The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Bronwen on December 10th, 2016, 10:29 pm

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3rd of Winter 516

"Petch it all!" Cursed Bronwen for the 20th time that bell, crumpling a hastily drawn map in her fist. She had been in Zeltiva for less than a day and found nothing but how to get utterly lost. She wondered if the little snot, that drew her the map, hadn't intended it that way.

She put a hand behind her shoulder, pulled her short bow over her head, placed it on a rock, and rotated the quarterstaff around her hip and sat, extending her long legs out over the surface of the rock. The view was quite nice, what she could still see of it, anyway. The sun was sinking down, giving the water in the distance a dark blue-purple hue, and a early winter breeze made the surface of the water ripple, glistening here and there in the failing light. She was loosing that light quickly, but needed to rest and gather herself.

The cool breeze swept back her long, chestnut hair from her shoulders, as grey eyes flicked over the map, again. The thing was useless, now. The wrinkles in the paper made it impossible to read. With a sigh, she crumpled it tighter and tossed it into the rock bed below her, giving a muttered curse for the lost coppers she had paid for it.

"Ya look lost, Lass" The husky, accented, voice came from behind her. Bron started, legs twisting around. She caught herself before rocking sideways off her rock.

The man was tall, thin, and completely hairless, and covered head to toe in a dull, grey cloak, hood down. He had a nice enough smile across his face, but Bronwen was not impressed. She narrowed her eyes. "I am not" she lied, sliding to her feet, pulling her bow behind her. "I'm waiting on my husband." She added, thinking fast. She watched the man's eyes scrutinize her form and considered pushing past him, until another form materialized from the deepening shadows and stepped up to the stranger's side. This man was just as tall as the other, but thicker, more muscled, with short black hair and a black, close-shaven beard. The rest of his form was shadowed, but he also wore a long cloak. Maybe a uniform of some kind.

"Nay, Lass." the man exchanged a look with his friend. "Cap'n and me, we a'been watchin' Ya and you be askin' bout the Grotto for the last bell, eh?"

Bronwen stood stiff, silent, heart pounding in her chest, and the bow in her hand trembled. How could she have been so stupid?

She had a lot to learn.

"Come now sweet..." Captain said, rounding the bald man, making to take a step forward, but froze, still in mid step. As soon as the man flinched to move, Bron's left hand brought the bow forward, as her right hand snatched an arrow from behind her left shoulder, nocked it, and pulled the fletching past her ear, aiming straight at Captain's forehead. She would have been proud of the speed in which she'd moved -possibly the fastest she had ever moved- had she not been shaking so badly that she was having trouble holding the bowstring back.

"Don't!" she yelled, stepping back, pulling harder on the string. The bald man held his hands up, palms out. "Ah, Lass, we mean ya' no harm now." He said. Then, he nodded off to her right. "He might, though"

Before Bron had the chance to even process what the bald man meant, a flash of metal came around her line of vision and slashed through her bowstring. The string popped, rebounded, and carved an inch long, bloody line across Bron's cheek. The arrow flew from the cut string and skidded along the ground, coming to a stop, harmlessly, several paces in front of her feet. Strong arms came around her shoulders, but she ducked out from beneath them, and, using the same momentum, slung the hard, wooden bow around in an arch. It made contact with a satisfying crack against the side of the mans head. He staggered back, but kept his feet, then lunged for her.

Bron turned to run, but strong arms closed around her chest from behind, pinning her in place. The bearded man took three long steps forward, and planted a fist in her middle. She bent over the blow, all air in her lungs suddenly gone, along with the contents of her stomach. The man holding on to her let go, and she fell to her hands and knees, still retching. The three men laughed.

As she coughed and gagged, struggling to catch the escaped air, the brutes encircled her. Panting, Bron got a foot under her, then another, and slowly stood, swaying. She rotated her feet, looking to each man in turn, just as her father had taught her to do. The third man was cloaked similarly, but hooded -needing more stealth to slip in behind someone- and Captain were standing closer together, more to her rear. To her front, between her and the road leading back into the city and escape, stood Baldy. Her target, the most threat, and obviously the leader.

She turned until she was flanked by the men; new guy and Captain to her right, and Baldy to her left, opposite her line of strength and strongest side. She pulled the seven foot long quarterstaff from behind her shoulder, even as the men laughed. "Ohhh, better look out! Sweet has a stick!" One of them taunted. The one called Captain she thought. "C'mon, Lass, we just want a lil fun, tis all" This from Baldy.

Her staff came free, both hands moving down its length to grip on either side of the grooves she knew to be the middle, left hand wrapped tightly around the top of the shaft, right hand beneath it. She waited. Baldy shifted his weight and she attacked.

Bronwen pivoted on her left heel and thrust her right foot forward, slamming the quarterstaff, just above her right hand, into the side of Baldy's head, with all her upper body strength. As soon as the staff hit home, she reversed her momentum, turning full circle, grips reversing, elbows straightening. Her body stooped and the quarterstaff slashed through the air, just above the ground, taking Baldy's legs out from beneath him. The man hit the ground with an audible "oof!" and didn't get up.

Bronwen reversed her momentum, yet again, and turned, throwing out her staff for the second man, but she was too slow. The man caught the staff in both hands, and yanked. Bron slammed into the man's chest. It was Captain. She could smell inebriation all over him. She screamed. He slammed an open hand into her temple. Bron felt the world spin, then, felt her back hit the ground. She screamed again, but Captain was on top of her, mouth probing her neck, hand scrambling to cover her mouth. The other man, the third one, was above her head, holding her arms down, grinning evilly down at her. She felt lips brush her ear. "Nobody's go'n ta help ya, bitch! Shut up! She forced her face away from the voice.

Her eyes fell down the length of the road and to a figure standing there, watching. A woman? Bron forced her head one way, then back the other, and her mouth came free. "HELP ME!" she roared. Captain struggled to clamp down on her mouth again. She felt her blouse being ripped open, fingers fumbling with the belt at her pants. "Please! Help!" She managed, before a meaty hand closed over her mouth, again. She bit down until teeth met teeth. "PLEASE!" She managed. Then she screamed, as Captains fist came down.

The world went black.

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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Fallon on December 11th, 2016, 6:12 pm

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The Inspector may not have been at work, but she was always on the prowl. Slinking, skulking, and lurking about to gather up the pieces of information. Of course, such was disguised with the simple process of supposedly shopping, the worn sack used for travelling goods instead relegated to a temporary holder. Within was far from the main desired goods of the city - food and produce - but instead the more finer things. Clothing had to be replaced, other pieces fixed, time having taking its wear upon them. Tools also had to be gathered and while Fallon held a scrawled note within her gloved hand bearing a list of things to get, she kept her eyes and ears open. Occasionally she paused to give a small friendly nod to passersby, a small smile here, a flash of teeth there - it was an illusion to reassure and comfort in the face of the now seemingly natural aura of intimidation. That or some element of reputation had grown and it was rightly acknowledged by the locals. She cared not either way, merely accepting things for what they were.

Still, with the change of current events it did not make her any less wary. The kukri was ever present on her, the shoulders squared. Wary, watching, listening in for the smallest sign of treachery that may occur. She knew not when the city would turn, but she was certain she would be able to find the mumblings first. It was vital to, more so with the plans that were swirling through her head. Hoisting up her pack she gave another glance down to her list before pocketing it. The day was before her, there was no rush.

With a pivot on the heel she turned down one of the more narrow side streets, the confused cries of gulls above her. Beyond the walls and buildings she could hear the dying moan of the city, sputtering as the abnormality spurred and changed. The world was changing, twisting and forming into something she did not know or recognise and that frightened her. Yet, there was none she could speak to - no space to seek council from another set of eyes. It resulted in the inspector being left alone with her own thoughts for bells on end in an attempt to tie up some loose ends.

The yell however snapped her from her thoughts. Head turning she paused mid-step, her chin lifting as she continued to stare down the narrow street. There was the following of mumbling, the noise having since disappeared behind the humdrum of the day. Perhaps, she reasoned at first it was nothing more than children playing - and that was the thought that continued through her mind as she kept the steps going once more. Wary now, she gave a sheepish glance down to the kukri pommel. The noise continued on the wind however, growing more noticeable in her mind. Another turn of the heel, ears straining this time. It was no voice of a child, even if the words were beyond her.

Fallon frowned as she considered her previously decided route, the sense of duty to at least investigate grating against her. None were ever at rest after all, and if the Wave guard were preoccupied with things then the least she could do is show some presence. Scare off what needed to be scared off with words. She felt her arm give a nervous tremble and she instinctively clenched her fist in reflex. Just some adult getting angry at children, she hoped. Nothing to be a concerned citizen about.

What a lie she told herself.

The scream was what spurred on some action. The once wariness kicking into action. A single deep inhale sent her sprinting, bag swinging wildly on her back. She skidded as she rounded the corner, head whipping wildly as it tried to hone in on the source. This was trouble, whatever it was this was not good. Yet as she closed in was she brought to a sharp stop to the scene before her.

Intrusive. Pain. Cold steel against the throat.

A lump had formed in Fallon's stomach. A sick, nauseating element of panic and dread that clawed its way into her core. For a moment she was struck there, jaw growing slack, colour draining from her. It was a scene she had lived herself, something that quietly lingered hauntingly in the background. A memory she hoped that was nothing more than left buried. Yet here it rose again, a bright fire that scorched her core.

Ripping fabric. Flesh. Humiliation. Demeaning.

The shout of the woman did little to stir at first. The unfolding of events in what they obviously were being unleashed in all their glory. She understood where she was now, the other end of the scenario where she could have been the saviour. Another shout, she heard the leery voice of the men as they struggled with the stranger. Another shout. Fallon's arm shook violently. Cold sweat drained onto her, the mind stuck and stumbling on her own terrors.

Again. And again. Hold fast. Have faith. Have strength. Have courage.

Fallon's eyes looked down to the Kukri. Pulse loud in her ears, her nostrils flaring as she remembered the scent of salt and sweat. A third scream, pleading and begging for her to do something. How could she refuse such? How could she simply stand back and watch it unfold.

Never again. Never again.

"...Never again," she mumbled. Her fist clenched, knuckles cracking. She had promised herself that, even as the stomach knotted. No more blood. No more violence. She had done enough of hurting people. Yet here she was at the crossroads of her own mind. A creased of the brow, a screwing shut of eyes. It was inwards that she reached.

Hold fast. Have faith. Have strength. Have courage.

It was Bitzer Redwulf that looked back. Clawing its way up, the forced persona that was desperately needed, the rough voice escaping in a hiss. She took a step forwards to the scene, shoulders squaring, right hand gripping around the kukri hilt. Lips peeled back, a flash of teeth as the voice rumbled forth, "Well. Well. Well. What do we have here?" She began the slow drawing of the kukri and paused. They had not responded. The voice leapt up into a snarl, " You Shyke heads! I said. What the PETCH do we have here?" The men had noticed her that time. A bark, anger and fuelled by her own fires, "Do I need to beat some sense into you Vagiks? Teach you gents some manners on how to treat a lady?"

Hold fast. Have faith. Have strength. Have courage. Fight!
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Bronwen on December 12th, 2016, 4:09 pm

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"Fool woman," Captain placed think fingers on each of the woman's cheeks and pulled her unconscious face toward him. "should'v listened." he growled, then planted a messy kiss on the woman's slack lips, hands probing freely.

Captain had missed the challenge by the observer, Sol, the groups fighter, hadn't. He had heard the booted steps long before the owner made themselves known. He stiffened, shooting a glance over his shoulder. "Petch off! No affair of yers here" Captain glanced up, curious. "No guard. Just a nosy bitch" The observer advanced and her challenge came closer, riding on a threat. Captain jerked his chin forward. "Take care of it."

Sol stood, letting go of the woman, and straightened to his full height. As the man turned, he pushed back his hood, revealing a pockmarked and creased face. His head was shaved, save a circle of flame red hair, that was pulled back into a tight warriors tail. The brute took two steps toward the intruder and stopped, something of a confident certainty in his movements. "Aint you a pretty wee one," he grinned "with pretty wee threats"

He began advancing, slowly, eyes flicking to the blade the woman produced. He reached for his own four foot rapier, hidden beneath his cloak. "Ah, with a wee lit'l knife." He smiled, malevolently, showing gaps in his teeth. "Do ya cut yer meat with that at dinna?" The man paused, clearing his blade from its sheath, positioning it by his hip, in a two handed grip, all expression draining from his face. He glared at the woman. Then ran for her.

------------
Behind Sol, Captain got to his feet, hearing the sound of metal being unsheathed. As soon as the man stepped past her head, Bronwen's eyes snapped open. She rolled over, got to her hands and knees, and scrambled for her staff.

Captain stood a few paces away, fumbling for his own hidden weapon. Bron pulled herself to her feet, aided by the staff. She was weak and her body shook. It took a tick for the world to stop spinning. When her head cleared, she took a breath, then another, and stepped forward on the balls of her feet. Captain began to walk, Bron mimicked his steps. He stopped. Bron spun her quarterstaff once and caught it under her elbow. She tapped two times on the stone beneath her feet, she wanted him to know who took him out. The man spun and the right of the staff cracked against his face. She pivoted, letting the left take out his legs. Bron took two quick steps, brought both hands to the center of the staff, and slammed its point into Captain's temple. A killing blow.

Bron froze. It was how her father had trained her -trained her- but this was real. She bent down and placed trembling fingers against the man's neck. Nothing. She moved her hand to his chest. It was still. Bron clamped a hand over the scream at her mouth, and took a hard step back, stumbled, and landed hard on her rump. The man was dead. She had killed him. She glared at his limp body, wanting this to be okay. It was how she was trained. It was automatic. She hadn't meant to kill him. Had she?

She wanted to vomit.

Bron swallowed hard. Swallowed again, then rolled over her knee, and stood, forcing her eyes, and mind, away from the prone body. She would have to deal with this later. She glanced over to Baldy, but decided not even to check. She rolled her shoulders, blew out a clarifying breath, then turned to face the brute and her savior. She stalked forward, careful to remain in the woman's line of sight, but out of the man's, her staff spinning at the ready.

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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Fallon on December 12th, 2016, 6:30 pm

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The kukri had yet to come out, but the body had slid into position. Shoulders rolled, a rising up onto her toes as she weighed up her foe. He was taller than her, stockier, running on muscle and brute strength. The eyes moved around the scene, a quick check as she counted the space between. He had reach of course, she could see that has he drew the rapier, and that was one advantage he had over her. The narrow blade gave a flick in the air, a show off of skill designed to intimidate. Her gaze focused onto him, his chest, his movements as he smiled.

It was the fires of 'Bitzer' that were stoked in response however, and Fallon let that older side of her rippled forth. A wolfish smile, her fingers kept gripped around the half drawn blade as he came racing forwards. Her own feet quickened, far from the pace he did and being very aware of the bag upon her back, but enough to bring herself curling around into the gap. She had one advantage though, she reasoned as the man came lunging in with the rapier.

There was only one way to fight with a rapier. Thrusting.

Fallon sidestepped, mind keen upon the prospect of speed and agility. She may not have had her tulwar here, so that left her picking at her other options of movement. Right arm continued its gripping, her fangs bared as she saw the momentary look of confusion upon the target's face. Her left hand coiled back, bunching up into a fist before jabbing out to his throat. Her words snarled, "You know," she watched him pull back, both hands upon the hilt of the rapier as he tried to bring it between them, "That here," she stepped into his space, foot slipping between his before her knee came racing firmly upwards.

There was a sharp exhale as her knee made contact, a grunt of discomfort causing him to bend. Another flicker of teeth, "You're better off," She saw the thin of the blade between her and him as he bended. Her shoulder pressed into the small gap, hot breath escaping her lips, "using you head!"

She brought her head racing forwards. A crack of noise as temple struck temple, stunning for both parties and resulting in them staggering back. One foot slammed down to brace, a deep, heavy inhale as she exchanged hot air for cool. While the man swayed she advanced once more despite the ringing sound in her ears. A firm shove, she slammed him into the wall. Kukri flickered out, the eyes wide as the flickering of wildness grew within. Something, she would realise later in hindsight, was better off left buried.

The confused groans, she bashed the rapier aside and out of his loosened grip. The kukri came next, the sickening crunch in the background being noted but not attended to straight away. She needed to let her target know she was in charge. Her voice hissed out, a small glance over towards the crumpled body. The small pressing of the blade edge was enough right now, "So, you petcher, we can do this the easy way. Or be like him and do it the hard way." She could feel him struggling beneath, and so pressed a little incentive against him, "Hard way? If you insist..."

Somewhere in Fallon's mind there was a pause. A blimp of time that while short in reality was incredibly long in hers. It was a stutter, her arm unable to move to draw blood. Her lips curled, an attempt to summon the persona that was already starting to slip away. Nausea came next, an acidic bile that churned in her stomach.

Shyke.

The woman released a growl of annoyance and brought he pommel of her kukri against his temple - a knockout blow. Letting him slump in a heap, she immediately sheathed the blade. Her own strength begun to sap away, the cold crawling in as adrenal rushed out.

Fallon's eyes turned to the woman, a forced, firm step as she tried to issue on some control. A small advance, a walk of purpose. Her hand reached out to turn her, before forcibly tugging her in the same direction. Eyes forward, the rough tones of Bitzer being reduced to the softer, rolling ones of Fallon, "Walk. Just keep walking. Don't look back whatever you do. They just got knocked out. Forward. I said, Don't look back"
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Bronwen on December 13th, 2016, 3:39 pm

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Bronwen watched in awe as the woman defended herself. She was fast. Very fast. And just as the melee had began, it was over. Bron gaped as the man slumped bonelessly to the ground, her mouth slightly parted.

Then, the woman advanced. Bron snapped her mouth closed and tightened the grip on her staff. But she was turned and marched, much against her own volition, away through the ally. Bron stumbled ankle over ankle as she was pulled along, taking several steps before balance found her.

She slid the quarterstaff through the straps at her back, then pulled at the cord below her shoulder, tightening it in place. Bron placed an absent minded hand on the woman's arm, steadying herself. The fast pace in which they were moving made her head spin. They kept walking. And walking. They began to pass buildings that she vaguely remembered passing sometime earlier. But still their pace hadn't slackened.


The heavy, sick feeling in her gut hadn't abated. She had killed a man. His heart had stopped and she had done it. Her gut ached. Her chest ached. Her head was exploding with pain. Bron couldn't breathe. She had killed him. She stumbled, got her footing, then stumbled again. "Stop!" Bron shouted, her tone a little more jarring than she meant it to be. "Please," she said, softer, laboring to speak between breaths, "I only need a moment. Please?"

Bron staggered away from the woman and caught herself with a palm to a stone wall. She doubled over, panting. Long, brunette locks fell across her shoulders, veiling her face, and she was glad for it. Her face was a mosaic of pain, anger, disbelief, and panic. She struggled to keep each one in check. She wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to go home. Go back to Syliras, enter the gate, and never leave. A storm of second thoughts, and second guessing's, flickered across the backs of her eyes. But she stilled them.

Samantha needed her and nothing was going to stop Bronwen from finding her sister. Nothing. Not even -Bron stifled a sob with a hand across her mouth- rape or murder. "I killed him." she mumbled beneath trembling fingers. "Gods help me, I killed a man." What had she expected when she walked out of the city gates? Walk straight to her sister, slap the back of her hand, and march her home all while bypassing all the evil in the world?

I've been an idiot.

Bron mastered herself, straightened, and, with a deep breath, tuned to face the other woman, and hoped that her savior took her little episode as a desperate need to rest, and not a desperate attempt to suppress a full out panic. She had managed both. "I'm sorry." she slid the palms of her hands down her face, wincing as her fingertips brushed the gash on her cheek. She probed it gently, and her purpling and swelling eye. "I'm sorry for all of it" she added. "I was a fool." Bron stepped forward and placed a wary hand to her chest, noticing, just then, that little to none of her tunic had survived. She pulled what remained of it across her exposed chest, grimacing.

She paused, studying the woman's face, then extended a hand. "I'm Bron. Bronwen Druva and I owe you a great debt."

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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Fallon on December 16th, 2016, 5:57 pm

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"Stop for what? For them to stand up and start walking again?" Fallon spoke sharply. Her own stomach churned violently, knotting and nauseating. Her arms became a dead weight, her footsteps faint as she tried to gain some bearings. It was dizzying, consuming as she tried to establish some kind of self control. The orbs flickered as the woman staggered away, before the inspector simply continued her firm stride. The further away she was from the scene the better at this point. And while Fallon would have room for sympathy, her own pressing desires made it harder to think clearly.

She could already taste the bile in her mouth, sharp and acidic.

"And you know you killed him, how?" Fallon rolled her eyes. She had no time for dramatics, "Check his pulse? See if he was breathing? His skull certainly did not look craved in to me..." a darker tone crept into her voice, "I know, why don't we go back and check? And then I can throw you to the guards for killing a man. Admittedly it was in self defence, but that's beside the point... isn't it?" Fallon shifted herself then, taking the careful steps across the street. Her gloved hand met the cooler wall, before her forehead gently bumped against it. Calmer, a cold that introduced a discomfort but allowed her to gain clarity over the other senses.

Fallon swallowed down the bubbling feeling of acid truly sinking in now. Here was a woman sobbing her eyes out, spitting apologises in an attempt to gain some kind of favour. Perhaps, in hindsight, Fallon had the small advantage here - she had only knocked out her target and hopefully left nothing more than a bruised ego. Fallon shook her head when the introductions came. The name was enough to alert her as an offspring of the Syliran Knight families and the accent merely confirmed such a thought of origin, but nothing more came from that.

"Don't be," she exhaled. She lurched off the wall and regained some of her balance. Her eyes shifted around the woman not really transfixing upon her for too long, "Welcome to the world. Kill or be killed. Not like your little stone coffin where peace does ever rule. You have a choice now by the way," the inspector exhaled, moving away and along the street once more, "Well... several. The first is admit yourself to the wave guard. Explain the situation before they find out what happened. Who knows, maybe they will be merciful." There was a lazy look back, "Or, you could just pretend it never happened. Deny all claims and simply forget. Nothing more than a bad dream..."

There was a notably long pause then, Fallon's brow creasing. There was a time she wished it was just a dream, a nightmare she could brush aside and forget about. Her skin itched, writhing as it remembered too closely and knew only scrubbing herself would discard such a thought. Still, this Bronwen had made a narrow escape regardless, "Of course, when they come forward... well. Who knows what will happen."

The inspector firmly shook her head again, "Either way, I would advise... clearing yourself up."
FALLON
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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Fallon
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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Bronwen on December 16th, 2016, 7:13 pm

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So the woman had heard, and came to her own, albeit correct, assumption.

Bronwen's offered hand slipped down, eyes narrowing, as the woman's words sprang forth. She didn't know what she had expected from the woman; surely not introductions, a slap on the shoulder, a 'glad you're okay', then stroll away from it all, but this? Bon's lips moved silently as retort and explanation formed on her tongue, but the woman's rant washed each one away, even as they formed.

Yes. She did, in fact, check the man's pulse, and his breathing. Both had yielded nothing, and the man's head didn't have to looked caved in for him to be utterly dead. But she swallowed those arguments. Not because she was childish, but because she knew the woman's words rang true. Why would she admit the truth of something to herself, when she wouldn't admit it to anyone else? It made sense...in a devious, self-preserving way.

Bron pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, and immediately winced. "Shit!" she hissed, then anger boiled up her chest. She wanted to say, 'I didn't ask for your help', but that would be a lie. She had begged for it. She settled a glare on the woman instead, swallowing the anger. "A bad dream then." she acquiesced, then sighed long and hard.

"Them coming forward -if you're talking about those...men- wont be a problem." she said, searching behind her shoulders for her bag. Pulling it around to her front, she plunged in a hand, withdrawing a cloak, then returned the bag to her back. She glanced up, then swung the cloak around her shoulders. "I don't plan to be in the city long. I'm here only to obtain information about my sister's whereabouts, or," she hesitated, looking away, "the man that was courting her. Two, three days, at most, depending on what I'm told." she shook her head, clasping the cloak across her throat, eyes returning. Either way...I have learned a lesson."

Kill or be killed -that thought was more sobering than anything else.

She glanced up, resigned. "If you will, please, show me where I might find a room, then, I'll leave you with my thanks and my debt, whether you'll have them or not"

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Bronwen
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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Fallon on December 19th, 2016, 6:58 pm

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"No one plans to be anywhere for long," she began, coolly, "I did not plan to be in Zeltiva for so long, yet here I am. Now one with the woodwork." There was a brief swallow, a pull back of the momentary taste of acid in her mouth before she continued. Her hand gestured to move onwards.

Fallon had noticed the pause, the way the jaw seemed to slump and sag. She had seen the way the cold calculating words cut through and controlled the situation. She had seen the momentary blip where Bronwen was left paused, stuttering over the decision. The inspector's eyes followed and laced around the taller woman, a brief flicker to the noted anger before a slow, wolfish grin spread across her lips.

The prey had turned to retaliate it seemed. Oh how Fallon loved the verbal hunt. These days it gave her a thrill that fighting could not, something to cause the adrenal to pulse where other such things left her nauseas. And that, in response caused her mind to only scheme and calculate the best way to make a game out of such. Pivoting on her heel Fallon took the lead in this instance, "Room and board can be found in the World's End Grotto. They offer a multitude of facilities and I am certain is one of the few places one can obtain a hot meal in the city." Her eyes narrowed with thought, "A lot of travellers would stop there without a doubt. Cheap costs and all."

For a moment the inspector was silent, listening to the story and contemplating its words. It seemed like a common affair in her mind; boy meets girl, boy and girl decide to elope and run off into the sunset. And seemingly without telling the family. She hoisted the pack upon her back firmer, her steps growing more certain as she walked, "So, your sister has absconded with a gentleman? My did the family Druva disapprove of such an affair? Scowl and forbid her from ever seeing him again?"

The image was painted in her mind, but it was more designed as an exercise to draw forth information, "Sounds like a perfectly reasonable reaction to run off with the man she loves if you ask me," there was a small glance backwards, a lifting of a chin as if in challenge, "But what do I know about such things?" Chuckling she shook her head, "You seem quite certain you will only be about for a short while though, I take it you already have a lead?"
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Bronwen on January 6th, 2017, 10:47 pm

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Bronwen regarded Fallon a tick, eyebrows inching up her forehead, before hurrying to catch up -Fallon was not a happy woman.

She walked along side the woman in silence, nodding at the description of the available inn. "Sounds perfect" she replied, absently. Silence descended on the journey, and Bron lapsed into her own thoughts, second thoughts and self questioning leaking back in. How in all Sylira was she supposed to find her sister? Was she even still in Sylira? Was it a coincidence that this happened after their father had left the city? Bronwen didn't think so.

The sound of Fallon's voice brought her from her thoughts. She grunted, shaking her head at the absurd thought of Samantha running away. "No." she replied, flatly, still shaking her head. "The Druva family loves Zevlin." she smiled to herself, "They had just announced their engagement. Zevlin had just asked for our father's blessing and he gave it." She sighed. "They were to be married this Spring."

Bronwen fished in the pocket of her pants, producing a small, silver band, holding it up. "They were in the middle of packing for a trip," she paused, giving Fallon a sidelong glance, "to come here, to Zeltiva, to announce their engagement to his father. They disappeared the day before they were to leave. Samantha's bag is still packed, on her bed, at our apartment." Bron slid the small band around her own finger. "Her ring was found inside her coat pocket. Her coat was found just outside the city gates."

Bronwen fell silent at that, rethinking all she had just divulged. How can two people just...disappear? She wished her father was back in the city. Matrim Druva would find his daughter. She scrubbed a hand through knotted, chestnut hair, before answering the woman's question, her voice forlorn. "That was my lead." she sighed. "Not much of one, I know, but maybe if I can find Zevlin's father..." Bron's words trailed off with a shrug and a skyward glance. "I don't know what I would say to him if I found him.

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Bronwen
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The Wolf With No Fangs (Fallon)

Postby Fallon on January 14th, 2017, 3:32 pm

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"It's all rather... convenient," Fallon spoke dryly then. Her gaze turned forward, "Though, I have no immediate answer for it. For all you know the girl could have gotten cold feet, run off into the wilderness and her lover followed blindly."

Unlike yourself. You merely stare at the four walls and wait for her to simply return.

A bitter taste rested in the mouth of the Inspector. Lips pursing, she spoke more softly then, "People do stupid things when they're in love. And more stupid things when faced with an ultimatum of change." She had noted the ring briefly, eyes scanning it and the manner in which the woman seemed to hold it. Almost as if it would somehow summon her missing sister back. There was care there, there was no doubt of that. Her Lykata gave a small twitch, a suggesting nudge before she swallowed the thought.

No, she had a better idea.

"So, you're in a city you do not know, hunting down a man you have no idea of?" She shook her head, "I wish you much luck on your endeavour." Her hand pointed ahead then to the Grotto in the distance, "There is your target for lodgings. As for finding..."

A sly thought had crawled its way through her mind, and Fallon did indeed love a mystery. More so if it involved stringing along a hapless victim in the process to get where she wanted, "Well, you can always go and try the inspector. It'll cost you, but might help you into looking for clues or insight. That one's on the ball." Fallon offered a shrug, "I think the business is called the SWI or something. Old Quarter Way." The woman began to move around then and away, "Nothing else you need help with is there? I need to be on my way."

It was time to see how serious this Bronwen was. How far would she go to reach her goal? Would she simply stew in place or ask for actual help from someone much more competent? Fallon resisted the urge to let the corner of her lips curl, "Other than that all I can offer you is good luck. Maybe you'll find your answers or they will just fall into your lap. Who knows in this world?"

And with a small pivot of the heel she began to move away, her mind set on the next destination; the Scarred Wolf Investigations office.
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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