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 | | From: | Robin Banco | | Subject: | [College/Mage in A Minor] - 18 | | Date: | Tue, 28 Dec 2004 05:54:07 GMT |
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 | [Mage in A Minor is an open thread presently being written by Blake
Sinclair, Sapphire, Janis Nixon, Cathy Mosley and Robin Banco. Admin is
robin@dragons-hoard.com]
[Dusty Cloak]
The man sat in the common room of the Dragon's Inn sipping at his beer while
he waited for his lunch. The guard was right. This inn was exemplary.
Since the room was fairly full already, he surmised that the food was
excellent too. He had chosen a table far from the stage and door, nearest
to the stairs. The entire room was visible to him and he watched the
comings and goings with interest.
He almost sputtered in his beer when a Truthseeker and two guards came in
with a magistrate. The group picked a table beside the stage and sat down,
obviously waiting for someone who wasn't yet there. They ordered a hearty
lunch from the spectral waiting girl.
Dusty Cloak saw the front door open and fought back a gape when in came the
pale young man from the Jester incident. Pulling shadows around him so no
one could truly see his features, the thief watched avidly as the man and
his friends, two other men, one with a dragon and instrument, the other not
of any particular interest and lo and behold, an elf woman. If the young
man was here, then so was the horse. Dusty Cloak snickered into his beer.
Things were looking up.
Seeing a corner table just emptying, Astarte made a dive through the crowd.
Much to the disgust of a group of merchants she managed to slid into a chair
before they could claim the table. Astarte favoured them with a smile, then
beckoned the others over.
With a wary look at the guards sitting with another man, Lycari followed
Astarte and grabbed a chair for himself. The three men near the stage
noticed the group and started talking amongst themselves.
"Would those be here for me?" he asked her, "What happens now?"
Lycari had mistaken the Truthseeker for another guard. Ryecroft stood and
approached the table at which the friends sat. The guard hopped to his feet
and followed, still holding his mug of ale.
"Sirs and madam," Ryecroft began, "I am here to seek the truth in the matter
between one Lycari and the events that took place at the Dodger in Elkstand.
Magistrate Numter will oversee the proceedings as soon as you are ready."
He turned on his heel and nearly ran into the guard who waited behind him.
Ryecroft shooed the man before him back to the magistrate's table.
The shifter nervously stared after the two men.
"Do these truthseekers really see what happened?" he whispered hoarsely, "Or
is it possible that they concoct what truth they wish?"
Danys replied, "They have a form of empathy that allows them to touch the
heart of a person and tell if they are lying about things. They are seldom
wrong. Ryecroft trains other truthseekers right here at the College. He's
on the level."
Fawn floated over and asked, "May I take your order?"
"Somehow I've lost my appetite," Lycari complained, "The possibility of
spending the rest of my rather long life behind bars as an innocent man
tends to do that to me."
"I believe you're entitled to an independent opinion to check the truth
spell is a true casting," volunteered Astarte. "I can do that for you, if
you don't know how to do it yourself."
"Although I can generally tell if someone is telling me the truth or not, I'
m in the wrong den here," Lycari pushed his chair back as he rose, "I'd
appreciate the help." He reached for her hand to help her up.
Astarte took Lycari's hand and allowed him to help her up.
"Let's get this over and done with, then you can relax. You might find
later that Mage Trey's games have tired you out." She looked over at Robin.
"Back momentarily, boss. Don't go anywhere."
Steeling himself, Lycari headed for the Truthseeker. He knew he was an
innocent man, Sim knew he was an innocent man, hells, even the real culprit
knew. The way people were eyeing him, he felt as if he had already been
convicted.
At the magistrate's table, he halted and with false bravado, announced, "I'm
ready for what ever it is you're going to do. Astarte will check things out
for me; make sure things are on the level."
Truthseeker Ryecroft nodded. The magistrate gestured for the casting to
begin. Ryecroft indicated that Lycari should sit down and the shifter
dragged a chair over from another table for Astarte, then sat in the chair
Ryecroft held out.
Astarte put her palms flat on the table and lowered her shields so she could
feel Truthseeker Ryecroft's casting. The spell was constructed in the
standard manner, and she watched carefully as he finished the cast and
directed it at Lycari. Not a thread of magic was out of place.
The sensation was somewhat like that of the Gem, but the power was much
less. The Truthseeker probed until he found the episode that took place at
the Black Dodger, from Lycari's amble into Elkstand up to the time he was
knocked senseless by the flying rock. Lycari painstakingly hid his other
self from Ryecroft, much the same way he had learned to shield his thoughts
from others. The wolf slept secure in his rooty den. The rest of his mind
he left open.
When Ryecroft withdrew, the Truthseeker turned to the magistrate.
"There is no guilt in this man. He is innocent of murder. The Dodger still
stood in his mind the last time he looked back. However he did steal the
horse.
"We should seek the man in the cape," Ryecroft continued, "I fear that he is
the guilty party. The man conjured up some hellspawn, which is quite a
mighty spell."
The magistrate intoned, "Considering Truthseeker Ryecroft's findings, I
hereby absolve you, one Lycari, of parts unknown, of any guilt in this
matter. Let my judgment stand." He looked around at those in the Inn.
"All of you are witness to my findings."
Lycari sighed with relief, "Thank you everyone." He stood up, "Now, I'd
really like a cider. In fact, drinks all 'round on me. Again!"
A cheer came from the common room's patrons and Fawn was run ragged as she
popped in and out at various tables. Lycari headed back to his table
getting comradely slaps on the back as he went and the congratulations came
with hearty thanks. Robin was prevailed upon to play and sing, which really
didn't take too much coaxing. No one noticed the man at the back, who
slipped out past the kitchen staff and through the newly erected door.
After a particularly rousing set of toe-tapping reels, Robin collapsed back
into his chair at their table, wiping sweat off his neck and pulling his
hair up on top of his head to allow some cooler air to get at his back. He
gave the shifter a satisfied grin.
"Well? As you're now officially an innocent man," he raised his stein of ale
in a toast, "welcome to Montfort. May you be half an hour in heaven before
the devil knows you're dead!"
Lycari saluted his new friends with his own stein, "Drink while you still
have a throat!"
When they gawped at him, the shifter laughed, "Old family toast! Drink up!"
He chugged his drink down and thumped the empty stein down on the table.
Dusty Cloak kept to the shadows as he flitted from one building to another.
It paid to be unseen in this part of town. His cronies lived in the
dingiest, darkest, deadliest section of Montfort; a place rife with mages
gone bad and criminals of every sort. Several times already he had only
just managed to escape injury with his quickness and powers.
Drawing up beside a wooden building that once was a store, he checked all
about him and then slipped inside the well-oiled door. The lack of a squeak
told a loud tale of many surreptuous comings and goings. Once inside the
ramshackle place he padded across the wooden floor, hay and debris littering
its erstwhile waxed beauty, now long gone. The counter stood in front of
broken glass-fronted shelving. Inside the shelves the remains of items that
had been for sale sat in sad disarray, neglected for a great many years.
A gaping hole yawned in the floor where a trapdoor had been cut and then
later enlarged. Dusty Cloak turned and went down the ladder backwards, his
head twisting to see behind his back as he descended. Feet landing on the
dirt floor below, Dusty Cloak spun quickly to check the area. From a dimly
lit tunnel, voices drifted to his ears. There they were! His contacts here
in Montfort.
Stepping along with a confident and noisy stride, Dusty Cloak tramped down
the dirt corridor. The voices hushed and he knew that they were expecting
his arrival. He ducked his way into a small room at the tunnel's end. Four
men and an elf sat at a table, a deck of cards strewn on its scarred top,
dirty steins making rings on its wooden surface. Chairs creaked as they all
turned to stare at the new arrival.
"Good afternoon gentlemen," Dusty Cloak said, "I am your contact, Genovese
del Parmieri. I have things to sell the Dark Masters and a job for you to
do."
As the brows drew down on every grubby, scarred face, Genovese continued
quickly, "I have a few of those things that Parathos wished me to find and
which he will pay me well for. I, in turn, have been robbed of one of the
things I had hoped would turn me a good profit in the south. A young man
took a horse from me and I want the animal back." His voice darkened and
the shadows pulled nearer, "I want that man dead."
"What's the price?" asked the elf. Shunned by his own for his life's
choices, Levy cared for little other than gold and the pleasures it could
buy him. The long, thin scars over much of his body and face attested to his
training by combat. That he was still alive was due to his hard-won skill
with those same blades that had marked him. He boldly caressed the woman his
current monetary state had bought for the night. The woman bore his clumsy
advances with the fortitude of the experienced whore.
Genovese fingered his dagger. He had left the bag containing the various
spell ingredients back at his room at the inn. The incantations he had
memorized. In a second he could call up the little demons he had set on
Lycari. They had already fed on the souls of those people who had died in
the fire at the Dodger, but they were always hungry.
"The payment will be given when the job is complete," Genovese stated, "I
meet with Parathos in the morning and will take my own fee then. I offer
fourteen golds on the head of the white man and for the return of my horse.
I will give you your money as soon as you offer me proof that the job has
been done."
One of the large men grunted, "Aye, it is a pretty sum. That horse must be
worth some money," he eyed the thief, "We could always kill the man and take
the horse to sell on our own."
Genovese's eyes narrowed, "Do that and find my curse upon you all. I will
not rest until I have roasted your hearts in the devil's fires and eaten
them myself."
The big man gulped. Genovese always meant what he said.
Back in the inn, Astarte leaned back in her chair and surveyed the crowd.
It was shaping up to be a very entertaining evening. Ale and wine were in
plentiful supply, inducing a state of cheerfulness in all the patrons. She
swilled the cup of wine in her hand thoughtfully, and glanced at the clock
behind the bar. Would anyone miss her for ten minutes? As soon as all her
companions were engaged in conversation, Astarte rose from the table and
slipped out the back door to the stables.
It was only the work of a moment to shin up a trellis against the courtyard
wall and drop over into the alley behind the inn. Astarte dusted her hands
on her trousers and took a quick look each way. The narrow gap between
buildings was deserted. She pulled up her hood. Someone always saw
everything in this town.
Avoiding the inevitable piles of refuse that accumulated on any flat surface
away from the road sweepers' attention, Astarte made her way into the low
rent district. The light was fading to almost nothing. Tempted as she was
to call a mage light, she restrained herself. Any light would leave her
night sight diminished.
A couple minutes later, Astarte turned down a cobbled lane, bordered by
run-down houses on one side and the back of the warehouse on the other. It
was quiet and seemingly deserted. Glancing around, Astarte knocked quietly
on a sturdy door set into the wall of the warehouse. A small hatch slid
open and suspicious eyes peeped out of the dark interior. Astarte took a
pace back so all her face could be seen.
"Greetings, Mistress," said a low voice. A crackle of parchment later and a
letter was handed through the gap. Astarte studied the seal and then opened
it. The letter contained a name and address of an importer of rare
substances. Though un- signed, Astarte recognised Shani's scrawl. She
committed the contents to memory.
"Candle," she said, holding her hand out. A lit candle stub was passed
through and Astarte burned the parchment quickly.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" asked the voice as the ashes
drifted to the floor. Astarte moved up close again.
"Robin, the bard," she said.
"He's trouble," came the reply, "pure and simple."
"That I knew," Astarte growled, "and I hope you aren't going to charge me
for that little insight."
"Wouldn't dream of it, dear lady."
"Lycari, then. Very pale man, with a pale horse. Turned up at the inn
recently."
"Which inn?"
"THE inn."
"Certainly a more interesting case. You checked the truth spell of a guard
mage for him."
"Fast, very fast, that was barely half an hour ago."
"As far as I know, the man is nothing. A backwater woodsman with some luck
at cards. The horse, now, might be very valuable indeed. Worth killing
for, I would imagine."
"Who -" The hatch slammed shut and Astarte flinched away from the door,
hurriedly looking round the back street. If someone had got close, they
moved like a cat, or they had help A figure loomed out of the darkness,
huge fists clenched. A bolt of energy hit him in the chest and Astarte
ducked away under his arm. A second and third figure appeared; one carried
a club. Astarte snatched a throwing knife and let fly as she tried to
retreat towards the inn. The knife struck home, she heard his cry of pain,
but it didn't sound fatal. She let fly with another energy bolt, but it
bounced away from the third man, he had some kind of protection. On
instinct she lunged towards the houses as a sword cleaved the darkness from
behind her. Man number one was up again now, and lumbering back into the
fight. Another thrown knife made him keep his distance but the armed pair,
sword and club, closed in. Drawing a pair of daggers and readying her
defensive spells, she crouched slightly lower. An illusion of a screaming
ghoul rose in front of her, and drifted towards the swordsman.
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