when they called him a coward.

You looking forward to spending more time with Tom? he asked Jos.

The four companions made their seperate ways back through the streets to Tom's, making sure to stay out of trouble on the way. There didn't seem to be much sign of the watch.

At the flophouse, Tom was rather suprisingly passed out upon one of his chairs - normally his practiced drinker's constitution kept him going well into the night. The two sailors were still there, though they were now talking quietly to one another, voices softly impassioned - some late night pseudo-philosophical issue was under debate, no doubt.

The group stepped gratefully into the warmth and prepared to discuss the events of the night.

Diarmuid, stabled Tuatha in the stable and walked into Tom's place. Turning to Jos he says.."I could do with some bandages, took a knife in the back. Still I should stand on street corners and look like a victim more often."

"A few coins and knives for a nick in the back; barely worth it.  Unless you can peel the copper off some of 'em and they turn out to be gold, that is," Jos replied.

He turned to Harry and Sikh, and was guessing that they had already deduced the trouble that Diarmuid had stirred up.  Just to be doubly sure, he spoke again: "Diarmuid somehow managed to be on the receiving end of an ambush, imagine that.  Nothing to tell why either.  They might have just thought they could mug 'im, but I doubt it."

Sikhandyn nods.

"Whatever they were after, I think the two-team strategy works. Harry and I were able to see what happened after you left. Not that we learned anything new, but I propose we keep this scheme as long as we are gathering information." he replies.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:09, Sun 28 June 2009.

Diarmuid, speaking in his usual disinterested and dispassionate manner, shakes his head at Sik's words

They seemed more interested in my horse than me. They were not, as far as I could tell, aware they were attacking an armed man and his warhorse. You loiter in such places after dark with a kingly prize you can hardly be surprised when someone tries to take it from you.

Diarmuid presses his hand once more into his back. Blood seeps off his fingertips and a drop lands on the chair he is sitting on.

Now, does anyone know of a good healer who can keep their mouth closed? I'd prefer to stop bleeding sooner rather than later.

Characteristically Diarmuid does not sound in the least annoyed.

When my wound is seen to we can hit the inns again, unless of course you managed to uncover the whole sordid story in the short time I was standing on a street corner seemingly waiting to get royally serviced.

"Hadn't noticed you'd been pricked," Harry said, looking concerned but not having much idea about how best to treat Diarmuid. "I think you're right though. They were dockers, not much to them. Seems the old man's one of Sikhandyn's sort."

Harry gave his friend an odd look. "Is there a club or something for the masters of the...or a particular place to look for ingredients?" Harry always trod delicately around this subject as if walking on glass.

"So, once we've patched this lad up, we'd best hit the sack and then take a gander at the market bright and early. Agreed?"

"Aye.  My trip down that street was a might quicker than yours Harry.  I could use the rest.  So it's combin' the market in the morning then, eh?  Sounds better than running around all night," Jos reasoned.

It occurs to Diarmuid that Grandma Kale would be just the person to see, even as he cleans his longsword. Rising from his chair with his usual nonchalant self assurance he starts walking towards the door, sliding his longsword back into the scabbard with practised ease.

Though quiet and self contained, Diarmuid somehow manages to exude an aura of quiet menace.

Grandma Kale is close by. She's a dab hand with a needle and a bandage. I'll be back in a little while.

While Diarmuid headed off to see a wise-woman, Sikhandyn bid the others good-night and returned to his (still fairly chilly) house. After a fitful night of sleep in the uncomfortable beds of the Tubs, the three made their way down to the dockfront, where Sikhandyn was waiting for them. The exit from the flophouse had been mercifully Tom-free - it was far too early for him to be up.

Diarmuid felt much better today. The salve the old woman had applied with her rough hands seemed to have done the trick. The wound ached a little, but didn't impair the young man in any way.

It was a fine, clear morning; the cries of the seabirds and fishwives carried a long way, and the glitter of the gentle waves out at sea was almost hypnotic. The streets around the harbour were cluttered with traders. Many were street-walkers doing their best to get coin out of visiting sailors, but plenty of room was taken up by merchants hawking their goods right there, fresh off the ships as they were.

Harry led the questioning. He knew that concern for Heiroth had been raised after he didn't show up at the Mizzen Fair - it was expained to Diarmuid that this was a local celebration of the sailing profession that also happened to attract some of the more exotic merchants - so that made a natural lead.

It didn't take too long to find a few sellers who'd been at the Fair, though tracking down those who knew of Heiroth was trickier. Still, one old seller of curios was acquainted with the man. He sucked his gums a little, before allowing that Heiroth would usually be there, and maybe he'd got caught up with his latest project. What was it again, he wondered, suggesting the memory was just out of reach.

Harry got the idea and slipped him a silver piece.

Now he remembered. It seemed Heiroth had found an old keep a few days travel from Guril-Forsihe, and had been spending a fair bit of time there. Strange business, that. The old fellow reckoned Heiroth was very capable of defending himself, so bandits likely weren't in the picture, and beasts weren't too likely that close to the city. Maybe he'd just decided to stay away this year?

With that done, and once they were out of earshot, Harry smiled brightly at the others. "Sounds like we're in for some fine country living for a few days. Rain, mud and blisters. It's still early, so what do you say? I'll have to leave word that we'll not be taking the other jobs, mind."

"If we're leavin', it might as well be now.  And the country's not that bad.  I grew up on my da's ranch out in the countryside, and I turned out just fine," Jos said.  He was beginning to worry about why Heiroth had gone missing though.  After hearing that bandits and beasts would not have been problems for the old wizard to defend himself from, it left a few chillingly imaginative things for Jos to wonder about.

Diarmuid's unbreakable equanimity was not much appreciated by the hawkers and merchants of the fair. Judging Tuatha to be valuable, as he plainly was and Diarmuid to be Ithrecan they went out of their way to try and sell him things. The ones who laid a hand on him took to massaging their wrists for a while.

Though they sang their praises of their wares and attempted to become friends with Diarmuid the young soldier walked through it all like he was oblivious to all charm. Diarmuid wasn't intimidating, he didn't really have that aura about him. This naturally meant his sword was on display most of the time.

When the information is forthcoming Diarmuid's interest is obviously piqued. "Maybe you should ask if anyone else has been asking about him?" suggested Diarmuid. "Finding out more about this keep wouldn't hurt either."

"Good idea," said Harry, heading back to the old man with a question on his lips and another coin in his hands.

Sikhandyn had secretely hoped that their mission would allow them to stay in town. But in view of the new information, it was clear that the rational thing to do was indeed travel to that keep...

What the wizard disliked most was the prospect of trudging around in swamps, possibly with heavy equipment. He would be sure and bring his spellbook so he could spend the evenings studying. 'That should make the trip more enjoyable...' he thought.

Sikhandyn let Harry lead the discussions.

In true tattle-tale fashion, the old man remembered nothing until Harry pressed the coin into his palm, after which he became eminently useful. It seemed that some tough looking types had been asking after Heiroth a couple of weeks ago. He couldn't give an accurate description, but there'd been two of them, local lads by the looks of it. They hadn't worn any livery, but only idiots would do so whilst asking questions about a local noble.

As for the keep - the old fellow insisted he wasn't a historian. Probably it was an old watch-tower, he mused. Certainly Heiroth has seemed excited about it's potential, which meant he'd either bought it, already owned it, or it was in wilderness. Or, of course, he could've been breaking into someone's (albeit abandond) property. It'd been about a month since he 'found' the place.

Harry questioned the man a little more on the lads who had been in, then decided to try his luck with the other sellers nearby. At the very least, a pair of tough lads without any obvious affilitation would have been noticed by the other tough lads hereabouts; those who liked to think they kept things nice and orderly with the merchants. For a fee.

[Private to GM: 14:26, Today: Harry the Bastard rolled 27 using 1d20+9. Urban tracking - GI +9.
:)))]

While Harry was looking for the information, Jos kept an eye out for Harry.  Since last night's work had ended up with Diarmuid in a street fight, Jos wasn't about to take any chances.  At a crowded fair like this, it would be all too easy for a tough to 'stumble' into Harry and knife him in the process.

So Jos casually followed Hal around, keeping an eye out for anyone acting suspicious around Harry, or people who took more notice of him than they should.

With a wary eye being kept upon him by Jos, Harry began to spread his net a little wider. Though most stall-holders and sellers shook their heads and averted their eyes, not wishing to get involved, one or two were a little more forthcoming.

As Harry stood talking, Jos had a good look round. For the most part no-one paid them much mind. The odd floozy took a good look, especially the young socialite girls out walking with their maids - some would point, smile, and wink quite openly at the tough young men. Local bravos too would look the lads over, sometimes strutting in a show of machismo, though none tried to start anything, and most showed a respect that was familiar to Jos - they saw in his eyes that he was something they would never be.

Harry soon found something useful. Although the stallholders were indeed unlikely to know much, two groups might have been paying more attention. The first was the watch - if any had been in the area, they might have noticed a couple of hard-men asking questions. Likewise, those employed by local nobles as guards generally made it their business to know the street factions, and they spent a long time standing around whilst their employers perused the local wares. Finding a chance to speak to members of either group might be more tricky, though.

Fortunately, the stallholders Harry spoke to could be more useful. He got the names of a couple of watchmen - they usually came down to the seafront a couple of times per day, though there was no guarantee they'd seen what Harry was after. There were also a few minor nobles who were regular customers - Harry knew a couple of the names, and reckoned he could find the others by the liveries of their guards, once the stallholders had passed on a description.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:24, Wed 08 July 2009.

Diarmuid was a picture of patience while Harry went about his business. However after a little while he rode Tuatha to a nearby field and put his stallion warhorse through his dressage moves, using only his legs to guide the animal. The big stallion walked backwards, spun around in its own radius, kicked forwards, kicked backwards, reared and stomped, leaned back on its back legs and jumped forward. While Tuatha was doing that Diarmuid practised his sword and shield moves timing his actions to Tuatha's movements so that they might one day fight completely as one. He followed that by racing up and down the field bow in hand turning this way and that in the saddle, while Tuatha jinked and dodged.

Pretty soon however, some of the more martial types at the fair started wandering over and shouting advice at him. Some were wearing noble livery...

Turn needs to be tighter.
Lower your elbow, son. You'll get a better pull on the string.
Never try that move with a spearman.

In one's and two's they jumped the fence and came closer to advise the young warrior on what he was doing wrong for the most part. Diarmuid was quietly respectful and did as he was told.

Grateful for the tips, and thinking of potential future customers, Harry decided to look for the nobles; or their men, rather. He could try the watchmen later.

[Private to GM: 09:51, Today: Harry the Bastard rolled 21 using 1d20+9. Urban tracking.]

Rather conveniently, Diarmuid had decided to put on a bit of a show, using Tuatha to great effect. He'd started displaying some moves in a corner of the square that was often used by local guards for drills, and so was roped off.

His performance was respectable and impressive to those onlookers who didn't have any martial training, but the some nobles and their retinues and hangers-on couldn't help but offer advice and, in some cases, instructions.

Using the show as an excuse, Harry began to make his way around those gathered. It didn't take long at all to spot a few of the liveries he was keeping an eye out for. Skillfully he directed the talk towards the two men he was researching.

One guard remembered who he was asking after - he'd noted the unusual behaviour as one of the men asking after Heiroth had been an old comrade of his. They'd both been employed in House Ermineshield, and as far as Harry's contact knew, the other fellow still was. What was odd was that the man hadn't been wearing his uniform. Tymin, his name was.

Two fellows in another livery who were standing by stepped in. Hang on, they said - didn't we see our mate Mateus hanging around asking questions with some other bloke? Yeah, he was out of uniform too. House Ab'Shal, he worked for. If they were right and Tymin and Mateus had been seen together, that was bizarre indeed - the houses in question had no close ties.

"It seems we could pay a visit to our friends Tymin and Mateus, Harry..." Sikhandyn told his friend once the conversations were over and no one could hear them.

"Just in case they are reluctant to tell the truth, I suggest we split and approach them simultaneously - so they do not have a chance to prepare a common story."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:03, Sun 12 July 2009.

"Never a good idea to get involved in the affairs of nobles." idly remarked Diarmuid in his usual bloodless fashion. "Also what do you think these noble houses will do when we start twisting arms to get answers. Nothing pleasant I'd warrant." Diarmuid didn't look afraid. Then again he never did.

Diarmuid having spent some time talking with potential recruiters (never hurts to put on a show for the high and mighty) was just brimming over with ideas. He didn't really converse much. He mostly watched the interactions between the different house men..

Might want to consider asking our employer if she asked for help in other quarters before coming to Harry here. I conjure we'd not be her first port of call. Could be some other houses had a look around before us. Let's not go jumping to conspiracies just yet. Also could be he bought something in the Market that led him to the tower. If that were the case and you pushed me to guess...

Somehow pushing Diarmuid seems like a bad idea. Diarmuid pauses as he considers what he just said and with a nonchalant shrug added..

I'd say it could be an old book or a map or something. Anyone know if there's a book or map seller in the market?

"Look, knowing why those two are looking for Heiroth may help us understand why he has gone missing." Sikhandyn told Diarmuid, slightly impatient and possibly annoyed. "It is not about conspiracies, it is just about following leads and building on the facts we have."

"Now if that idea has no appeal to you, that is fine with me. I can bring you to a good library instead - I'm sure there will be books and maps."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:07, Sun 12 July 2009.

"Well," said Harry softly, "I say we should look for these lads. But, I warrant at least one of them is out of town, and if we find out where, we have a trail." He looked around at the others to make sure they were paying attention. "But we've no need to let them know what we're about. So, we can say we are looking for work and someone told us to look for them. I reckon Tymin first."

Diarmuid regards Sikhandyn as one might regard a botanical specimen, the note of annoyance in Sikhandyn's voice having not even ruffled the outlander soldier's hair.

You know the words might want to consider are most often taken to mean that one is offering a suggestion in a helpful manner. As for books and maps well if one wanted to go traipsing off to a tower far from one's own abode, one would first have to know of its existence, have a good reason for undertaking the journey and possibly a map of how to get there.

However, if you are anxious to apply thumbscrews to a noble's servant then pray lead on. It will need to be done subtly and I am looking forward to seeing how Harry moves from the subject of work to where Heiroth has gone and why he was looking for him.

"Well," Harry strokes his chin thoughtfully, "I've been working on the assumption that Heiroth headed for the tower but was intercepted. If he was, we've two candidates and our best bet of finding him is to find them. Otherwise we run the risk of travelling to an empty tower and ending up none the wiser."

Diarmuid offers what could be the suggestion of a smile. A Diarmuid smile is really just a collection of small barely perceptible muscle movements. You have to know him pretty well to recognize it.

"That is a reasonable assumption." he murmurs. Yet another characteristic of Diarmuid. He never raises his voice. Even when he has to shout it seems like he doesn't exert himself. It's like he saving every scrap of energy for killing. Diarmuid is a little creepy.

"Well, shall we be about it?"

"Aye," Harry replied, giving his friend a queer look.

~oOo~

By the time he had reached the gates of House Ermineshield, Harry's face was quite one of timid obsequiousness. Nervously taking the final steps, he plucked up the courage to ask, "Tymin. I was told I could find him here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Wed 15 July 2009.

House Ermineshield seemed to have seen better days. The six-foot high walls of the compound were in need of whitewashing and repairs, and the guard at the archway wore chainmail that had obvious rusty patches. The polearm upon which he leant looked older than the fellow himself, which was quite a feat.

The guard narrowed his eyes at the rough-looking man before him and his attempt at timidity.

"You one of 'is drinkin' buddies? Bit early for that mate - he's inside on duty. I'll send a boy for 'im though, see if he'll come down."

Good as his word, the man sent a runner. Though Harry had to wait a good ten minutes, eventually a tall man in Ermineshield livery came marching down the path from the main house. Scar upon his cheek twisting as he scowled, he asked Harry what he wanted, but not before chastising the gate guard for sending for him without taking a name.

Tymin evidently had more coin than the gate guard - he wore a longsword at his hip, and his clothes were well spun and dyed.

"Oh right. Pleased to meet you Master Tymin," Harry said, wringing his hands ever so slightly. "Name's Harry. I was..."

Harry hesitated and moved a little away from the guard so as not to be overheard. "I was told you was looking for some men for some work. Men who can be trusted."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Wed 15 July 2009.

Diarmuid is around the corner from the gate. Having little skill at dissembling he thought it wiser not to stand next to Harry looking like an assassin.

Tymin allowed himself to be led a little away from the gate, though he made sure Harry did not  step inside the walls.

"Work? Man, can't you see the House can't afford to hire?"

He looked sharply at Harry as if trying to fathom him.

"What gave you this notion?"

"It was some of the lads down at the market. Said you was recruiting the other day." Harry's face was wearing that look of innocence which only the hardened and mischievous criminal is ever able to create.

"For a special job."

"Who told you that then? They were mistaken, whoever it were."

"I know a lot of folk in this town are bent, but not me, right?"

He sniffed and looked away, mouth twisted in a grimace, then looked askance at Harry as if considering something.

"Still, if you're asking you must have some talents. What's your name? I'll keep you in mind should our fortunes ever improve and we can take on new hands."

Tymin peered at Harry's battered visage.

"You look like you've seen a scrap or two and you're still here, so that counts for something."

"Aye it does, and me name's still Harry," he replied with a smile, "But I'm in need of some coin right now. I've a lady friend in need of some expensive...attention, if you know what I mean."

Getting a little frustrated, Harry paused for moment, "Or maybe you know someone else who might be hiring?"

"Harry, yes" Tymin muttered distractedly as he watched a passing maiden.

"Others? Well, I heard Lady Chersoot was hiring. And there's always the Rethayn's, though if you ask me they don't treat their staff right."

It might have been Harry's imagination, but Tymin seemed to be watching him closely despite his apparantly disinterested air.

"Oh right," Harry said with a smile. "I'll go a-huntin' then. And I'll find you here, will I?" He made to move off, but waited for an answer first.

Tymin nodded humourlessly.

"This is where I work, yes."

He watched Harry go, then shook his head and marched back through the gate.

Harry found Diarmuid and Jos waiting for him just around the corner.

Diarmuid was standing just around the corner, holding his shield like he was carrying it somewhere, not intending to use it. The razor sharp longsword in his right hand, concealed under the cloak where you had to be really close to notice it, told a different story.

Judging by the expression on his face Diarmuid was either tired or bored. This didn't fool the people who knew him, or those trained to looked for the truth behind the mask, though.

The truth was that Diarmuid was scarey precisely because he followed a code that held in check his murderous desires. But if you pulled a weapon on a friend the code let Diarmuid do what he really enjoyed doing, which was killing people.

If Tymin had pulled a knife, Diarmuid would have pulled a sword, and then he would have used it until Tymin's blood had stained the ground red. That was just the way Diarmuid was. When the divine was putting Diarmuid together they left out some important things.

When Harry came around the corner Diarmuid murmured.. "Keep walking..  you're bait. Green Dargon, go."

The Green Dargon was an inn, pretty close by. It was supposed to have been called the Green Dragon but the guy who wrote the sign, well his spelling was not what it might have been, and the name stuck.

More loudly then, and at Harry..

"What you looking at?" he said, dead level, putting the threat into his voice without raising it. It was one part petulance, one part machismo and one part naked threat. He pushed past Harry leading his horse. Walking towards an alley. That alley would come around and lead onto the street that the Green Dargon was on. "Come on, I'm hungry." he snarled, back at Jos.

Diarmuid has something in mind, apparently.

Jos had no idea what Diarmuid was getting after, but since that was usually the case, he gave Tymin one last look over his shoulder and followed his friends to the Dargon.

The only time he knew what was coming from Diarmuid was when someone messed with him, or any of the gang.  Then he knew that Diarmuid would bust some heads.

Diarmuid led Joss into a position from where they could watch to see if anyone was trailing after Harry. Diarmuid liked ambushes.

OOC:Just to be clear Diarmuid was disassociating himself and Joss from Harry, walking in the other direction and coming around to get into a good vantage point to see whether Harry was being followed. Basically Diarmuid wants to ambush someone.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:15, Sun 02 Aug 2009.

The Dargon was only a few minute's walk away. Harry made his way there at an easy pace, allowing his friends time to set their trap.

Diarmuid and Jos circled around a house, before leaning casually up against a wall. No-one had yet emerged from the Ermineshield estate to follow Harry; Tymin had gone straight back inside, though he had watched Harry carefully as he walked away.

Nor did anyone else seem to be following their comrade, and Harry had passed far enough along by now that even a tail signalled out from a side-street seemed unlikely.

Realising from the sharp glances the old guard at the gate of the estate was giving them that this was not the best neighbourhood for their sort to be hanging around in, the two made their way to catch up with Harry.

Harry didn't bother to spend long in the inn: it was never much fun being thrown out. "No joy, eh?" he said to the pair. "Either of you fancy keeping an eye on the man? He is suspicious, so he might be heading somewhere soon."

"I'll do it.  I reckon I was far enough away that he'd be unlikely as to connect me to you.  I've already been wandering around the neighborhood, might as well keep doing it.  Just have to watch out that the ol' guard don't make me," he said with a knowing grin and wink.  He slipped back outside and returned to the area around the estate, first circling it to see if there was another gate, constantly keeping his eyes peeled for Tymin.

Once Jos had left, Harry asked Diarmuid, "You want to keep an eye on him? I could go dig around for maps like you suggested earlier."

Diarmuid smiled anaemically at Harry. It was a relaxed, easy smile with very little in the way of human warmth reaching his eyes.

Yes, maps would be useful. Jos can be the eyes I'll be the protection, lagging far enough behind not to be seen. Protecting people from sharp pointed objects is the only thing I do, other than introducing people to sharp pointed objects.

"In that case..." said Harry, "See you later. Usual time and place."

Taking a few precautions to make sure he wasn't being followed, Harry took himself to the market to see if he could find any useful documents about the map.

Diarmuid nods and moves to follow Joss when he turns.

Ah when and where would that be? asks Diarmuid, deadpan as ever.

Circling back the way they'd come with eyes carefully peeled went Jos, followed at a distance by Diarmuid, not so discreet with Tuatha accompanying him. They were in luck - there certainly wasn't another gate. The estate was bordered on each side by other similar walled houses. Security was clearly a priority round here.

Jos found himself a nice corner to peer from, out of line of sight of the old guard, but from which he could see if anyone entered or left the estate. For a good quarter of an hour nothing much happened. He found himself getting odd looks from passers-by, especiay nobles and their bodyguards, but none questioned him. A couple of maids entered the estate as he watched, carrying baskets that were likely full of groceries.

Soon after, Tymin marched rapidly out of the gate. Jos quickly fell into pursuit.

---

Harry made his way through the city streets, heading for the more upmarket shopping areas. He knew maps would be costly, for cartographers were found in shops that stood check-by-jowl with booksellers, jewellers, silk merchants, and the like.

Having found a few possible sellers, he entered the first shop, to be greeted by a perfunctory "Yes?" from the scowling, hairy proprietor.

Diarmuid stayed as far back as he could without losing sight of Jos, well aware of the fact that an armed man with a warhorse does tend to stick out rather.

Seeing as it wasn't that crowded, Jos didn't bother to try and hide himself.  Tymin had never seen him, as far as the man knew, he was just another working stiff walking along the same road to get home.  He did try and make it look as if wasn't purposefully following.  He'd lag a bit, then walk faster than the guard.  He looked in store windows when he walked by one, just to burn a few seconds and let Tymin get a few yards of space between them again.

He was fairly certain that Diarmuid would be following him.  Or maybe both Diarmuid and Harry.  But almost definitely Diarmuid.  His one worry about that was that their would be some kind of ambush, because sometimes Diarmuid just couldn't help himself.

"Oh hello!" Harry said brightly, "I wonder if you can help me? I have been commissioned to dig out information regarding a building out of town."
He went on to explain which tower and what little he knew of it, hoping the fellow might have some useful information.

Diarmuid, long since resigned to being the hired muscle, rather hoped someone would try something. He was itching to see what a mounted charge would do in a narrow street.

Tymin didn't seem to check whether he was being followed - so probably the two men who were indeed trailing him were making a decent job of it. He made his way directly across the city, stopping only at one stall to buy an apple, He exchanged a few brief words with the stallholder before moving on.

Some minutes later, and still within a fairly affluent area of Guril-Forsihe, he turned suddenly off into a doorway. The building he'd entered was a strangely-constructed tower-house, surmounted by an azure dome - clearly not built after the local style. Oddly, the door was unguarded, though there did appear to be a small aperture in the porch, most likely to allow a guard within to keep an eye out.

---

"Never heard of it" snapped the hirsute but well-dressed map-maker. "I sell maps - lots of maps. Expect me to remember one building? Now what map does your master want, and how does he intend to pay?"

-
OOC: Spot from Jos please  - Diarmuid is a bit too far back to see much
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:22, Sun 16 Aug 2009.

Jos felt very lucky that his tailing of Tymin had gone so well.  Usually being in the city wasn't as comfortable for him, most especially when he was following someone.  Not like when he was following a trail out in the wilderness, which was practically second nature to him now.

But his sense of things going well stopped once Tymin ducked into the odd building.  He tried to peer inside in a casual manner, but it was next to impossible with how the door was set up.  Which was probaby the idea that the architect had gone for.

Jos Whollis rolled 11 using 1d20+2. spot check.

"Ah, well, I'm not so sure. It was after a conversation he had with Master Heiroth, which aroused his curiosity. It was a map...or a book...which Hieroth had purchased."

Despite the man's obviously foul humour, Harry smiled brightly.

Diarmuid moves around the alleys to get closer to Jos while remaining in cover.

It was difficult indeed for Jos to get a look in - but he wandered casually past the building anyway. Through the windows he caught a glance of some sort of keyed instrument. That was a sure sign of wealth, though no more so than the place itself was.

[Private to Jos Whollis: As Tymin went inside you saw him fiddle almost self consciously with something in his pocket.]

---

"Heiroth? Never heard of 'im. So you don't even know what you want? Buy something or get out!" the grumpy map-seller snapped, before muttering something Harry didn't quite catch.

Jos looped back around the building and scanned around to find Diarmuid.  He leaned in close and said just a few things: "How 'bout you stay here and keep an eye out for that Tymin?  I'll try and see if I can figger out who owns that place he just went into."  He pointed toward the building with his chin and a jerk of his head when he said that, just in case Diarmuid hadn't seen Tymin enter.

Then he was moving again, trying to find a pub or inn.  Maybe even a food stand nearby, just a place that he'd be able to get someone from the neighbohood talking with a few coins.

Diarmuid nods at this, turns his horse around and heads back to a garden wall with an overhanging tree. It's pretty high up but mounnted on his horse his head peeks over the wall. What with the tree's trunk in the way it's as close to hidden and a wierd location for a head as he can find.

"In that case..." said Harry, "I'll take a look at what you have to offer so I can report to my master and suggest where he should best spend his gold."

He looked at the dusty piles of assembled books and parchments, not really knowing where to begin, but looking nevertheless, before taking himself elsewhere and looking for some more friendly vendors.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:55, Wed 26 Aug 2009.

Although Harry was harried by the grumpy shopkeeper, he made a hurried inspection of the maps on offer. Many seemed (even from his limited knowledge) somewhat inaccurate, and most were old. Certainly the carefully crafted parchments were more works of art than useful tools.

That said though, he did manage to find a place on the map that looked promising - one of a number that were marked with a simple tower symbol, it stood on the borders of Guril-Forsihe...except those borders didn't look right. Harry estimated the travel time as being less than a week, but more than a day. Not hugely useful, but a good starting point.

He then made a quick visit to each of the other sellers. Their maps (where they were willing to allow browsing!) bore out his suspicions. Although there were several towers marked, the one that had caught his eye seemed the most likely candidate.

One of the map sellers was a little more friendly, and explained that Heiroth was a friend of a friend. As far as he knew, he was only ever really in one of three places - at his daughter Erina's, in town (usually only on special occasions), or at 'his keep'. The seller was also pretty sure Heiroth hadn't been seen in town for some weeks...

---

Jos had no trouble finding passers-by willing to talk - it seemed common knowledge round here that the property was the home of House Ab'shal, who originated in Kar. Strange sorceries protected their house, it was whispered - but then, that could well be superstitious stereotyping, since Kar was known for its mages.

Diarmuid receieved some strange looks from the few people who passed by down this back route, but easily peered over the wall. Within the fairly small enclosure was a well-laid out garden. Features were made of a series of interlinked ponds, and some wooden awnings that were distinctly foreign in appearance. The flowers and plants bore odd flowers of colours predominantly dull browns and greens. No guards could be seen, but several windows overlooked the yard.

Harry liked the last fellow, and spent a little while chatting with him. Once he had thanked him and left, heading for the appointed meeting place, he reflected on what he had learned. He decided that it was timeto head for the tower, unless the others had come up with anthing new.

Diarmuid hangs around, whistling. He waits for Jos to finish doing whatever he is doing.

Having decided that Heiroth's tower (if indeed it was Heiroth's) was the place to look, the group made hasty preperations and prepared to leave.

The journey lead towards a little travelled part of the state. If they travelled quickly, Harry reckoned that they could reach a village along the way by nightfall. After that, there was a choice - take the direct route across country paths, braving the risk of bandits or worse, or take the more circuitous main road for as long as possible.

Wasting no time, they struck out.

The road was reasonably busy with travllers returning to Guril-Forsihe at first, but as the day wore on encounters became much less frequent. Before long, night had fallen - seemed Harry wasn't quite accurate in his estimates.

Lighting torches, the few continued on their way, road lit with glowing pools of light. The silence - especially for the city boys - was eerie and unnerving.

Nevertheless, after mercifully few hours, the travellers found themselves resting in soft beds at the leisure of a village farmer. This was the crossroads.

Morning broke, and the decision was to be made upon this sunny yet chill day - the route of bravery, or the path of simplicity?

Despite his usually cautious attitude, Harry suggested the direct route.

Diarmuid opts for a route that goes over open ground so as to avoid ambushes and the like and give him a chance to use his bow.

Choosing the direct route, the men enjoyed a hasty breakfast before striking out across country.

They kept generally to the rarely-trodden but clear paths. Now and then Diarmuid insisted they alter their route to avoid possible ambush sites - gulleys, wooded area, etc. were avoided.

A couple of hours passed with no other human contact - this was wilderness, with only the odd pasture dotted about, and rapidly becoming totally uncultivated.

Shortly before mid-day, from his perch on Tuatha atop a rise, Diarmuid spotted a small group of men travelling the opposite direction to them. They were well out of bowshot, but spotted the horseman nontheless. One of the unknown men waved, before leading his group towards the position of Diarmuid and his company.

Diarmuid keeps his bow in his hand. He'd hung some rabbits across his saddle. It may be he'll need to apologize for hunting on someone else's lands, but farmers usually didn't mind rabbits with arrows in them, it meant less of the crop got eaten.

As the men came closer it became obvious they were no farmers. Leather studs on their jerkins glinted in the sunlight, and each appeared to be carrying at least one weapon - some bore bows along with short swords.

For all that though their attitude was casual, and they approached openly, with no sign off hostile intentions. The leader bid his men stand off at a respectable distance while he and two others approached. Once they drew within a knife's throw, the two men stopped, and their boss took only a few paces further forward before hailing Diarmuid and his fellows.

"Well met, lads. Brings you this far from the farms?" His tone was easy - he sounded genuinely curious.

Diarmuid seemed content to let Harry do the talking.

"A good afternoon to you!" said Harry, squinting up at the sky to see if it was afternoon already, "We are on a charitable mission, commissioned by a Lady, to find her father Heiroth. Do you know anything of him?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Wed 07 Oct 2009.

The weather-beaten fellow raised his eyebrows.

"A lady is't?" He grinned.

"We don't share none with them types, I'm afraid!" It wasn't clear quite what he found so amusing.

"Think you to find this Heiroth wandering about the wilds?"

"Nay, I think there's other sorts you're like to come across than a nob," he said with a conspiratorial wink.

"But I'll be straight with you - this here's our turf, right? Do what you must, I reckon, but don't be stepping into our business and we won't into yours. Fair as fair?"

The man's tone was still casual and easy, as if he saw Harry as an equal.

Diarmuid looks languid and unconcerned at all this. His eyes tell a different story though, being watchful and apparently ready for anything.

He's riding his horse cavalry fashion, it's in the way he sits, the way he moves. Fighters in the other group would see this straight away.

"Sounds reasonable," said Harry, "but you know how it is. You boys do me a favour today, maybe next time around I can do you a favour right back. Or have you specific interests in the personages mentioned? 'Cause if so, maybe we're too late and could save ourselves some needless faffing about in the countryside."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Wed 07 Oct 2009.

The fellow looked curiously at the rest of the party, but seemed to accept Harry as the spokesman. When he glanced at Diarmuid, there was a wary respect in his eyes.

To Harry he replied:

"A favour eh? An what's to stop you upping sticks and us never seein' youse again?"

He grinned.

"Still, you haven't said what 'tis you want, yet. I don't know of any Heiroth, no - as I said, not our sort. But we know the area, our turf. What's this favour?"

Diarmuid eyes flick quickly over at Harry when he mentions an exchange of favors, the other group first. To say he looks unconvinced as to the merits of that particular tack would be putting it lightly. He smiles tightly. The smile has about as much give in it as a small mountain.

"It is your turf and if looking for our friend turns up anything that might interest you we'll be sure to keep that in mind. Fair is fair as you say. We're not interested in rocking any boats hereabouts. Still there's no telling what our little search party will turn up at this point. It hasn't turned up anything of any worth thus far. But, if'n we do come across something that might interest you, how would we get in touch?"