Cut My Purse

Thayndor Zahir stands outside the stables, giving instructions to a stable-boy.

Eugene exits off a carriage, moving towards the west as he glances around. He seems to be in a bit of a hurry.

Rayk Nillu sits atop of his horse quietly, guding the beast into town. Dressed in armor and shield, he makes rather a bit of noise during his approach.

The next carriage carries a different load - the Duchess Seamel and two of her children. An infant rests securely and warmly in a sling, while a young child rests on her hip. The brightly colored clothes and scarf of the young girl rest against the darkly colored cloak of her mother. As they disembark, one can hear the child asking a question. "Why don't we take a pony, Bee?"

As the boy departs -- seemingly under orders -- Thayndor turns, tugging up the cowl of his cloak.

Rayk Nillu makes his way to the stables, swinging down out the saddle easily and handing off the reins to a waiting stable hand. He offers a nod to Thayndor as they pass, a simple smile plastered on his face.

Rayk Nillu


 * The man standing here measures just under 6 feet even, his posture begining to travel downwards. His aged features are well-defined, reminiscent of House Nillu lineage. The thinning black hair, cropped short to the man's forehead, reveals silver and grey streaks of age. Once sharp and attendant hazel orbs now sit dulled in their sockets, aided by tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and darkness beneath. His white complexion is broken by the perennial 5 o'clock shadow growing along his jaw. His frame is that of an average male, some lean muscle in his upper body, perhaps from swordsmanship training. His hands are rough like the earth once dug up, yet dexterous enough to write fine print.
 * The black leather and gleaming steel rings of a set of steel ringmail armor covers the man, from cuirass to gloves and pants. Black leather boots protect the feet while steel sabaton plates cover said boots. Ontop of the ringmail sits a velvet tabard, ash grey covering the length of the torso with a blue Nillu bear stitched across the chest. Strapped to the noble's back is the steel blade of a double-edged sword, three-feet long from a precisely tapered tip to a ribbed brown elk leather pommel that's topped by an S-shaped polished brass crossguard. The finely honed blade is about one-half inch thick along its middle seam. A blood-red wildstone is embedded in the lower end of the pommel and encircled by a series of six yellowed fangs, their points aiming away from the wielder when held.

"Because we have Eden," Gabriella gently reminds, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead. The young woman glances towards the stable and a light blush colors her cheeks. "Come, it is too cold for the babe, Katya. Would you like cider?" The mother and children move towards the tavern.

"Good evening," Thayndor says to Rayk, noting his armor. "I didn't know you were a man of the sword," he adds.

Rayk Nillu sighs and nods, "Have been trained since my formative years at Glittering Bear, my Lord, and more so now these days given the frequency for such... disturbances in these parts." He remarks softly. Hefting his shield over his back, he comes to stand across from Thay before continuing, "And the Duchess has deemed it necessary to draft me into the Argent Claw as well."

"I see," Thayndor replies. "Congratulations on your appointment. The mark of a House Order is a prestigious thing. Do you have news of what transpires beyond these walls? I do not leave Northreach for," he smiles a taut smile, "obvious reasons."

Rayk Nillu shakes his head slowly, "No, I do not, my Lord. Given my...." Thinks of a suitable word for a few seconds, "'appointment', I have spent most of my days away at Willow Pond Manor, home of the Argent Claw. I haven't even been back to Hawk's Aerie and slept in my own bed there for some time."

"There's plenty to keep you busy, if what I've seen is any indication," Thayndor replies. "There have been attacks, I think they may have been on your lands."

Rayk Nillu shifts his weight to his back foot, pulling his cloak about him, "Aye, and the excitement we've had here the past few days has just added on top of it all, more gargoyles to speak of."

"I've heard," Thayndor replies. "What do you intend to do about it, Knight of the Argent Claw?" He folds his arms.

"Follow orders, from the Knight-Captain." He replies with a smile on his face. Shaking off the jest, his shoulders shrug, "I am not sure, but I have heard of an expedition to seek out their hide-out in the Wildlands... I met yet join them."

"The gargoyles? Soon, but it's an ill-fated journey to go now, unprepared. There are ... things we need," Thayndor replies.

Rayk Nillu nods slowly, "You know of the expedition then? I only know a few details that happen to trickle out, but I would not have much to offer with you besides."

"I assumed," Thayndor replies to Rayk. "I forced a gargoyle to ground near enough that a Wildlander could find its lair. Given the general bent of the others involved, of course they would take my suggestion to visit soon ... and take it too literally."

Thayndor Zahir stands near the stables, and was until recently speaking to Rayk, who was called away.

Gefrey Seamel walks into the medial district from the east, looking around himself thoughtfully as he goes, in the general direction of the tavern. He passes the stables, and notices the Zahir. "Good evening," he greets with a nod.

"Good evening," Thayndor replies to Gefrey. "Wonderful night for a walk, don't you think?" He smirks. "What did you learn of the Freelander and his cutlass, yesterday?"

Gefrey Seamel looks aside to Thayndor, considering. "Oh, not much. I was not actually very interested in the cutlass, though it did seem a nice one. Just a better idea of what he saw that made him think it was not a gargoyle. Interesting story, that."

"What was the story?" Thayndor asks. He gestures. "Ah. Forgive me for keeping you out in the cold. You were headed indoors? Perhaps we could talk there."

Gefrey Seamel hmms, then nods. "Perhaps if you have any information, you might share it as well in there," he suggests. "But yes, let's step inside."

Gefrey Seamel heads into The Wailing Wench Tavern: Tavern Hall.

The Wailing Wench Tavern: Tavern Hall


 * ''The Wailing Wench Tavern stands as one of the largest publican services in the Empire, acting as both a Tavern and Inn for those who wish to partake of that which it offers. A four-level structure if one counts the basement, the Wailing Wench features the main tavern hall on the ground floor, private lodging and rooms on the second floor, an as-yet unconverted loft for storage and the occasional private deal (or proverbial roll in the hay), and the previously mentioned basement, which is sealed via an exceptionally complicated lock that can only be opened by the owner, though very rarely is.


 * ''The tavern hall itself is a mostly "L" shaped affair, split between the large and equally spacious rectangular tavern itself, and the segregated kitchen area hidden in a room at to the right of the bar. That bar rests at the southern end of the "L", features a rich and polished redwood surface and counter, complete with barstools and an elegant display of hanging mugs and tankards. An uncountable number of bottles rest in wineracks that span the length of the wall behind the bar, while barrels of ale and mead stand off to the sides.


 * ''Wooden beams the shade of ecru yellow comprise the well-trodden floor, while khaki-shaded granite forms the walls, with the upper halves being paneled in wood that exists as the same colour as the floor. Redwood support beams and highlights finalize the colour scheme, giving the Wailing Wench a very rustic and inviting feel to it. Redwood tables and chairs span the length of the hall, while benches and booths line the walls to provide extra seating to those that want it.


 * ''A redwood staircase ascends in a "T" shape to the second floor via the eastern wall just next to the bar, while a performance stage ingresses from the middle of the western wall to the left of the main door that rests in the northeast of the "L".


 * ''Paintings of various busty maidens and wenches on the walls contrast against the real things that serve ale and various other pleasures - some of the flesh - to those that desire them, regardless of gender or class. Cleavage is on tap here as much as the ale, as are periods of high spirits and entertainment, and quieter times of subtle conversation and talespinning. Stained glass windows prevent the troubles of the world from getting into the establishment.

The young family that long ago escaped the cold has settled into the tavern. The baby is now perched on Gabriella Seamel's lap, while Katya has shed some of her colorful clothing and is sipping on a mug of hot cider. A few scraps of paper lay before the trio, bearing the scribblings of youth.

Ducking a bit, so his halberd doesn't scraped the door frame, Gefrey Seamel walks into the tavern, just ahead of Thayndor Zahir. The Baron looks around as they step in, looking for a place to sit.

Benedict follows the others into the tavern but he is a good bit behind them so that he has time to pause in the door and glance around the inn with expectation.

Thayndor Zahir passes Gefrey as he stops, and moves unhesitatingly for the far corner table. "This way," he says in a quiet voice, unhitching his cloak.

The babe doesn't make much of a fuss, but Katya notices the newcomers. "Seamel!" the little girl cries out, turning to tug on her mother's tunic. The little girl, it seems, recognizing the horseman of her own House on Gefrey's chest. Gabriella nods her head and lifts a finger to her mouth. "Its not polite to shout, Kat," the young mother chides.

"Ahh, Katya," Gefrey calls out in return, cheerfully. "And Gabby, how are you? Come, Count Zahir. Let's have some words with these ones." He smiles at Gabriella as he walks over. "You won't mind us coming over, would you?"

Benedict's attention is drawn by the small voice and he smiles briefly before he returns to looking over the tavern's patrons. After a few moments longer, he shakes his head and moves towards a table that sits between the landing of the staircase and the performance stage.

Thayndor Zahir smiles at the baby. "Very well," he says to Gefrey. "We can visit." As he approaches, the Zahir bows lightly at the waist. "Good evening, Gabriella."

"Good eve," Gabriella greets with a bright smile, bouncing the baby on her lap. "Katya, say hello to your cousin and Lord Zahir," the young mother bids to the girl. Katya gives a child's smile and nods. "Hello, cousin. Hello, Lord Zahir," the little child repeats. "Please, have a seat," the Duchess bids.

Gefrey Seamel smiles and does just that, giving the children a nod. "Mm. You're back in Northreach. It's good to see you again, Gabby. How are the children?"

Thayndor Zahir waves to Katya. "Hello, Katya," he says brightly, easing into a chair across from Gabriella. "It's just the two of you out and about tonight?" Thayndor sounds surprised.

Benedict is just able to see the table where the child and the nobles have gathered but his attention is directed towards the inn's front door for the most part. Even the serving girl has to rap her knuckles on the table to get his attention but once she has it he orders food and drink for himself.

"And the babe," Gabriella answers, leaning down to kiss the dark down on Eden's head. The babe has his mother's bright eyes and his father's curls. He looks rather chubby, and makes a mousy little sound. "We are well. Did you read Duhnen's letter? Perhaps there is hope in this place yet," she answers to her cousin. Katya resumes coloring, and it nearly looks like she's mimicking the seal she noticed earlier.

Gefrey Seamel smiles and nods. "I hope so," he says. "We have problems, still... but with any luck, we can work our way through them." He frowns. "The gargoyles, if we're lucky, will be dealt with sooner rather than later, if we can find out where to go after them."

"Did the Duke receive my letter?" Thayndor asks. "I wanted to help instill just that -- hope. I had sent the letter a couple days ago."

"The gargoyles have been haunting us since before Duhnen and I wed, years ago," Gabriella answers, shaking her head. "They killed his horse. I hate the Light-forsaken things, but I know of no way to rid ourselves of them." There's a pause as she reaches over for her daughter's cider. "He has not mentioned it, if he has, but I know there is unopened news for him in the study at Jade Gardens. Perhaps that is it."

"We can't just go 'after' them," Thayndor replies. "It has already been tried. Their magic is darker than your sword is sharp, Lord Gefrey. But some things I have seen recently make me believe the pieces are beginning to fall together." he turns to Gefrey. "Tell her what happened yesterday."

Gefrey Seamel tilts his head at Thayndor. "What news do you send?" he asks, curiously.

In response to Gefrey's query, Thayndor replies only: "I will explain in time. Would you explain what happened yesterday?"

Gefrey Seamel smiles. "Do try to explain what you saw as well, please. I can't do much with so little information. But, yes, a thing attacked and took a person. Not a gargoyle, it seemed. Something new. A black triangle carrying a pink rectangle, as Master Pyrite described it."

"How does a triangle attack a person?" Gabriella asks, curiousity getting the better of her before she takes a sip of the cider and sets it in front of Katya once more. Eden she shifts, standing the boy on her lap. He holds on to her fingers, and wobbles, but manages to remain upright. "But please.." Violet eyes glance at her daughter. "Describe gently."

"We didn't actually see it attack," Thayndor replies. "I heard a shriek, like the one I heard when I was attacked, and I looked over to see a flying shape to the east, making north for the Wildlands. I, ah ... well, the wind abruptly left its wings, and it was slowed enough that a Wildlander we know could follow it to its bolt-hole."

"This is basically it," Gefrey says coolly, looking aside to Thayndor expectantly.

"Magic does not bother us," Gabriella answers with a shake of her head. "You can speak of that. It is.. other things.." The young mother glances towards her daughter once more, and Eden falls onto his mother's lap. "Do you know what this.. triangle is? Do you know why it takes our people?"

"There is somewhat more," Thayndor replies, brow knitting. "But I'm unsure. I should like to talk to the other one who witnessed this -- did you say his name was Pyrite? -- and so if you would be so kind, Gabriella, could you inform the guard to see to it he does not leave town, and is available for an audience soon? He's a plain-looking man, but he has a peculiar thing with him. A cutlass, a worn-looking one. I don't suspect him of wrongdoing or anything -- I'd just like to speak with him. He called what we saw something akin to a mechanical dragon. I am not sure if it is driven by the same intellect as the gargoyles."

Gefrey Seamel raises an eyebrow at Thayndor. "And apparently I missed nothing in that time," he says a little wryly. "Where he is now, I do not know, and I'm not going to ask the guards to hold a man just because you wish to speak with him, myself. Of course, if the Duchess decides otherwise..." He shakes his head. "What would you be asking him about?"

"Gefrey, I hold you in high esteem, but I believe the Duchy may make the decision in this situation." The words are uncomfortable for the little Duchess, but she speaks them regardless. Her eyes are apologetic as she returns her gaze to Thayndor. "I do not care to hold men either, but if he may be able to answer some questions regarding gargoyles.." There's a pause, and Gabriella nuzzles her son. "Now, we must do it in such a way that it would not appear to the populace we are trapping people here. We would be no better than Zolor, in their eyes. I think I have an idea. We shall call him a hero - an honorable Mage, and the Duchess would like to personally reward him. Do you think this shall work?"

"I wasn't asking you to do that at all," Thayndor replies to Gefrey with a thin smile, perhaps taking a different tack than Gabriella. "Don't be absurd. You don't have even half authority! I was asking Gabriella. As for what I will ask of him, I'd like for you to be present for the asking." He turns to Gabriella. "And your husband, Gabriella, and you, too, if you wish. I'm sending messengers to a few other people. It's easier that way, you see. It'll be easier for me both to ask what I need and for others to catch on to the pattern I believe I've begun to see." Gesturing to both of them with outstretched hands, he adds, "As I said, I don't wish to trap him. And I don't think he's a Mage, else he really -would- be trapped here, as I am. Perhaps you should simply tell him the truth: That you've been asked by your friend Thayndor Zahir to invite him to stay in town and to make himself comfortable in the Tavern at the Lord of Darkwater's expense." Thayndor shrugs. "That way I am compensating him for his time. Fair enough?"

"My, we wouldn't want to stretch our words too much," Gefrey says a bit dryly to Thayndor. "But one can say you have extended this invitation, certainly."

There's a laugh from Gabriella's lips at that. "Of course," the Duchess answers, shaking her head. "I have been consorting with Sahna far too long. I forget that sometimes, the easiest way is to simply ask." There's a glance between the men. "Come now. Gefrey, I'm simply trying to figure out how to have power, as Duhnen seems to struggle with the decision-making portion of Dukedom." There's a pause, and the woman quirks a smile. "I guess I'm still trying to figure out how to wear pants."

"Well, here is the delicate part of having power, Gabriella." Thayndor laces his fingers and smirks at the Duchess from over them. "If he refuses ... tell him you've been asked to insist." He rests his chin atop his fingertips.

Gefrey Seamel frowns, looking between the two and shaking his head. "Mm. That man, though, he's a rather... I don't know what to make of him. He was one who was selling false goods beforehand."

"Speak to my guards, Thayndor," the young Duchess responds, waving her hand. "Tell them you speak with the voice of the Duke. Gefrey, I want you to find out as much as you can regarding the man. What position does my husband have you in?" For a moment, she appears regal, giving orders as though she was born to speak the words. The next moment, though, she's giving a light tug to her daughter's shirt. The little girl has politely kept herself busy. "Katya, do you want more cider?"

"Celeste mentioned an enterprising merchant to me," Thayndor adds to Gabriella and Gefrey. "The one who sold her an artifact she bought knowing full well it wasn't what its vendor claimed it to be. You were there when she did that? It was this man?"

"He has me commanding the guards here," Gefrey says grimly to Gabriella. "Not a Bronze Rider just yet, but with some command. And yes, that was the same one."

"Oh," Gabriella answers, her cheeks flushing as she realizes the mistake she's made. "I apologize, Gefrey. I was unaware that was your place." The young woman scootches Eden. "Well, then," she laughs. "Thayndor, speak to Gefrey. Tell him you have the voice of the Duke. And if he has committed falsity, I want him held anyways. We will not have that sort of thing here."

Thayndor Zahir laughs, clearly anticipating a chance to enjoy himself. He shifts further upright in his seat and shifting his fingers. "Well, Lord Gefrey," he says, affecting a regal air more tinged with pomposity than his usual authoritative speech. "You will detain this man." The Zahir allows his brows to loom commandingly over his eyes. "If he wishes to remain voluntarily, all the better. Tell him I would have him remain here at the tavern at my expense. If he does not intend to cooperate ... throw him in a cell." He leans forward, adding, "Do it," with an imperious air. "I speak with the voice of the Duke."

Thayndor leans back and absolutely beams a shit-eating grin at Gefrey.

Gefrey Seamel slowly raises an eyebrow at Gabriella with an expression that just screams, 'Why?'. "Very well, your Grace," he says, giving the Duchess a nod. "When I see him, I shall have him detained by your order."

The three nobles are sitting together at a table, with Gabriella holding a baby boy, and other liccle children playing at coloring next to her.

"Ahh," the Duchess laughs, rubbing the stomach of her son. "More cider," Katya finally answers, looking up at her mother. The young woman lifts a hand for a barmaid. "And please, its Gabriella. I detest "Your Grace", and I only call Duhnen that when he hasn't come home for a night. Is there anything else I can mess up horribly?"

The door opens and a tall knight, clad in polished plate mail, steps inside. For those who chance to look at him, they would readily recognise him: and see that he looks careworn, and perhaps somewhat aggitated. Godric walks across the wooden floor, his riding boots causing an occassional board to squeak, in the direction of an empty table. Yet the group of assembled nobles catches his attention, and causes him to pointedly redirect his course. "Cousin, my Lords," Godric says with a thin, dry smile. He tries to force an affable, easy tone of voice, "Good evening."

"Lord Gefrey," Thayndor adds, returning to that looming-browed look. "Be sure your men don't come down with too heavy a hand if it isn't necessary." He gestures with a hand. "I speak with the voice of the ..." Maybe it's the glare coming off Godric's plate-mail, but Thayndor shifts as the large figure approaches. "Good evening, Lord Godric," he adds, frowning slightly.

Gefrey Seamel looks over to the approaching Baron, to Thayndor, then waves down a barwench. "A plum mead, please," he mutters under his breath, before turning to give Godric a tight smile. "Good evening."

"Cider," Gabriella asks of the barmaid. "And /pie/!" Katya adds, giving her mother a sweet smile. The noblewoman nods. "And pie," the Duchess agrees before the armor catches her eye. "May I ask," the little Seamel states smoothly, her tongue dripping with poison. "Why a Lomasa is in full armor in Seamel land?"

The Baron bows, perfunctorily. His tight grin seems to totter upon a grimace. "Roads are not safe, Baroness. There are bad folk and monsters about in town and country." Godric speaks with the sing-song, artificial tone that people reserve for small children. To his credit, his mood does improve upon the sight of the children. "May I compliment you on your handsome children, Duchess?" These polite proprieties pass his lips as stands near the table.

"That's an understatement," Thayndor drawls at Godric's remark about bad folk and monsters. "Did you hear about what happened between Wedgecrest and East Leg?"

"You can feel more than safe within town to put that armor away, though," Gefrey says pleasantly. "Especially in this tavern, really. You're out of your House's lands, so no need to be performing knightly duties." He looks over to Thayndor. "Mm. What was this that happened?"

"My children need no compliments of beauty," Gabriella answers, stroking Eden's curls once more. She has a mother's pride as she answers, "They have far better qualities than that." There's a pause as she nods to Gefrey. "And he is right. It makes me uncomfortable to see a Lomasa in armor. Perhaps its from my younger days."

"My children need no compliments of beauty," Gabriella answers, stroking Eden's curls once more. She has a mother's pride as she answers, "They have far better qualities than that." There's a pause as she nods to Gefrey. "And he is right. It makes me uncomfortable to see a Lomasa in armor. Perhaps its from my younger days."

"A Touched family, fleeing Northreach after the Regent's bargain shook their spirits," Thayndor begins. "They made it to Wedgecrest and were turned away, towards East Leg. They were set upon during the journey. The father made it back here. With his dying breath he named his family and asked that we avenge their deaths." Though his tone is measured and his face placid, his Adam's apple bobs. There's a pause before he adds, "I'd do it myself on behalf of all Touched. Given the chance." He looks across at Gabriella, down at her children, and back into her face, pointedly.

The young woman sighs quietly, closing her eyes for a moment and stroking Eden's hair. "I do not know what to do about such actions, Thayndor," Gabriella answers. "But blood for blood is not avengement. We will erect a memorial, perhaps, and hold a service. Let us not start a war." Gefrey Seamel frowns. "No, something needs to be done about it, an arrest to keep others from being taken. And it does point out that we do need to keep a closer guard to protect the mages here."

"You are incorrect, Gefrey," Thayndor replies, brow falling now. "Your Guardsmen are too simple a solution, and not sophisticated enough for the kind of problems we face. More guards in Northreach will not solve the problem of attacks beyond the town's borders. As far as a memorial, I think that is a fine idea. Which reminds me." He brightens somewhat. "Is there a venue in town where I might host somewhat of an affair? I commissioned a painting, and it will be done shortly. I'd like to make a gift of it to the Emperor, and I'd like to unveil it here in Northreach."

"I know of no such venue, but I can search one out for you, Thayndor," Gabriella agrees with a nod of her head. "What sort of artifact are you giving to our beloved ruler?" The little boy on the woman's lap is starting to nod against her chest, and Katya is changing to another scrap of paper after taking a few good swigs of her cider.

Grumbling something inaudibly to herself, Marisa steps into the tavern in her usual condition. Filthy from head to toe, ratty clothes, blonde hair up in a bun, light scar across her right cheek, and a well-cared-for cloak. There is, however, a new addition to her attire: the black leather sheath strapped to her belt at her right hip. It holds a well-made steel dagger, the girl wearing it occasionally touching the handle lightly as if expecting it to suddenly not to be there. She glances about the tavern briefly with pale green eyes and then makes for the bar. "A mug o' wat'r, if'n ye'd be so kin'."

"It will keep them safe inside Northreach," Gefrey says, shaking his head, before considering Thayndor. "The one Mistress Silvermoon was paining, yes?" he asks. "That one seems... interesting, I'll say, and I have to wonder what she did with it finally."

Benedict's entrance to the tavern is quickly followed by the door bumping shut behind him, severing the inflow of cold air from the night outside. Those seated near the door give him a glaring look for daring to diminish the room's warmth but he moves away from the entrance and takes up residence at a table near the foot of the stairs.

"A painting, Gabriella," Thayndor replies. "Something to commemorate his wisdom." The Zahir turns, slowly, to Gefrey. "Your men didn't keep those fifteen children safe," Thayndor notes in a cheery tone, lips smiling but eyes cold, "Did they?" He leans forward and lowers his tone. "Lord Seamel, you mean well. But you must come to terms with the fact that strength of arms alone is not power enough to do much of anything."

"I do not care for guards," Gabriella adds with a nod of her head. "However, should a family ask for one, they will be provided. We musn't bring more force here without the populace asking for it. They should be a comfort, not an overbearing presence." The young woman cradles Eden in her arms.

"Frankly, without my peers being willing to share any information, strength of arms is all I can manage," Gefrey says in a low, biting tone to Thayndor. "And by the Light, I'll do whatever I can with it." He shakes his head and looks over to Gabriella. "But, apologies, Gabby," he adds on in a more pleasant tone. "I will remember what you say."

Benedict withdraws a shardwood pipe and a small leather pouch of tobacco from a pocket on the inside of his cloak and packs the bowl of the pipe with the herb. Once satisfied, he stands up from the table and uses a nearby lantern to light the pipe, drawing a succession of quick puffs on it.

When her water arrives, Risa takes it with a nod of thanks and heads for a table near the fire. Her eyes sweep over the people at the table as she approaches, pausing only for two out of the group. First, Thayndor, who gets a studying sort of look and a slight quirking of the girl's pale mouth. Then Godric, who gets the girl pausing in her path and then heading to get a table close-by but out of his field of vision. Behind him, if she can manage it.

The Baron has been standing idly by, listening to the conversation and holding back his tongue from replying. It seems he has learned a few elements of tactful behaviour: whether he squanders this newfound knowledge is another matter. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to lend me one of your manservants, Lord Gefrey," Godric snidely replies to the other Baron. "For I doubt removing steel plate in the middle of the street is a matter of practicality - or seemly behaviour. And, I do beg my Cousin's forgiveness for being so blunt, I am not quite so certain that Northreach is all together safe - in town or out. Gargoyles swoop from the sky, and other cursed beasts swoop in from the Shadow." A look is passed between the nobles at that remark. "Which is why I and my kin are arming for war to kill that vile threat to every last cursed child." The Lomasa seems to forget there are children present, his dark vows of bloodshed said openly in their presence.

Blue-green eyes turn upon Thayndor. "What did you say, my Lord Count?" asks the Bull with raised eyebrows. "You have heard of that terrible crime? I have been personally charged by His Grace the Duke to hunt down these criminals and bring them to justice. A father, you said?" A gauntleted hand is raised to Godric's face; he scratches a bushy sideburn. "Pray, have you any information?"

"I have said no bloodshed," Gabriella repeats coldly. "I will speak to my brother regarding this idea of his, and you are to hold your blade until then." The Duchess' eyes catch fire, and she glances to Thayndor. "Thayndor, I beg you to share nothing with this man."

"I have shared more of what I know with the Duke, and will not waste my time repeating it or your time telling you what, if you need to know, you will hear from higher up on your own chain of command, Lord Gefrey." Thayndor taps his nose. "Mind your place, hm? Speaking of places," he turns to Gabriella, "I would be indebted to you if you could provide me that venue you spoke of. I should like to do something in the next two weeks. Not long after the meeting which should make a few more things plain -- a meeting which, Lord Gefrey, I would be honored if you would attend."

Thayndor looks from Godric to Gabriella and back. "Gabby -- the attack likely happened on Lomasa lands. And were I you, I would do nothing to hinder the effort to make war upon the black wildlings, but discourage everyone from funding it -- it will be futile. The Wildlings will meet us only on their terms: they will let the Wildlands cut the numbers of their army to near nothing, then ambush the survivors."

Malia bounds down the steps. Fresh face and bushy tailed, or as close as the short woman can get. She at least seems invigored and as such is off and bounding to the bar. Benedict sits beneath the faint plume of tobacco smoke that drifts upward from the lit pipe that he smokes and turns to look over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs. But by the time he looks up and over his shoulder, their maker is already at the bar and his eyes follow her movements.

Gefrey Seamel closes his eyes. "Very well, I shall gladly attend this venue of yours, Count Zahir," he says quietly. "And I'll try to find his Grace to speak with him, if I can. He appears to be very busy lately - it's rare that I manage to find him, or him find me."

"I will speak to brother, still," Gabriella answers with a shake of her head. "I ought to have some sway with the foolish man." There's a pause as she glances up to Godric. With a flick of her hand, she gives another regal order. "I do not care for you, nor your speech in front of your children. Make yourself useful, Baron, and tell my brother the Duke that I wish to have an audience with him."

Godric's brow knits into a frown at Gabriella's remark. "My noble Cousin," the Lomasa beings, emploringly, "Whatever do you mean? Whether or not they were Freelanders, or Shadow-touched, I have a duty -enforced by the very order of your gracious brother- to hunt these villains down and bring them to justice. I shall see them set before the Magistrate in East Leg, and will see that swift and effective justice is met out to /any/ who would violate the Law in Lomasa land!"

The Lomasa Baron's lips curve in a wry smirk as he notices Thayndor's exchange with Gefrey, apparently deriving some satisfaction from it. "If you know any more of this matter, I would greatly wish to speak with you Count Zahir." He is of course referring to the attack. "I am riding to Riverhold on the morrow, and will likely see this scene for myself. We have some House cavalry posted at the site, I hear." That no words are spoken to Gefrey are another matter; he bides his time.

"I will relay your words to my Duke and your brother, gracious Cousin," Godric replies to Gabriella, his sarcasm barely reserved. "He shall know that his sister sends her loving affection, and kindly requests an audience before him."

Marisa takes her seat behind the Lomasa Baron, scooting the chair as quietly as can be managed and setting her mug on the table gently. Her chair is turned so that she is facing Godric, and she gives him a hard stare as she swigs her water. Pale grees eyes sweep all the way along his form, head to toe to head again, and she smirks merrily. The filthy blonde eyeballs his coinpurse, then the exit, and looks to be considering... She leans forward a bit and very slowly unshealthes her dagger, pale green eyes going from person to person and making sure they are enthralled in their conversation.

Malia siddles up to the bar, looking over the nobles with a curious eye. First towards the Lomasa and then to the Zahir and Seamels. Slowly dancing away again to light on another familiar face and offering a small wave to Benedict.

Benedict returns the smile and stands up from the table, abandoning his place and moving over to Malia and the bar with only a pause to knock the burning embers out of the pipe into a brass jug sitting on the floor near the end of the bar.

"Well," Thayndor replies, looking up at -- or is it behind? -- Godric and nodding. He seems about to say something, but pauses instead. Without missing another beat, he adds, "Perhaps this is a discussion for another time. Gabby, I should like to talk to you about that painting premiere very soon. For now, I think, I should retire." He grabs his cloak, which was resting on the back of his chair, and stands -- facing past Godric to the door with a small smile. Or is he facing Marisa? The cloak hides his hands.

"Girl, some wine!" the Baron calls, fetching a passing servant girl. She scurries to the bar and retrieves a bottle and a goblet. Returning to the nobleman, she moves to pour a glass - but Godric swiftly consumes the glass and has her fill another one. Occupied with the wine, and the grand company of Nobility and political conversation, he remains totally and completely oblivious to the filthy little pick-pocket behind him.

Gefrey Seamel doesn't look anywhere near Godric - and most certainly doesn't notice what might be going on (whether he'd be doing anything if he did notice, now, that is a different story). "Good day, count Zahir," the Seamel says, a neutrally pleasant tone. "I hope you sleep well." He looks to Gabriella with a small smile. "And I wouldn't mind speaking later with you either, Gabby."

"Of course not, Gefrey," Gabriella replies softly. She shakes an agitated look off of her face at the Lomasa's call to the woman, and reaches a hand to pat her cousin. "Please, any time. I think I may retire soon, it is Katya's bedtime."

Marisa brings her dagger up to her lips as she looks to Thayndor - a shushing gesture accompanied by a wink - and then takes a deep, quiet breath. It should just be a matter of sliding the knife under, a quick nip to cut it off, and then stashing it... She shifts in her seat, ready to dash for the door if it is needed. Another breath, and she attempts to cut Godric's purse in exactly the manner described above.

The second goblet is polished off with equal veracity. He moves to drink a third, and turns to consider the Zahir and Seamels (all of them!) "Good night to you as well, Count. I do implore you that I should want to speak with you about what you mentioned. We only have corpses; we do not have answers." The children are offered a farewell. "Good night, little cousins," Godric says, simply, lightly. "And to you, Cousin. I shall relay your message to the Duke." Godric starts to drink the wine, not noticing that he is being robbed in the middle of the Tavern. Northreach is certainly safe, indeed!

Thayndor Zahir rests a hand atop Godric's shoulder even as his purse is being cut, looking him right in the eye. "I will send a letter to your Duke at my earliest convenience," he says, then turns to the others, gesturing in the air. "This has been very pleasant. I apologize if my behavior is at times frustrating -- I assure you I will make everything plain very soon."

Marisa grins at her score, quickly sheathing her dagger and tucking the purse into a pocket on the inside of her cloak. She pulls up her hood and turns to face her table, situating her cloak to entirely cover her person as she stands slowly and drinks down the rest of her water. The girl makes for the exit as a patron normally would after finishing a meal, setting the empty mug on the counter on her way.

Malia smiles over to Benedict and unobtrusively leans into his side. "Our talk," she prompts softly and casts a glance towards the door. "Or did you wish to speak another night, and instead seek out the gardens."

Godric looks the Lord of Darkwater back in the eyes, nodding to him in turn. "Very well, my Lord Zahir. Though I should inform you His Grace has turned the matter to my authority, as he is preoccupied with other concerns. I do wish you a pleasant evening nonetheless." He remains politic, controlling his desire to demand answers. The baron bows politely and, having started to drink heavily, he moves to order another bottle. "I ought to pay for that and my room," mumbles the Lomasa knight. He reaches for his coin purse and catches hold of cut drawstrings. The nobleman blinks incredulously, trying to figure out the matter. "Shadow what?" he curses, frowning. Has he just been robbed?

"Good evening, then," Thayndor says again, bowing. "We'll talk more in the morning. If you'll excuse me." He slings his cloak about his form and makes for the door as well.

Gefrey Seamel looks up to Thayndor, a bit curiously, before he blinks and looks over to Godric. "Is there a problem, Lord Lomasa?" he asks.

Benedict answers with a kiss to Malia's cheek as he tucks the pipe away into a pocket within his cloak, following that kiss with one that sneaks down to the warmth of her neck. "My choice is it?" he asks while putting one arm around her and leaning up against the bar. "How about both?"

As she hears Godric's cursing, Marisa's smile widens to an almost giddy sort of grin. She steps out of the tavern without looking back.

Malia giggles softly and curls into Benedict's side. "The crossroads," she offers in an amused, hushed voice. Her expression hidden away behind her hair for only her companion to see. A gentle tug and soon, she's following behind after Marisa towards the door.

Benedict gives in to the tug and falls into step behind Malia, boots falling heavily upon the floor for the first couple of steps before he takes her hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. "As you wish milady," he quips to her.

Cloak beginning to billow behind him, Thayndor follows the others out the door.

"Some wretched, filthy little cut-purse has stolen my... my purse!" Godric nearly shouts, starting to fume red. The fact that the bar maid approaches, and has just meekly asked the Baron to pay his waybill only causes him to grow increasingly angry. "Northreach is safe is it now, my Lord Seamel?" demands the Baron. He looks about the room, trying to vainly spot the criminal. "This is an outrage!"

Northreach: Medial District 


 * ''Having grown in the shadow of the northern Aegis wall, the Seamel township of Northreach is somewhat of a dark horse; a dark horse in both a literal and metaphorical sense, no less. Much of the township is often set in perpetual shadow, cast by the six-hundred foot wall that looms above it, making it a somewhat cold and umbral township, though one that tends to import a lot of torches and lanterns.


 * ''However, in the literal sense, Northreach is a township that developed entirely beyond the public eye. It grew as a township that drew little attention, funded by a mysterious benefactor of House Seamel, while the Empire left the construction of the North Gate to the Imperial Watch and their

engineers. Thus the two grew in tandem, and the unveiling of Northreach as a township around that awesome gate was a surprise to all.


 * ''As a location, Northreach drips Imperial architecture and style. Most of the buildings that form the moderate township are neatly arranged around main roads, with passages and alleys running between them, with no sense of crowding to be found. Townhouses of charcoal granite walls and timber support

beams dominate the architectural design of the township, with larger estates providing the various services that all townships offer, as well as a few that remain unique to Northreach alone.


 * ''The Wailing Wench Tavern, a large inn and publican building, stands in the very middle of what is known as the Medial District, acting as a central hub of activity. Directly next to the Tavern rests a two-story building belonging to the Steelwood Company, while the Swiftwolf Archery Tradehouse

stands near to it as an equally large merchant townhouse, while smaller trade buildings flank them on all sides, attempting to profit from the trade they draw in.
 * ''The North Gate looms in the north within the gap in the Aegis, while the southern gate that leads back onto Northreach Road is to the south. The Sinistral District, acting as the residence district, rests to the west, while the Dextral District, acting as the trade district, can be found to the east.

Marisa still has her hood up, although with the time of night she is only of only a few people out in the streets. She is walking slowly towards the stables, giggling quietly and with great satisfaction.

Leaving the tavern not long after Marisa is Thayndor Zahir, his cloak obscuring his figures. He quietly sticks to the shadows, tailing the woman in front of him.

Malia steps out into the night, one hand in Benedict's and bounce to her step. "We can grab a carriage, unless you wish to return to East Leg. We just need a place to speak in private," she explains to her companion.

Benedict says, "Not East Leg, I've spent too much time there an 'away from you t' go back right now," as he draws his cloak closer about his body in the cold and slows his pace, pulling back on his hand that holds onto Malia's. "But hey, before we do that..."

Malia pauses and turns at the gentle prod. "Yes," she questions and looks up to meet his gaze. Marisa and Thayndor surprisingly going completely unnoticed by the small brunette.

Risa doesn't notice Thayndor following her, apparently a little too happy about her score. She reaches her horse, tied in front of the stables, and pats his neck affectionately. She pulls out the purse and slips it into the saddle bags, the jingle not only of coin but something like a mass of metal rings accompanying the action. She does not seem inclined to mount the horse. At least not yet.

A hand, protected by fingerless gloves, reaches from behind Risa's back for the reins of her horse. "Aren't you forgetting something?" lightly asks a quiet voice, presumably belonging to the owner of the hand. The voice is smooth, composed, maybe even amused. It might even be familiar to Risa at this point.

Benedict steps close to her and, still holding her hand in his, brings his hands up to hold the side of her face as he gives her another kiss that lingers upon her lips for a few moments. "Just that."

Malia smiles up at Benedict, enjoying the shared kiss. The two linger just at the stoop of the Wench and speaking to one another. "We had better hurry," she says in a hushed, mischievous tone.

Benedict nods his head and returns the grin, keeping her hand in his as he lowers his hands from her face and moves to walk beside her. "I'm followin' you milady," he answers with a chuckle.

Fearsome isn't happy about an unfamiliar hand going for his reins. The horse backs up, stomping the dirt and huffing. "Easeh, Fea'sum," Risa says in a small yet still commanding sort of voice. She herself takes the animal's reins instead, running her free hand down his nose to calm him down. She looks to Thayndor with a smile, "Aye, I's be f'rgettin' sumtin'. Tank ye, M'Lor', fer keepin' quiet. Now wu'd'ye wan' from meh?" It is not an accusing sort of tone, merely curious, as she continues, "Eid'r ye don' like 'im or ye wan' sumtin'. I's nae be likin' games, so I's be appre'shatin' ye te be straigh'fo'w'rd wit me, aye?"

Exiting the Tavern, huffing like a stamping Bull, the Lomasa loudly and gruffly yells toward the Stables. "My horse, boy! Prepare him immediately!" His nerves are on edge; it does not seem prudent to bother the Baron at the moment. Measured, determined steps direct Godric toward Thayndor and Marisa - not that he is walking toward them in particular, only his horse being harnessed with the leather tack.

Gefrey Seamel walks out a little behind Godric shaking his head, with a small, almost secretive smile as he goes. It is carefully forced back, however, as he watches the scenes about the town, one hand dropping down to rest on his own coinpurse.

"I'm always straightforward." It's Thayndor's voice, but quiet. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but cuts himself short as Godric approaches, shifting lightly to put his back to the man as he also pats Fearsome's neck. "Stay here." He turns, and walks out from the stables to meet Godric. "What is it, my Lord?" He asks. "I thought you had seemed disturbed as I left."

Malia gives a gentle tug to Benedict's hand, urging him towards the cariages at the sight of the stampeding bull. She doesn't follow to see what is happening as it seems something more pressing is on her mind.

Marisa merely nods, moving Fearsome over a bit to make room for the stableboy to bring out Godric's horse. She does as she has been told, staying put and petting her horse for the time being, keeping her ears open to try and listen to Godric's approach.

Benedict walks along and turns to look back at the upset nobleman though he does not comment as he hurries after his companion

"Some filthy, rotten little cut-purse has... cut my purse!" Godric growls. The absurdity and ridiculous synatx of the phrase increases his aggitation. "Northreach is becoming a new Shadow District," adds the Lomasa. "I am off for East Leg." His sentences are gruff and brief: not unexpected for one who has been robbed, rendered foolish by the act, and is bristling with anger as a consequence. "I bid the Light to keep and to protect you, Count."

"Now that you mention it, Lord Lomasa, I thought I saw someone running away from the tavern rather quickly ahead of me after I left," Thayndor said. "I thought nothing of it. I think he ran south. It may have been your cutpurse -- if you ride swiftly, you may catch him." He inclines his head. "I am sorry to hear of this. I wish you luck in apprehending the culprit."

Gefrey Seamel walks out and away from Godric, over to one of the guardsmen patrolling the streets here. "Master," he says quietly. "I would like to have one of you on rotation in the Wailing Wench, especially during meal times, yes? It seems there's a thief about, and someone there to deter might be useful."

Marisa takes a deep breath, listening intently to everything she can hear. Thayndor's misinformation causes her to raise an eyebrow, although it's not as if anyone can see that with her hood up. She pulls out a spare blanket from another pocket of the saddlebag, putting it gently over the horse as if to keep him warm. What she's really doing is covering up the saddle and the bow attached to it. The girl glances to a back alley near the stables and considers all of the possibilities, yet continues to stay put and care for her horse.

"The South, hmm?" Godric muses. "I doubt it is likely I shall catch the bandit. This ruffian: what does he resemble?" His fingers drum against the pommel of his longsword, apparently contemplating something fierce and unwholesome. The horse is being prepared by a stable boy, apparently aggitated at the in which he was addressed. He will be even more disappointed when he realises that no tip is forthcoming!

"It was hard to tell - I didn't get a good look. Short, skinny. As he turned I saw a big nose in the moonlight, but that was all I could see," Thayndor says. "He had no horse, but he was making for the southern gate. He's surely reached it by now and is on the road."

As the guardsman salutes and turns away, Gefrey turns and starts for the stables as well, hands clasped behind his back.

Marisa coneinues listening. And petting Fearsome. Good obedient little teen.

"Perhaps I shall ride him down before he reaches very far!" replies the Lomasa. A murderous gleam momentarily flashes across his handsome face. "Thank you, my Lord." With the conversation apparently at an end, Godric stalks off with a singular and vengeful intent. He approaches the Stables and seizes the reins of his horse, swinging his heavy body into the saddle with some help from the boy. A suspicious, passing glance is directed at the hooded figure beside him. Resting into the leather, the Baron snaps again to the poor servant. "My lance, too. Be quick!" And it is dutifully handed to him.

"Light guide you," Thayndor says gravely to Godric, stepping back as the stableboy fetches Godric's lance.

Gefrey Seamel frowns, looking up to Godric, then over to Thayndor, raising an eyebrow.

Marisa merely bows to Godric at his suspicious glance, going back to her horse-tending. She seems to remain cool under the pressure of having him right there.

"Well, make way, wench!" cries Godric to Marisa, angry that her horse is blocking his route to the South Gate. Oblivious to the deception, Godric moves to spur his tired animal. The stallion starts forward at a canter, the nobleman having seemingly bought the deception and preparing to chase phantom criminals down the road.

"You're not going with him?" Thayndor asks Gefrey, seemingly puzzled. "It -did- happen on your lands." With another wordless bow, Marisa leads Fearsome a bit away from Godric (even though he's really not anywhere near the Lomasa's way).

"I will be," Gefrey says grimly. "Alas, I was enjoying the few moments without him. Boy, bring my horse out. Demi-glaives, with me."

Thayndor Zahir smirks. "Such are the burdens of command," Thayndor says. "Go with the Light." He steps back again to allow the guards freedom to move south.

The Lomasa does not wait for the Seamels. He briskly spurs the stallion to a gallop and -Light protect any hapless drunkard out at night and in his way!- thunders across the cobblestone streets toward the South Gate.

Atop Whitehaven, Gefrey Seamel spurs his horse forward, after the Lomasa, the Demi Lances charging behind him. "Wait, now, Lomasa. I'll need to be taking this one in."

Pale green eyes watch Godric depart, the girl letting out a silent sigh of relief. They then turn to Thayndor and she offers a grrateful nod, waiting until the Lomasa and Seamels are long gone before daring to speak.

"Now that they're out of the way," Thayndor says mildly, very quietly, as he steps backwards, towards Marisa. Turning and stepping deeper in the shadows of the stable, he adds, "He clearly needed to be taken down a peg, and you clearly need a new shirt. Justice, I think, has been served. Except." He holds out a hand. "For the arbiter's compensation." The Zahir smirks. "A ponce like him must have had a pretty thick purse. Taking half will still leave you with bread and lodging until well after your next score."

"I's intentin' te return mos' o' 't, ac'sh'leh. Mail 't te 'im anon'mus'leh. Dun need moneh like ye tink, M'Lor', jes' did 't te bug 'im," Risa removes the extra blanket from Fearsome's saddle, putting it back in his pocket before pulling out the sleeve of the hauberk of a set of bronze ringmail, "See? I's nae bein' all dat poor. Jes' nae seein' a need te git new clothes. Dese 'uns still cov'r wut dey need te..." She doesn't actually come out and say she won't pay Thayndor just yet, waiting to see how he responds to what she said, first.

"Where'd you get that?" Thayndor asks, nodding to the ringmail.

"Bough' 't 'n Ligh's Reach, de arm'reh down dere," the ringmail is stuffed back into its place, Risa shifting a few things around in the bag. She also adjusts the shardwood longbow attakced there, "Nae de bes' de 'ad, but 't does de job nice 'nough fer now."

"I see," Thayndor says, nodding. "Well. I'd advise you not to mail it back to him, because he's not as dumb as he seems, and may remember the shady girl who was so happy to rile him up the day before. Victory is best enjoyed quietly. It's interesting that you choose to look shabbier than you are. What else is it you do, I wonder, besides what you just did?"

"Li'l o' dis, li'l o' dat," Risa replies vaguely, "'Ere." It seems her shuffling has been to split the purse, "Dere's yer share. Tanks 'gain fer keepin' quie'."

Thayndor and Marisa are in the stables, talking quietly. "Think of this as the first arrangement of many, if you'd like," Thayndor replies. "I have use for people with cool heads, sharp blades, quick fingers. If you're interested." He clasps his hands behind his back, secreting the money away in the process. "I can certainly understand a desire to work alone. But there are benefits."

Celeste leads the way for her and one other towards the stables. "We will have Winterhoof with us so that when we arrive in Light's Reach we can just ride out from there," she replies to Gene. The woman having returned to the simple velvets and fidgeting with a comb.

Eugene is that one other, standing close to Celeste as they walk along, moving towards the stables. "Alright, sounds good."

"Keep talkin'," Risa replies casually, closing up all of the pockets of Fearsome's saddlebags and then leaning against the stable wall, "I's nev'r make a decish'n witou' 's much inf'rmash'n 's I's bein' able te git." She crosses her arms across her chest, which would inhibit her if she wanted to go for either of her blades. A sign of good faith.

Thayndor Zahir, hands behind his back, has already made a rather significant -- if subtle -- gesture of trust. Or self-confidence. "The usual arrangement is this: regular pay, room, board. Whatever equipment you need. And my full support when you need it. The catch is that I'll be asking you from time to time to put yourself in harm's way and, if we meet death, bargain with him so he takes you instead of me. The other catch is that when you're not doing that, you're doing other, less exciting things. But perhaps we can come to an agreement that better suits your skills."

Thayndor and Risa are talking quietly in the stables.

Eugene is that one other, standing close to Celeste as they walk along, moving towards the stables. "Alright, sounds good."

Celeste offers a polite nod to Thayndor when she draws closer. Her attention sliding away to the small youth beyond. "Could you get Winter," she asks of the child. "Count, it is good to see you again,' she offers. "Have you met Master Netter?" Another nod offered to the somewhat familiar form of Marisa.

Eugene turns his attention towards Thayndor, giving a low nod of his head. "My Lord."

"I's nae be puttin' yer life afore mine," Risa says firmly, although quietly, "'N I's nae doin' yer less 'xcitin' tin's, neid'r. I's gots meh a righ' fine set'p fer meh life a'readeh 'n I's nae takin' nae off'r dat'll git 'n de way o' 't." She gives Thayndor a hard look, "Don' ev'n know yer name, M'Lor'. All I's be knowin' 's ye's be a Za'ir. 'N ye 'spect meh te put yer life firs'?" She returns Celeste's nod politely before looking back to Thayndor, "Nae aneh o' wut ye off'r'n meh 's w'rth 't. Nae w'rth giv'n up meh life 'r meh way o' livin'."

Thayndor Zahir nods to Celeste and Eugene, "Good evening," he says to the pair. "Master Netter, nice to meet you." The Zahir waits for the pair to continue on before continuing.

The youth returns and with him a horse. Not her usual highmount but a smaller horse. "Light be with you," she offers to Thayndor an Marisa and takes the reigns of the horse to step away and make her way twoards the carriages.

Eugene follows along with Celeste, giving another nod towards the other two.

"'N ye 's well, m'Ladeh," Marisa says with another nod to Celeste.

After the pair pass along, Thayndor continues, nodding. "Fair enough," he says. "You seem do be doing well enough. Except, of course, that you would have had your throat slit recently had I not talked Godric Lomasa down and redressed him in public. And then there was tonight." He smirks. "So perhaps we can reach another agreement -- because it is rather clear that you need someone like me. And I have use for people like you."

"P'rsist'nt 'un, ye's be," Risa replies with a smirk of her own, "I's be likin' dat. But all I's realleh bein' able te do fer ye 's side jobs, aye, 'nless ye be willin' te 'ire a 'ole band o' people like meh. Ye'd 'ave te talk te a frien' o' mine 'bout dat, dough."

Thayndor Zahir blinks. "Why, young woman, I already -have- a band of people like you," he says, setting a hand lightly atop his chest. "My name is Thayndor Zahir. And I'm the Lord of Darkwater, Admiral of the Darkwater Deepers." He cocks his head. "Who's your friend?"

Marisa grins, "I's 'avin' been 'eard o' ye. Deep'rs 's fun folk." She glances about to make sure the guards are nowhere nearby, before saying, "Ev'r 'eard o' a band't lead'r call'd Swift? 'Is group 'angs 'roun' down 'n de F'res' Distr'ct. Ye migh' 'ave 'eard o' people bein' "'alf-robb'd" down dem ways. Swift's gots 'im a code, see, 'n 'e's a real nice 'un, 'spesh'leh compar'd te od'r band'ts... Ye'd 'ave te be talkin' te 'im." She then bows low to Thayndor, "I's bein' r'lat'd te 'is sec'nd 'n c'mand, Slick. Ye kin call meh Risa."

Free of the children, Gabriella Seamel has managed to clean herself up a bit and have a warm glass of wine. She's threaded ribbons through her hair, and smiles brightly as she steps out of the Wailing Wench. "Ahh," she sighs. "Free at last."

"I see," Thayndor says. "In point of fact, Risa, I have an immediate use for your ilk. A specific task, but now is not the time to discuss it. See if Swift will send someone who can strike a bargain and return to me in the next two days with word, yea or nay. We will set a date and a meeting place then." He smirks, inclining his head. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Remember what I have done for you -- and remember how potent the forces are that you currently find poised to work in your benefit. Lest they be compelled to reverse direction."

"Aye, I's be lettin' 'im know," Risa nods, detaching herself from the wall and bowing again, "De ple's're 'as been mine, M'Lor'. Ligh' keep ye, 'n I's be 'opin' yer business wit Swift goes well."

"Likewise," Thayndor replies. "Good evening." He stands aside, clearly intent on Risa going first. Although his hands still remain, as always, behind his back -- despite the obvious fact that Risa has, and knows how to use, several blades about her person.

"Wut's de matt'r? Don' trust meh?" Risa says, highly amused. She keeps her arms crossed as she steps out ahead of Thayndor, but she makes a point of keeping an eye on him. She heads for Fearsome again and starts checking the saddle, apparently wishing to leave Northreach.

Thayndor Zahir snorts. "Don't be preposterous," Thayndor replies. "I don't trust you farther than I can throw you. And neither do you trust me. But as we do business, perhaps that will change." He doesn't move. "Good evening," he says again, a little amused himself.

"'Ey, I's be a small g'rl. Ye's coul' pro'bleh trow meh p'rteh far," Risa replies with a wink, "Le's nae be findin' out, dough. I's nae trustin' nae 'un, mehself, nae ev'n meh frien's. Sumtin' I's be 'avin' te 'ave learn'd de 'ard way." She mounts fearsome, shifting in the saddle and readjusting the longbow strapped to it. She guides him out into the street at a trot at first, "Good eve'nin', M'Lor'." And then she spurs Fearsome into a southward gallop.

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