Thu May 14, 2020 7:32 am
The shadows were growing longer. The warm haze of the day was fazing, giving way to cooler swaths of breezes. The bright yellows of midday had warmed into heavy oranges and reds of the afternoon. It wasn't nightfall, but anything was better than noon.
With the caution of a seasoned bandit, she slipped out of the door, and closed it as quietly as she could manage, as if she'd expected anyone to be watching, or listening, or care at all for that matter. She made her way back through the streets, sticking to the shadows of the buildings that lined them as much as possible. Under her arm, she carried a few leaflets of parchment, tightly, as the breeze threatened to spirit them away. Over her shoulder, a small sack, mostly empty, save for the tip of a bow limb peeking from the top, and a lumpy mass of something or other at the bottom. She stepped quickly over the stones, though not so much as to draw undue attention. Her attire did enough of that already, what with the colors seemingly uncommon in these parts.
You can't make him safe, poppet, you can't make her safe. Not there...
There won't be a war here... not yet...
You should run... whoever comes for him is more than a trifle...
The quiet was unnerving. Normally it wouldn't have been a bother, she preferred quiet to the bustle of city life, but, there was still too much daylight left. it was ominous, looming, and she could yet be seen. As she approached her destination, her eye tilted upward, toward the roof line, the jetty. Yes, upwards. That was always her preference, when time allowed. Likely, she'd have a few more hours to wait and watch, at least partly into the night. She'd move before then, at the cusp of dusk if it were up to her. Here, on the other hand, was far too exposed, both in location and in scouting. Perhaps it was simply an err in perception. She was on the ground, and the ground always made her feel smaller, weaker, disadvantaged.
Gingerly, she knocked on the heavy wooden portal to the newly minted castle. It was hardly a knock at all, more of a tap really, her milky skin hardly at all connecting with the heavily weathered surface. Perhaps she didn't want to be noticed. In truth, knocking was not something she'd often done, and she didn't really have much of a knack for how hard it was to be done. Most of her entries were more of the stealthy kind, where one wasn't to be alerted to her presence.
"Ser...Euhh..." She'd forgotten his name for a brief moment. "Ser...Yance...?" That was it, wasn't it? She still couldn't think. Not here. "Here is the parchment for Miss Gloria. Tell her..." Quickly, a plan. "Tell her that Marion will watch from afar." It was weak, but sufficient. She would understand, or at least that was the hope. She left the sheets under a fresh pot of ink, to keep the wind at bay, on the step in front of the door. She didn't want to be seen, not anymore, and disappeared behind a corner before the response could come.
She played their games long enough, and with the retreating sun, it was time to play her own. Sure that she was out of sight, she unshouldered the bag, and emptied the contents, a short, heavily recurved bow, meant for a man on horseback, most likely, and a hooked 'arrow'. It was a dense, thickly lacquered, nocked, oak shaft with a three pronged hook on one end, and on the other, an attached rope. The rope was perhaps four of her measures long, braided and strong, thinly waxed to preserve its smoothness and tension. On the opposite end was another iron hook, with a single prong.
The bow, was lacquered, though less so, a flat black, and the sinew was as well preserved as the rope, though red, likely a result of the color of candle used for its maintenance. This she attached to a leather sash she now carried, and there it hung from her back. The grapple, on the other hand, was immediately useful, and after a few long swings, the three pronged head sailed up into the air toward the jetty, coming to a halt in the wood with a noisy thunk. With a ginger tug, she deemed it safe and quickly shimmied upwards, snaking an arm about the rope for leverage.
She was less sheltered on the roof, but the breeze felt ever slightly cooler. More importantly, there were fewer eyes. Hastily, she gathered up the rope, and left it in a messy coil at the edge of the roof, just out of sight. She herself, however, made her way to the center beam, and flattened herself along it, on her belly, her eye fixed on the sightlines of the likely approach points in front of her. She was not, in any stretch, a defensive piece, not an ideal situation when pressed into a defensive formation.