Just Like Always... (Hatter, Open)

[Paltra Immuran]

510 A.V. 9th Day, Fall Season, Late Afternoon

“This place looks just like how I left it…” Paltra grumbled, his eyes wandering forlornly at the worn and partially destroyed gate entrance. Sunberth, a place that held his worst possible memories and inspired tumultuous feelings of disgust and dismay--only enhanced after seeing how Sylirians lived--that made him want to bend over and wretch. But, there was something about this place that welcomed him with open arms, the reek and stench of blood on dried blood, and smoke with ale mixed in with the grating citizens that lived there. He had a place here, which was more than what he could say about anywhere else in comparison to Sunberth. He’d lived his life there, as crappy as it had been, and been one of the most unfortunate and sorry souls to have been sent to one of the few, hellish prisons that Sunberth had. That ordeal was enough to carve a piece out of his heart and soul that he would never get back. Not that he felt he needed it…

Not in Sunberth anyways…

He smiled wickedly to himself, the shining light of the sun, now three-quarters the way across the sky sending grim and elated shadows across the city. He moved forth, making sure to keep an eye on those around him, while his smiled shrank to that of a mere smirk, his rust-brown eyes surveyed all that he could around him, keeping an eye on who was coming, who was going, and who might bump into him and try to take his hard stolen Miza. Nothing could be taken for granted in Sunberth. To believe otherwise would be to invite hardships into your existence. Paltra knew this well, as he knew the local criminal rings, at least in a vague sense. You didn’t live the life that Paltra had in Sunberth without knowing who not to steal from…

His feet carried him forward, one hand set gently against his Scimitar while the other lay at his side. Paltra had no illusion that he was rather poor with sword-fighting, but that wasn’t what mattered at the moment. He needed to make sure that anyone moving toward him would see that he was ready to draw immediately, dropping the likelihood that normal street criminals, and those of lower, small time crimes, wouldn’t try to pick-pocket him… at least, that was the general idea. Some would get desperate, probably make a go at him… but, all in all, he was fast enough to catch the lesser criminals… but, the better ones would be a problem. Paltra shook his head, walking into a man that was easily twice his size without care. They both shot a glare at one another, and Paltra visibly patted his sash, where he held his money. The man snorted, spitting on the ground at Paltra’s feet, missing his shoe narrowly.

“Just be glad I’m not in poor spirit’s…” the man spoke, walking away from Paltra. The red-brown haired man huffed at what he said, and moved on, both simply not caring anymore about the others presence and went about shuffling the irritation of the other out of their mind.

“Yeah… just like how I left it… petching Sunberth…” His grin returned as he walked into what he imagined was the busiest tavern in Sunberth, and the easiest place to get reacquainted to the city, at least rumor-wise, which was about as useful as anything else in Sunberth… That meant half of the things heard there were lies, and the rest of them were half-truth half-too-drunk-to-talk-right. But that wasn’t all bad, the trick was knowing how much you could believe, and how much you could choke down. Things happened there that seemed unbelievable, but, unfortunately, boogey-men did exist, and people did get dragged into alleyways and never get heard from again. Finding the balance was hard… but he had nothing but time to kill for while, so he figured that, if nothing else, he could get something to drink and find a table that wasn’t covered in drool, or didn’t smell like what had been sitting it in before.

He took the first steps into the tavern, smelling both the patrons and the food, making a truly strange concoction of aroma’s. It wasn’t bad enough to make someone recoil from it, but it certainly would dim the appetite of one not hardened against such things. Paltra wasn’t hungry to start with, but he’d smelled worse, much worse in fact. He walked forward, taking his hand off of his weapon. Very few people turned and looked at the new comer, and none of them recognized him. He was from Sunberth, but he didn’t exactly have a very public-bound life. Paltra sat down at the seat that was more or less clean, less so than a neighboring one. But, it was mid-way between the entrance and a back-door that he imagined the Tavern had.

Guess I’ll just wait here… hope nobody minds that I’m just sitting here… he thought to himself, staring at the table and listening to the banter that flew about the room…

[Hatter]

The Pig's Foot Tavern was not exactly a lively place. It was busy, sure, whatever that meant in Sunberth. The patrons grumbled into their cups in their dark, looming atmosphere. Most of men did not bother to shoot glares at one another; it was almost Twelfth Bell and no one much wanted to start with the stabbing until the thirteenth. Life in Sunberth started late, it ended late, and it stayed late. So it was that the inhabitants were all demure, drafted to silence in their 'early hours'. What bums. As Paltra entered the tavern he found himself the focus of other men's misery; maybe he was too loud, or maybe the locals could just smell the foreign air about him. Whatever it was, no one much cared for the man's presence. It was only a matter of time before they went about ignoring him at least. The stiff, beer-fumed air hung heavy in the half broken common room. Some conversation splashed here and there, but nothing gave way to any exciting adventure. It was all riff-raff, all useless talk. One man argued with his compatriot about how useless the Council Seat was and that he had half a mind to kill the man, another lamented his new-found debt the Wolf's Den and yet another found it well within his right to denounce the Baron of the Bay in a loud, boisterous voice. One could only hope that one did not have a family. Several chimes passed before Paltra received any sort of attention. A hefty woman, easy on the eyes - but nowhere near the realm of beautiful - stuck her cleavage in his face as she made her way up to the table, one hand wrapped around her waist while the other made an effort to stroke Paltra's shoulder. Some service. When she spoke her voice was of no surprise, she held the typical Sunberth accented cant, the tone of the uneducated masses. "Mm, what can I git yee, love, eh? Ain't nothin' fired in the back, bu'we've got all the ale yee kin gobble huh." Translation"Hello, can I get you something sir? We don't have anything to at the moment, but we have a plentiful supply of drink, is that alright? Cant, as the professors called it, was always a stretch of the imagination. For the locals it was easy to decipher, they spoke it, but a foreign always found himself at a total loss. Lucky for Paltra, the details of his former home were some not too easily forgotten.

[Paltra Immuran]

Paltra smirk diminished only slightly at the woman’s touch of his shoulder. He had his own private space that he preferred only be entered by those he wanted. It hardly mattered though, the petty notion of private space in the dank, dark, ratty and fetid place that Sunberth was often obliterated that notion. In a sense, he was just glad that the touch didn’t follow a knife in the back…

“Aye, that’d be a fine drink it would, if ye could get that fer me, I’d be thankful,” Paltra spoke, the accent of a born Sunberthian coming in through the cracks in his teeth like a venomous tongue. He slid forth six Copper Miza’s, willing to fork over an additional two since the waitress had come to him, and he didn’t have to go to the bartender--a man whom easily easily made him want to cringe at the mere sight of him. He smiled again, idly noting that the smell of food had begun to diminish greatly since his seated visit there. There wasn’t much more to be expected he supposed, this Tavern as he recalled it didn’t precisely boast it’s selection of food anyways. It was more about the drink, which in this run-down town, was all that it really needed to stay in business.

He turned his attention idly to the woman as she left, likely to fetch the ale. It was a surprise to him that most of the individuals here were quiet, almost smoldering. As he’d remembered it, Paltra was the one that had been suffering the last time he was here, so looking at things from his current situation was a foreign feeling to him. His clothes were dirty, if but only a fraction of those around him, bearing some of the marks of his travels from Syliras. He thought idly to himself what the chances were that he’d be taken as a foreigner… an idea that began to sit less and less well with him.

With a nearly imperceptible shake of his head he cast the thought aside, desiring instead to just get his drink and hang around for the time being…

[Benalder]

It had been more than two seasons since Ben had been to the heart of Sunberth. Since mid-winter he had scraped by on the outskirts of the city, robbing passerbys, breaking into small farmsteads, just trying to survive. It wasn't that he'd lacked for coin. Quite the opposite, the coin purse he kept tucked in the arm hole of his leather breastplate was bulging with Miza. But he had needed to stay low for a while, and not let his face be seen. It was a particularly plain face, and easy to forget, but Tiny had known him long enough to recognize him, and he hadn't been keen on being seen. The large turncloak and his new 'friends' knew Ben was still alive, and it wouldn't have done to just go about his business after they killed his brother, so he had hidden.

Now he was restless. He missed the thrill of living, TRULY living, not just existing as he had for over half a year. And so Ben made his way back into the city, taking in the familiar sights, smells and noises of his home. He was dressed plainly in dark clothes, as he was wont to do, black and deep green cotton worn under black leather armor. His dagger, from wence had come his nickname, was tucked in his belt just left of the buckle. It was ten inches of mean iron, with a leather grip that had once been black, but was fading to gray from use. His right hand lay idly on the pommel, ready to draw at a moment's notice. A moment was usually all you got in Sunberth, and if it took you any longer you were already dead.

Ben shrugged his shoulders, working the out the stiffness caused by the weight of his pack. He no longer had a place to stay, so all his wordly possessions were in the bag, which was covered by his cloak. His eyes flickered around, looking at this person and that, trying to reaquaint themselves to the signs of crimes in progress.

Crime. Yeah right. There was no crime in Sunberth, because there was no law. You did what you could get away with, and that was that. Still, Ben watched, Luc's voice in his head, repeating thing he had told Ben a hundred times.

Don't dress too fancy, he thought as he passed a well dressed man. It makes you look like a perfect target. You're alot more likely to get robbed that way. But beware of those who seem like such targets, as often as not they're just bait, hoping you'll take them into an alley He gave the man another glance. Which was he? Ben couldn't tell. Curious, he stopped for a moment to watch the man.

After a few moments, the man stopped and just stood there for a few seconds before doubling back. He passed an alley and stopped again, turning back once more. Bait, thought Ben. The man walked pass the same alley three more times before he was shoved into it roughly by two young thugs. Ben kept walking, knowing full well that the thugs were being ambushed by at least twice their number.

After a twenty more minutes, and a handful more crimes witnessed, Ben came upon the Pig's Foot, a place he and his brother used to frequent on occassions. Neither was much more than a social drinker, but it was a good place to meet people, and make contacts. He made his way into the tavern, and took a look around without stopping, heading for a corner. The first thing he always did was pick out an escape route. It never hurt to be prepared, but it could kill you not to be. His eyes came to rest on a serving wench that was nice to look at, but was clearly no Braga. Still, he wouldn't mind taking her for a spin, she looked like she'd be a good time.

Ben set his pack down at the foot of a chair, then took a seat, his eyes still scanning the room. Often it was best to let others approach you, but he would only wait so long before necessity dictated that he broach the subject of 'business.'

[Hatter]

"Nah! I dun hav'et! Hones'! Tha'spirit! 'Ees goet! Puhleese don! No!" The shouting came outside. The doors to the tavern crashed open and the form of a hagged, young man came flying through, creating a brand new open entrance for the establishment. The man, more of a boy really, fell into a heap on the floor, blood spewing out of his mouth like a river. The creature that followed him was more than explanation enough for the circumstance. When he appeared no one dared to breath. Even Marv made himself scarce. The very air seemed to stiffen and the low hum that once filled the tavern hushed in frightened awe. Karis, the hound of Sunberth, Dastana's personal hunting dog stood in the doorway of the Pig's Foot, his half exposed chest heaving with adrenaline. Murder glinted in the Kelvic's eyes. A wolf by nature, Karis was bred for violence, for fear, his frame was larger than any normal man and he could rip a person in half from effort alone. And now he was focused on the poor bastard on the floor. Two, heavy footfalls signaled his approach. A few of the patrons looked away for fear of what they might see. "S'nae. Sn'ae mah failin'. She'ook 'et. Ya got'a belief meh, Karis. Puhleese." The man begged. He crawled forward and grabbed at the Kelvic's pant leg, the violence muscle beneath evident even beneath the material. The boy hacked up a healthy serving of blood as he tried to climb the leg, pleading, asking for his life. Karis was slow to respond. He reached one, massive hand down and grabbed the boy by the collar, lifting him up into the air almost four feet off the ground. "Where." Karis snarled a single word. His voice was like death itself. "Ta-temple. In'da C-c-commons. Puhle-" The man's voice was cut short as his neck was snapped. Gruesome. Karis discarded the body and swept his head around the tavern, snarling at those that still dared to look. He lingered for a moment, perhaps to remind those present of who he was, then he left without those heavy steps. Marv popped back up almost immediately and the rest of the patrons went about the prior activities, glad that they had nothing to do with the exchange. Except for the broken body of the boy, and the new doorway, life continued on. Just like always. OOCFeel free to investigate ^^

[Benalder]

At the first sound of shouting Ben reached for his blade, pulling it halfway out of the scabbard before the boy flew in, bleeding like a stuck pig. When he saw Karis, he slid it back in, but kept his hand on the hilt. It was best not to seem threatening, but better still to be prepared. Slowly Ben pulled his legs out from underneath the table, so that he might stand up quickly if the need arose. Karis. There was a frightening individual. He and Dastana topped the list of people who's good side Ben wanted to stay on, followed shortly by the Baron and the Knight. The entire place was silent, but for the boy and the wolf. That was the kind of impact Ben wanted to make when he entered a room. Maybe one day.

Ben listened carefully to the exchange. In his desired line of work it was important to soak up every tidbit of information he could. The boy was babbling on about the Spirit, the creature that supposedly lived in the Temple of the Unknown, but that was a load of horsecrap, a tale told by old women and children. Ben had heard it quite alot growing up in Jaquo's Bordello.

If fate was calling, Ben felt inclined to answer. He stood up slowly and slung his bag onto his back, making sure to flip his cloak out of the way first so it would cover the pack. The plain faced main looked around, trying to see if anyone else was interested, before heading towards the door. He walked over to the fresh corpse and knelt down beside it so that he could search if for anything worth keeping. That task finished, Ben stood and left the tavern.

His destination? The Temple of the Unknown.

[Paltra Immuran]

Paltra watched, unfortunate enough that he’d have a view of it even if he turned his head, seeing from the corner of his eye as Karis, easily one of the most terrifying individuals in Sunberth, picked up a boy as though he were trash. He didn’t have the full story on the Alpha, but he knew enough to be damned sure not to step on his toes, or even look at him the wrong way…

That second part was awfully hard at the moment…

Still, he knew he couldn’t do anything to the behemoth, and while he was a particularly vengeance and justice oriented kind of person, he wasn’t an idiot. Karis would tear him into pieces without a second thought if he tried to save the poor bastard that he was after. But, despite the utter pangs of guilt and frustration washing over him, he couldn’t help but notice the words uttered forth…

That’s interesting… but why Karis? he thought to himself, any fool could probably have probably tracked him down, Karis seems like overkill… maybe there’s something to that daft old legend after all… That, or they have some pretty valuable item that they are lookin’ for… Paltra smirked, his eyes alight with anticipation. Only a few seconds after the man left did Paltra rise, forsaking the drink that had yet to arrive. It wasn’t important now, considering the fact that this might have been the biggest steal he’d ever had… Granted, he didn’t really understand just at that moment what he was doing--eagerly jumping up to steal right out from Karis, or worse, his masters’, nose. But, that was all background noise to him. There was something valuable enough to get Karis on the hunt, and that was good enough for Paltra.

As he rose, he noticed another man do the same, moving toward the front door. Paltra stopped for a second, following behind him with a skeptical, keen eye. He looked like he could probably do some damage, if only as a distraction. But then, Paltra couldn’t have been sure in any case. Sure, he looked like he could do some damage… but one wouldn’t know unless the fighting started…

Paltra walked forward, not attempting to mask his footsteps as he cast a pitied glance at the body of the boy upon the ground in a heap. He gave a slight nod to the corpse, wondering if that counted towards paying ones respects. In Sunberth, death was all too frequent, and most people became numb to it, or at least learned to ignore it.

Paltra stepped through the doors, noting the sizable gaping hole where the boy had unwillingly entered the Pig’s Foot Tavern. He looked at the other individual a slight smirk on his face as they walked out into the late afternoon sun, his brown-red hair and rust colored eyes casting the illusion of soft motion for the briefest of moments.

“I suppose your just going for a little walk too, eh?” Paltra spoke, alluding to something else other than a walk with the grin on his face. He let a few moments pass by before he started walking in the direction of the Temple, glancing at the man with interest.

“The names Paltra…” he spoke, not offering a hand-shake. That would come a little later, he imagined. Hopefully with the two of them making a temporary alliance… after all, fifty-fifty wasn’t a bad bargain for whatever it was that Karis was so interested in…

[Benalder]

He was not alone. It seemed another man had taken interest in the scene as well, and followed Ben out the door. Ben looked at him, distrust and suspicion plainly written on his face. With murky brown eyes he evaluated the stranger, trying to take in as much about him as he could. He was armed with a scimitar, though Ben figured he had at least one other weapon hidden somewhere. The stranger was just a bit taller than him, but considerably skinnier. Ben likely had twenty or thirty pounds on the man. And like Ben he had matching hair and eyes, though he had a sort of orange-brown-red, almost rusty coloring, compared to Ben's plain brown. Ben inched his right hand closer to his blade, unsure of the man's intentions. After a few moments, however, the stranger spoke.

Ben scowled. Clearly this rusty colored man knew what he was up to. "It's none of your business where I'm going, friend," he said, his voice dripping with venom on the word friend. He walked off in the direction of the Commons, but the man was right there with him. Petching gutter rat. Ben tried to ignore him, but the stranger continued, introducing himself. Well, at least I got a name, though I wouldn't put two coppers against it being his real name.

Ben grunted, and gruffly said, "Good for you." He kept walking, a scowl on his face. When it was clear the barnacle wasn't going anywhere, he stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm called Jared." Then he harrumphed, and continued on his way towards the Commons.

[Paltra Immuran]

A very defensive man, showing plenty signs of aggression and not so subtle hints of pride and perhaps arrogance. This man’s actions were making his surface psyche very easy for Paltra to read. His on the other hand hinted at someone whom was trusting, and believed in a false notion of honor. For all he cared though, this man, Jared, could believe whatever it was he wanted to believe. Though, he had all the reason to doubt that being his real name, given his staunch body-language and resistance to Paltra’s ongoing presence. He himself gave him his real name because he found it petty to mask something so simple. He had no past of note in Sunberth, and only a handful of people knew his face, and another few handfuls who might have known his name. Most of them were probably dead, or still in prison, neither of which put Paltra in any real danger.

But this Jared, he had something to hide from. Unless he had given his real name, Jared was just an alias to be used and thrown away without further incriminating the name of whom it was used as a shield. Names were powerful things after all, they could collect the blame and the scorn of an entire people. So, it was understandable that some people would like to go about there business with a little bit of amnesty. Paltra didn’t care, his goal was to be known after all… but, he’d also make damned sure that he’d cover his tracks very, very well, especially around people like Karis and his wolf-pack.

Paltra’s smile contorted into a grin as he looked at the man from the corner of his eye, “alright, Jared, since you don’t seem to be very talkative, I think we can just get to the point. There is a certain something that Karis is after. That item, or misbegotten legend, must have some credence if someone like him is sent sniffing around for it. It doesn’t take much intelligence to figure that out.”

“However, the simple fact that Karis is after it makes things a great deal harder for one person to handle. And he may have his wolf-pack, or at least some of them, with him. There might be any number of unknowns as well, and I don’t know what to expect of this ‘Legend’ that’s out there. Which brings me to my point… two thieves are better than one, even if they aren’t on the same side.”

Paltra stopped completely this time, his rust colored eyes seeming as thought they were harrowed points of a gnarled spear. “To summarize, we don’t kill each other, and if you don’t want to work with me, then whoever reaches the finish line first get‘s the prize… Do we have an accord?” Paltra asked, holding out a hand to shake. His other hand rested on the pommel of his Scimitar, but aside from that, Paltra’s form was not stiff at all. He was no master of persuasion to be sure, but he did his best. And there was no wrong answer to what he asked the man. The worst that could happen is that he tried to go at him with a dagger and they’d have their little scuffle. Or he could spit the offer entirely back into Paltra’s face, and he’d still follow the man and use him anyways, while being careful not to get in his way. After all, he’d hung around just long enough to get a vibe of self-assuredness that came almost exclusively from hardened men, people who knew how to fight. Paltra was not like that, not just yet anyways.

Nevertheless… that made Jared a very valuable ally…

[Hatter]

On the body of the boy was very little. A cursory search would reveal that most of his possessions had already been taken, most likely by Karis, but lucky for Benalder the boy's trip through the wall had jostled something loose from a false pocket. A queer item, it was a six-sided box, on that had several indentations on the top that formed a strange symbol, one with criss-crossed lines and broad, curved strokes. Maybe someone with a bit of an education could tell more, but to the thief it was little more than a palm-sized trinket. The Commons was a different story. The day was a busy one. With the markets so recently packed with last season's harvest there were people about en masse. Merchant and civilian alike, every entrance into Alphonse's realm were clogged, stuck with wagons and drivers, all yelling at one another as they tried to clear traffic for one venture or another. A few fights broke out on occasion - those that usually resulted in a less-hungry brawling - but otherwise the mood was patient. For Sunberth, anyway. No doubt there would be a full-scale riot later in the day. For the moment though, a little time would see anyone through the throngs of the markets. The temple stood amidst the crowds, ignored as usual, with it's massive architecture dwarfing all that dared to rest in its shadow. An ancient building, the cathedral was something to be both feared and respected. If the rumors about the ghost were true anyway. Yet the more interesting facet was the scene on the steps that lead inside. Karis and at least five of his wolf-faced pack mates stood below a man known simply as "The Warden", the right hand of Alphonse and one of the most skilled swordsmen in the entire city. Behind him, flanking the stair, were several of the Commons' Knights, rabble clad in mostly plate and chain, brandishing weapons with wicked edges and an equally deranged intent. The two ferocious men stood at odds, each read to kill without a moment's hesitation. All around people gathered. They formed a semi-circle around the combatants, secretly hoping that one dog would bite the other. Now that would be entertainment. "Stand aside!" Karis growled. The crowd responded with a shudder, but the Warden stood his ground. He was silent and unamused. Unfortunately for the new-found companions this meant that the front entrance to the temple was no longer an option, unless they wanted to fight their way past both men. Baring that, the temple had another obvious entrance. There were several holes in the roof, but their ascent would no doubt draw eyes if not done within shadow. There was a rumored back-door, but that lay within the attention of the random beggars that flanked the facility.