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.