Closed Harbouring a Fugitive (Kaie)

Kaie is in the market for Glen's extra-vocational services.

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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Harbouring a Fugitive (Kaie)

Postby Glen Fiddich on January 31st, 2015, 4:57 pm

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47th Winter, 514
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It was never the way that you imagined. Maybe it was because you expected bones were there were none, or you expected breaking people to sound just the same as breaking anything else; but it was always deeply disappointing when Glen felt a man's nose flatten beneath his fist, and heard a squishy pop rather than a satisfying crack herald the damage to his face.

The rowdy patron staggered backwards, stunned for a moment before the blood began to well at his nostrils, his hands instantly clamping to his damaged face beneath a pair of shocked and surprised eyes. He shrank backwards as Glen loomed, the Svefra's towering frame doing most of the intimidation work for him as he advanced, stony faced, towards his victim. "These women are business women," he stated, not a shout, but stern and forceful enough to demand that the rest of the Drunken Fish, steadily becoming more silent, paid careful attention to what the barkeep had to say. "You pay for a service, and you will receive a service. You enter into a contract with these lovely ladies."

His eyes, shimmering and bright like blue lagoons, pierced into the fearful return gaze of the lecherous, cowering wretch. "If you try for anything that you haven't paid for, you are breaking that contract. You are stealing." The pause in Glen's words was brief, lingering only for a single moment of dramatic effect. "There are parts of a world where they cut off a thief's hands when they catch him."

That assertion was allowed to linger a little longer. For a moment, he wondered if he'd actually be capable of following through on that threat: not for any amount of squeamishness or lack of resolve, but purely because the fist that had struck the groping bastard was still locked into a fist so tight that he half expected his knuckles to burst out from beneath his skin. All it would take was grabbing Vera from beneath the bar, of course; his precious axe had hacked her way through far more stubborn things than some waste of flesh's scrawny wrists.

"I suggest you leave while you still can, and find another tavern to get your kicks. If I catch you in here again, it will not be your hands that I start hacking off. Is my point plainly made?"

The lech didn't need telling twice; a frantic nod and a frantic scramble later, and he was already fumbling with the door. Glen added a boot of encouragement to his backside, propelling the scampering arsehole quickly out into the cold and snow. As the door was slammed home beside him, the thud of wood on frame reverberated through the entire tavern. Glen took advantage of the relative silence that had fallen, turning his attention on the other patrons, and the countless pairs of eyes firmly fixed on him. "Go back to your drinks," Glen insisted firmly, his voice not a shout, but loud and resonating enough to carry to every corner. "Treat these fine ladies with more respect than he did, and you will have no problems with me."

Glen turned away at that; the mutterings of conversation were hesitant at first, but with every footstep that carried him back towards the bar, the ambiance gradually restored itself to it's usual levels. Glen halted for a moment, all malice and threat faded from his voice entirely as he placed a hand on her shoulder of the woman the lech had acted against, slow and gentle enough to be sure he wouldn't startle her frayed nerves. "Are you hurt?" he asked, enough softness in his voice to almost make him sound like a different person.

The girl, Luna, slowly shook her head, the back of her wrist gently wiping away the faint trickle of blood that had collected at the corner of her mouth. It was a foolish question to which the answer was obvious, redness already rising to where the man's greedy hands had struck her face; but Glen's question meant more than just that, and they both knew it. "Only a little," she answered, not quite succeeding in injecting bravery into her expression or voice, despite her concerted efforts.

Glen found a small smile for her. She was made of sterner stuff than you'd imagine at first glance; the scream that had alerted him to her peril hadn't come from her, but had rather been a yelp of pain from the lech as Luna had bitten down against his unwanted advances. A small part of Glen wished she'd had the opportunity to sink her teeth into something a little more sensitive than the man's hand; the majority of him thought nothing of the sort, and felt only sympathy for the poor girl. Luna had only ever wanted to become a dancer, but misfortune had landed her in this life. Glen's usually sleepy morals stirred, wondering if there was a way to help save her from her unfortunate fate. Caela perhaps; worth a few questions, at the very least.

"Get some rest," Glen insisted; gentle and warm as his words were, it was clear there was no room offered for protest. "I'll send someone up later with some warm food and warm ale. You owe nothing to no one today."

One of the other girls helped usher Luna away; Glen watched as she disappeared up the stairway to the tavern's seedy upper levels, before returning to his battlements behind the bar, and the small cluster of patrons that had gathered, waiting to be served.
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Harbouring a Fugitive (Kaie)

Postby Kaie on February 10th, 2015, 12:22 am

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"So you want me to do your dirty work."

The two men across from the Myrian woman stole neutral glances at one another. The chain mail that sat beneath their ornate breastplates and roved down to their wrists, gave a jingle as the pair adjusted their arms upon the table. Prestigious helmets had been removed and placed beside the wine goblets to reveal the scarred, hardened faces of the middle-aged men. "If you're going to be the one to put it that way...yes, I suppose that's what we're asking," the man at the left admitted with a guiltless shrug. His companion at the right remained silent, a vein at his temple popping out from his flesh as a testament to his restrained fury. "But you were there for two of our battles. First the one where Joan was gravely wounded, and the second when Daggerhands invaded our holdings. Both times you rallied with us and turned your sword on our enemy."
"Aiding your gang's cause suited me when I was at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"You must have a knack for finding trouble then?"

"I don't think that's any of your concern as long as its not the blood of yours I spill."

Savage and Dragoons glared at one another in a terse tiff of silence, muddy brown eyes waging war on the pair of exotic amber ones. The speaking Sun's Birth officer finally broke with a small smirk of amusement. He tipped the goblet to his lips, swallowed the alcohol, and offered her a throaty chuckle. "I'll just cut to the chase, girl. Itzel and Eleuia say you're a tough bitch to best when it comes to fists, and you're getting good with that gladius of yours. If earning a little coin and our favor for spilling more Daggerhand blood sounds like something that suits you, we have a job for you." The Dragoon on the right grunted in agreement, folding his heavy arms across his chest with another jangle of chain mail. Kaie pursed her lips thoughtfully. If anything, she was attempting to conceal her surprise. Despite sharing some blood with the two half-Myrians at the Proving Ground, earning equality among the Dragoon recruits in their training sessions was far from easy. She took a long drink of wine and set the goblet back down with a resounding clink.


"Why can't you just get one of your own to follow the vendetta? Why pay me?"
"If one of ours fails, more of our blood flows through the streets. If some savage mercenary fails with no ties to our members..."

"No loose ends," She finished for him evenly. He nodded slowly and waved a serving girl away who made a move to refill his goblet. "No loose ends. But there's a time restraint on this job and we need you to mobilize immediately."
"What kind of time restraint?"
"One of the Daggers who helped orchestrate the attack on Sun's Refuge caught on that he was being followed. He escaped onto one of the ships called the Wooden Maiden, and it set sail before our men could get their hands on him..."
"Stupid bastard's ship got stuck in the ice out on the harbor though. Now it's time for him to pay up," finally boomed the Dragoons officer to the right, his face twisted and teeth grit in anger. The murder in his eyes almost made Kaie consider keeping a hand on the hilt of her sword. "We just got the news. That little shyke should still be cowering and sniveling in his quarters on the vessel. We want you to board the Wooden Maiden and extract him. Alive. Any information you can broker out of him would be compensated for as well."
"But it needs to be done tonight." The right Dragoon growled and took a long drink of his own goblet. The officer with more composure nodded in agreement and eyed the mercenary woman expectantly. "So do you accept?"

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The shyke I get myself into, the Myrian woman scoffed internally as she strode through the cold Sunberth streets. Her winter cloak billowed behind her clicking bladed boots. The black hood lined with fluffy fur shielded her foreign identity from the rest of the world, the harness of twin kukri upon her back and blade strapped to her hip too enjoyed the perks of concealment. Snow whipped through the alleys and buried bloody, emaciated corpses where it settled. Those that still dared to brave the night in the cold season wrapped their tattered coats tightly about their thin bodies. Lanterns illuminated the City of Anarchy for the navigating savage. Her steps were deliberate, right hand always wavering closer to her hip. Yet for all her image she was almost clueless as to where to begin. As she entered through the salt-soaked door of the Drunken Fish, it would seem she saw it fit to begin exactly where she had the morning she turned up here. And what a place to begin indeed.

The familiar crunch of a displaced nose greeted the woman upon entry. A tall, rugged, blond loomed over the tavern patron he brutally chastised. Angry red liquid dribbled from the hands of the broken-nosed man, creating a pitiful design of spots upon the wooden floor boards. Kaie stepped inside and moved inconspicuously through the crowd of shocked, leering individuals. The door shut behind her all on its own, and the Myrian found a spot at the bar counter far from the others while the man began his tirade. Mistreatment of whores. Now there's something new. There was a small grin that teased at the corners of her lips when she heard his claims of far away worlds that chopped the hands off thieves. Indeed there are.

It was only after the man had finished his brash speech and returned to his post tending the bar, that the Myrian truly paid him any attention. For a few ticks the savage woman seemed intent on simply studying the worn bar counter. Then her amber stare fixated on the bartender and the brutal accent of hers was revealed.
"Must be a tough job saving all the whores in Sunberth," Kaie teased with a lifting of a brow at the man. "You're a new face. You been around this area long?" With luck he'd know enough to give her a clue. Making a treacherous walk across ice, no matter how thick, searching the side of each vessel for a name was far from appealing. The alternative methods to finding the Wooden Maiden where she was trapped were few. She could only hope this one wasn't a mistake.

OOC:Sorry for the slow start!
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Harbouring a Fugitive (Kaie)

Postby Glen Fiddich on February 27th, 2015, 2:02 am

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"Keeps me busy," Glen dismissed with a shrug, the sodden rag in his hand doing it's best to mop up the clumsy remnants of spilt drinks that had turned the bar top into a veritable marshland of unpleasant dampness.

At first he didn't pay her much heed, but with each word that tumbled from her lips, her accent began to resolve into familiarity. It was easy to ignore the subtle flavours of different regional voices amid the congealed slop that Sunberth's culture was; but like a dash of spice in an otherwise bland stew, those Myrian tones were something exotic and interesting.

He glanced up, his eyes quickly appraising the features of the woman who spoke. Not his Myrian, not the mercenary that he had known years ago; he didn't need his eyes to realise that of course, she would have sooner greeted him with a fist to the face than with words, more than likely. The details though - the warm skin, the gracefully tough features, the forged in fire steel glint lurking behind her eyes - the traits that set Myrians apart from Svefra or Inarta or the rest of the supposedly civilized rabble were plain to see. He tried to get a read on her, discerning as much as he could from the briefest glance. The cloak could have just been a reflection on the weather; but as a Myrian, Glen was willing to bet that it concealed far more than just her bare skin from the cold. Above all though, what rolled off her was the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were one of the most formidable people in the room. Whatever her business, this was not a woman to be brushed off or mishandled.

"Been here since last season," he answered openly. It was a popular question it seemed, and he wondered what it was about him that made people so surprised that he might have escaped their notice. He had a few theories, more about ego and vanity than anything else, but he refused to let them grow beyond fledgeling concepts: not that any part of him could or would ever want any woman other than the one who already had his heart under lock and key; but when that woman was more than capable of divorcing you from your most intimate parts in a blizzard of icy, jealous rage, it was wise to be careful of such things.

"Normally I don't draw as much attention to myself as I did today, it's just -" He stopped; frowned; mused over different choices of phrasing in his head before he finally answered. "There is no honour in fighting those who stand no chance of fighting back, and I have little tolerance for those who think otherwise."

He let that sentiment linger, a few more efforts made to wipe the bar clean before he surrendered to the futility, tossing the drenched rag into a squelching tucked-away corner. "How about you?" he countered; a few score days of this, and he was finally getting the hand of the conversation part of this job of his. "What's your story? Something tells me you're probably not a local girl."
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Harbouring a Fugitive (Kaie)

Postby Kaie on March 2nd, 2015, 3:51 am

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Only a season? she questioned to herself with a bit of dismay. Memories from her first arrival from the docks swept back to take the main stage of her conscious mind. She remembered the smell of the sea, the look of the barnacle ridden vessel at the docks, the relief in escaping the disturbing scene forced upon her in Ravok, and the cunning gleam in the eyes of deviant passing residents when they spied the out-of-town savage woman. More importantly, she recalled the utter cluelessness that was bestowed upon her the tick she tried to navigate Sunberth's perilous streets. Despite his working along the edge of the sea, Kaie couldn't help but tease the idea he hadn't been there long enough to know one particular ship's placement among all the others. Suppose I can't know until I try.

"Honor's a funny thing that way," she mused just as much to herself as she did for him, amber eyes sweeping cautiously once over her shoulder to survey the crowd. Since the bartender's moral outburst, it would seem the patrons had heeded his warning. For now, the rowdiness was brought to a minimum."Either way, it seems these thick-headed bastards got your message loud and clear. Makes for an easy night ahead of you." Bartending at the Rearing Stallion in Syliras had been child's play compared to this man's gig. Bar fights were rare, and when they occurred, a Syliras Knight was quick to break it up. She could only imagine her tips were more promising than his, too.

"Me? Not a local?" A mirthful grin slipped across her lips. A tick later a bronze hand tugged the back of her hood down, revealing the mess of brown curls that rolled in waves over her shoulders. A curved brow arched at him. "What was your first clue?" Both hands came to rest on the bar counter, fingers tapping a silent beat upon the molded, cracked wood. "I come from that part of the world they cut thieves' hands off. Taloba in Falyndar, where Myri sits her throne...but I'm not here for small talk. I'm looking for a ship. The Wooden Maiden. I'd be very grateful if you could tell me where in the harbor I can find it." Foreigner or not, Kaie was no fool to the ways of business and intelligence in Sunberth. A miza was procured from her coin purse hidden within her cloak. Very nonchalantly, she placed it upon the counter, a two fingers holding it down in place.

After all...nothing every came from free in this city.

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Harbouring a Fugitive (Kaie)

Postby Glen Fiddich on March 16th, 2015, 3:37 am

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Wooden Maiden?

It wasn't a name with which he was familiar; but then that wasn't much of a surprise. As much as the sea was in Glen's blood, and close as he was to it each and every day, he paid little attention to Baroque Bay. He would watch the ships, of course, contemplate their comings and goings, wonder which ones hailed from Zeltiva and which from elsewhere; but knowing names, or crews, or anything like that was a rarity, only the ships whose crews were rowdy and regular patrons managed to etch their names into his memory.

Still, Glen was far from the only person here, and there were others he knew and trusted who paid more attention to such things. He peered through the crowd, purposely aiming his gaze too low to spy the regular patrons, searching for the tatty clothes and scruffy hair of one of the slaves that the Druken Fish owned. Glen's opinion on such practices was hardly positive, but the situation was what it was; the best he could do - especially in a city as reliant on slavery as Sunberth - was to treat them with respect and kindness; make their slavery as tolerable as he was able. Some of them thought his friendliness was ingenuine, that there was some ulterior motive; but with others he had built a rapport, and with some even friendship.

The young, scruffy-looking slave boy was one such individual. Glen spied him, meandering through the tables, dodging drunken adults who were too busy being inconsiderate and unaware of their surroundings to pay attention to the half-sized human trying to weave through their midst, his arms laden with more empty plates and tankards than it seemed possible for him to carry.

"Iro," Glen called, beckoning the boy over. A flash of recognition swept across his face, followed soon after by the eager realisation that the towering barkeep wanted him for something. Did Glen Fiddich need his help? Was there some fearsome quest that had the old mercenary in need of his aid? Scampering towards the bar as quickly as his short legs and awkward cargo would allow, he raced into the back room, dumped the dirty pewterware onto the nearest available surface, and raced back to the bar, clambering up onto a bar stool to bring him closer to normal person height. Slowly, he peered sidelong to his right, suddenly noticing the mysterious woman who he'd been too distracted to notice before, wondering if perhaps she too was somehow involved in the intrigue and adventure that awaited him.

Glen almost rolled his eyes. "Wooden Maiden," he stated simply, jerking his head towards the wall of the tavern, beyond which lay the bay. "Which one, and where is she?"

Realisation dawned on the young boy's face. It was information the old ones sought; and while not the excitement and peril he had hoped for, he was content to be a source of wisdom and knowledge to them, just this once. He rubbed a hand across his hairless jaw, the way that he had seen Glen do when he was thinking about something. "The big one," he said, still massaging his jaw, not quite sure of what point in the revelation he should be stopping with that gesture, "With the three masts, and the blue flags." He pondered for a moment longer. "I think she's at Darkest Waters, but don't quote me on that." He wasn't quite sure what that last expression meant, but adults said it a lot when they were trying to sound clever, or so it seemed.

Glen fixed him with a look. Iro smiled. Glen's look persisted. Iro's smile faltered. "Thank you, Iro," Glen said, his tone encouraging the boy to hurry up and petch off.

Iro's eyes widened in surprise, realising that he had committed some sort of espionage faux pas by lingering so long. An urgent desire to leave compelled him, but not before he hesitated long enough to glance in the mystery woman's direction. "Excuse me, milady," he said in an overly formal tone, trying to affect an accent that he must have overheard from one of the patrons, before hopping down from his stool and scampering off into the crowd.

Watching the boy disappear from view, Glen sighed before turning back to the Myrian. "Blue flags, Darkest Waters," he echoed, the words drifting into the air for a moment before a frown tugged at his brow, a sudden afterthought about how willing he had been to hand out information without trying to exploit it as an opportunity for profit, or, you know, that whole morality thing about not giving knowledge to total strangers without understanding what they intended to do with it.

"Mind if I ask why you want to know?" he asked casually, far too late to actually make a difference if he'd inadvertently spelled doom for some innocent person or persons.
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Harbouring a Fugitive (Kaie)

Postby Kaie on March 25th, 2015, 2:42 am

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The only thing more frustrating than having to ask for directions, is being left with more questions than answers.

For several ticks the Myrian remained there, those two fingers securely pressing the Miza upon the counter. The eyes of both bar keep and savage linked for a few tense ticks, the latter cautious of the expression that might've flickered across the man's face in light of her inquiry. There were always so many variables to consider. What if he's familiar with the ship? Knows the people on board? Loyal to them somehow? Would he go for his weapon? Does he have allies that could jump me from the back if it turned to a fight? Always thinking on her feet. It was that distrust that had kept her alive so long. She wouldn't neglect suspicions so quickly just because the man had a thing for honor. Too often she found that morality and ethics doesn't cross over into every issue.

Then came the name. Out of instinct, Kaie casually gave a flick of her eyes over her shoulder. In a few ticks she spied the boy. His eyes were eager in a way that made her believe for some reason he only wished to please the man who called him. Before long Iro the slave boy had clambered up beside her and began to chirp freely about the ship in question. Good. At least I know it's real...but can I get to it? Amber eyes rested on Glen once the boy had vanished swiftly as commanded. Bronze fingers drummed a beat upon the counter-top. Her brow pressed together, the only gesture she allowed upon her face to convey how lost she was. That confusion only deepened when she heard the strange departing remark from the boy, and she couldn't help but wonder why he had addressed her as so.


"So the boy said," She agreed with a nod and gave the Miza a shove toward the man. Perhaps it should've belonged to the boy, but even she had come to know no slave boy caught in possession of coin found any happiness with his master. Her lips pursed at Glen's question. Somewhat, was the automatic response she rightfully confined to her own head. Telling the man her exact intentions was utterly foolish. Besides, the Sun's Birth wouldn't be too amused with their new Myrian toy soldier. Reluctant to complete the task or not, it was an opportunity she could not let pass her by. Perhaps sating the bar keep's curiosity as he had somewhat sated her own would prove just as rewarding in the end.

"I was hoping to board the ship sooner. It seems that the man I was supposed to meet upon it was impatient and left early. I hear he's been so nervous lately, what with all the gang violence and what not," She played with a shrug, teeth flashing at the man in a way that said she wasn't lying nearly as much as it seemed. Nonetheless, it was all she could accomplish at the time. There was a more pressing issue, and time was of the essence. What the petch is the Darkest Waters? That was the real bitch. And it seemed she might require more of the man's intelligence after all. Kaie gave a sigh and procured a second Miza. The two fingers once again protected it from being snatched, and the patrons nearby hadn't seemed to actively take notice in the second act of bribery.

"This place your Iro called 'Darkest Waters' is new to me. Any chance you might be able to help me find it?"
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