We Were Never Assassins.

We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Sun Jul 08, 2012 3:24 am

Two years spent travelling to wherever mount and coin and whimsy would take her. Two weeks spent kept within Darkenhold's well-appointed interiors. And all because at the end of a bodyguard's blade she'd seen - clear as pieces on a board - how her return must be managed. The stronghold, remote and impregnable; a point from which to gather resources and learn the strange new beast that Myrken had become. A practical way to proceed, sensible and foolproof and necessary.

Anyone could have predicted that this necessity would begin to chafe.

So that perhaps it's a grim thing which rides Haberdasher's Row this morning - but one which has welcomed the warmth of pale sunlight and the pungent familiarity of Myrken streets. Busy streets, even at this hour, and workmen's steps have sometimes hastened before Hrimfax's hooves; hastened, but never fled. She has enjoyed their courage. And repaid it with small coins, when it was necessary to bend from the saddle and summon a figure over for inquiries: which building? which door? Oh, there....

So that at this early hour there's a dark warbeast wandering about the home of Kerrak al'Nerun, and a light tap of knuckles upon its door.
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Vanidor » Sun Jul 08, 2012 3:43 am

Since the assault on his life by a man he considered a friend, Kerrak had been wary about those that were let through the door into his home. The new manservant had been given instructions. Only three people were officially let through that portal. The Governor, and the two ladies who were upon the Defense Committee. Unofficially the former councilor, Roschen, was also let in (If he would in any case, a man had a right to a properly fitted set of clothing!) though this was a rare thing indeed.

The first would be told to the woman knocking upon the door so early in the morning, by a dour looking man that looked as if the world had decided to defecate into his soup the evening before. The second bit, he kept to himself. He introduced himself, however, as Tamlen. As he was a man of proper Almarkian stock, he would politely inquire after the woman's name, also politely keeping comments on the propriety of such an early call to himself.

And, expectantly, he would wait there at the door for her to identify her name and business. Not that the Master of the House was likely to allow her in, he allowed, but courtesy demanded he at least ask.
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Sun Jul 08, 2012 4:04 am

And doesn't it interest, that al'Nerun's door is as guarded as hers? Except that during all the conversations she's lately had concerning Myrken's shifting nature, not one word has suggested that government focuses its enmity in his direction. And Karolinger? Oh, Aeryn would not dare.

But how can she fault this Tamlen his sour-faced questions? She is all dark garments and unseasonal scarves, a curve of dark hair obscuring the most of her features; at her side dark Hrimfax towers; at her belt a cultist's dagger. Even a brute such as she can imagine how this must seem. So that a name is supplied mildly enough, and:

"Perhaps the Master of the House finds himself generous this morning," she's added after it. "My business concerns an old acquaintance, and while the hour is early it is a concern which cannot much wait."
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Vanidor » Sun Jul 08, 2012 4:22 am

"The Master has been most cantankerous of late, he has. But, I shall deliver your request. Please, bring your... mount into the yard." It wasn't much of a yard, to tell the truth. But it is protected by a stout wall (not that they are overtall, but they are thick) and clean, when compared to the street beyond. In either case, the servant will close the door quietly, then step away to deliver whatever such message as he will, and some minutes will pass before a thing occurs.

Upon the second story there will be the noise of a door banging against stone, and bare feet slapping against fine wooden paneling. Hands will appear on the railing of a second story balcony and an unclothed torso will almost bend completely over in order to peer down from the heights above. A woolen towel will fall from where it was placed upon a broad, muscular shoulder. There is little mistaking the man here, though his head be covered in foam from a half finished shaving.

His features may have softened some, but there was no mistaking the gaze. And then, even less mistaking the smile that would spread across that fine face. "Ariane! Hah! And you still have that damned horse as well?" There is a turning of his head, and a bellow for Tamlen to head down and open the door for this, very, very good friend. And then a return of him, that fools grin still spread across features that have been far too sullen of late. "Tam will show you to the study, take your boots and gloves off and have some brandy. I shall be with you as soon as Lail finishes up with my scalp, and I can toss on a shirt. Come, come. There should even be some fruits, somewhat fresh from home, even!"

And then back over the railing, to return to the mornings task of shaving and preparing for the day. It would not take long for Tamlen to come back down the stairs and open the door for the woman who stood there. The look he gives her is... distinct. Perhaps incredulous. Certainly wondering. "Three months I've been with Lord al'Nerun. Only time he smiled is when he found out Lamai had her child." Nothing else, except to pull the iron-bound thing inwards and motion for her to enter. "Study is at the top of the stairs, second arch on the left. Shall I send the maids to acquire some pastries and other refreshment, or will the Master's brandy be fine?"

Still dour-faced, but at least he looks... Pleased.
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Sun Jul 08, 2012 4:44 am

The yard. It's more than she'd expected, somehow - and clearly a better place for Hrimfax than the open street, where he's liable to startle children. With a murmured thanks the swordswoman follows, dormant enough an intruder, and the warhorse will find himself some comfort here, even if he is required to rest rather than run; two weeks' confinement had sapped his nerves as well. She has just bent herself to the loosening of his bridle, has just set a soothing palm to the broad muscle of his neck, when a clatter from above summons her attention; a figure peers down, she is leaning backwards to peer up -

"Kerrak al'Nerun, I will have this damned horse until the day I die," and she's laughing then, really laughing and with a clap of her hands for the sheer sight of him. "If there are fruits I may never stop thanking you - " but then she's grinning as she waves him away upon his business, turning instead to wrestle with the beast's great saddle. There's no reason to anticipate a hasty departure, after all, and hadn't Hrimfax always rather resented the leather's weight? Better to have him free of it entirely, and this takes time enough that Tamlen returns to find her only just setting the things down.

But what a look he sets upon her; what a thing he says. It cannot quite sober her, but perhaps it slightly quietens, for of a sudden Tamlen's not alone in his wondering. Bid a swordswoman to imagine a Kerrak who does not smile, a sun which does not set; ask her which is easier to picture. Perhaps the Duke's ... distractions account for this; perhaps Lamai's very real plight. There will be no knowing this until they speak, and perhaps even then... But follow she will, and: "If there are apples, I'm grateful," she answers as she steps past - no. Pauses.

"It is - a very old acquaintance. You know? So." And it is all that she can say; the woman ducks past him then, to begin to a very careful ascent of the stairs - and find a much-needed seat, where she's arrived at where she must be.
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Vanidor » Sun Jul 08, 2012 5:08 am

She will have some short time to herself here, though a maid does indeed deliver a plate of apples, already cored and sliced, before being sprinkled with some sugar. A very light dusting of it it seemed. A moment later, another woman appears to set down another plate of the same, though this is without the dusting. As if they did not know which would be preferred, so they erred for both. The first woman would return with a silver tray, upon which a clear decanter (filled with a dark-golden brown liquor) and a trio of cups rests. The second woman slides in not long after with a pitcher of something else, though water beads along the sides. These are all set upon a short table that sits between a trio of chairs. Before they leave, the first woman dips slightly. "Our Master will be with you in but a moment, my Lady. Please, enjoy the refresments."

There are more moments that pass, until finally the man of the house steps into through the archway. Dressed now in a loose, flowing shirt of light blue and dark breeches to match. There is no weapon about his waist, though a belt does circle his torso. The clasps are there, beneath the beaten discs of silver. Arms wide, then, as into the room he steps, bare feet slapping against the worked stone. "Ah ha! I had heard rumors, even here, that there was activity at that dour place you call a home."

A few steps closer, a wide smile to match the wide arms. "I had hoped that you would have time to stop by, before the winds send you on further journeys." If the woman would allow, and if she were standing, he would place hands upon her shoulders. It is not quite a hug, he can remember a woman that... did not particularly find joy in physical contact as such, but it was what he did. How could such a joyful man be other than Kerrak al'Nerun? Who even in his madness enjoyed a laugh. "It is an everlasting joy to see you, for truth! I could kiss you, if I had no care for my face. Now then!" As if there had been no interruption in life, no change of plans or deaths between either of them.

It was at odds with the manner of his manservant, but Kerrak was always adept at secreting things away when it suited him. "If you have not broken your fast yet, please enjoy. I can have Keiri and Janessa bring in something else. Maybe some ale too, eh? There is much to talk about." And, finally, the whirlwind ends and those eyes simply stare. Nevermind the wrinkles and darkness barely hidden under the eyes.
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Sun Jul 08, 2012 6:15 am

Very necessary chairs - and three of them to choose from! And so much more besides: not one plate of apples but two, not only sliced but cored, and sprinkled with something that teases at her senses. Darkenhold should have immunised her against such luxuries - but still it all has her head turning, has a swordswoman slightly around and about upon her boot-heels as she watches the dancing to-and-fro of one woman and then the next. Grace speaks to her eyes; motion always has. But she can manage herself well enough in the center of it all, and does, with a nod to one woman and a murmured gratitude to the other, and she's just sunken into one of those chairs when a face appears at the archway which summons her right back up again.

Is this a woman who's just seen a ghost? Not really, not quite - but the grey eyes are grown so wide, and her movement so abrupt that a person could be forgiven for wondering. But not for very long, though, for her delight is as immediate as her approach, and it has lit a brightness into features ordinarily inclined to a quiet coldness. It has infected her so thoroughly that the embrace that Kerrak's resisted is the one she'll insist on instead: a tight, warm wind of her arm about his shoulders, and a body leaning back an instant later to cup a hand to his chin and look; really look. "Oh - the things I have heard. Here, there; even across oceans." These are quiet, fervent words; though the mouth keeps its crooked smile, something solemn waits in her eyes. Eyes which search. "But beyond all of that - Kerrak al'Nerun, I am glad beyond - " And there are no words for this; she's laughing over again, now. "I am glad that you are here."

It's only then that she'll step away from the man, backstep into her own space so that everyone may breathe a little more easily. "Ale - no, we save that for after; when the serious is done with, mn? There are things I would ask, things I know not how to ask - it is too much," she confesses then, so that the grin has lingered a moment yet. "I cannot think where to begin. Perhaps - you just talk, you tell me these last years, and I will bother you with questions when I hear a thing I do not understand.

You will have time for - mm. Perhaps five words?"
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Vanidor » Sun Jul 08, 2012 11:53 am

The embrace she gives, which he would not, is more than endured it is actively enjoyed. Kerrak had long been a man that enjoyed physical touch to the etheric mannerisms of the mind. Though there is some slight tension in the way that the woman searches his face, he can understand the need for scrutiny. This, oddly, was one of the first things he had done to HIMSELF when sanity had fully returned to him. Still. Here is a matching smile, and a motion to the chairs. "Just five? That would make for a poor conversation, I would think. Hah, and here already there has been more than five. Almost two dozen even." Truth to say, it was more words than he'd said in the last month.

"Please, sit then. Take your ease and enjoy my largess." This is said with a grin, that may or may not echo to something said many years past. Kerrak was a man who enjoyed many of the finer things (it showed with a slight thickening of his middle, to tell the truth), and even more, enjoyed 'spreading the wealth' as it were. And friend were the first pick for such things, without need for repayment. Here though, he hefts the clear decanter and pours two measures, sliding one towards the swordswoman, the other he leaves before the seat he will take.

"What is there to tell? You speak of time across seas of grassland and oceans of water. Past hill and dale and mountain scree. I have been... Gone, yes? Until this last winter." An answer that is fairly quick and to the point, as Kerrak hefts a piece of sugared apple and takes a bite. A few chews, then he continues on. "I would think that YOU have had many more adventures than I in that time. And have done them quietly, for the Gods know that news of your exploits have been slow to reach my ears these days." And this from a man who had once been supremely informed on the goings on of even many of the common folk in Myrken. However, there seemed to be no sadness in the comment.

"So. Why not bounce such against one another instead? It would be a good day for tale-telling. I had Tam clean out my schedule." Again, with that wry grin. How much of a schedule did a resurrected, partially disgraced, former councilor actually have?
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Sun Jul 08, 2012 2:05 pm

This was a necessary scrutiny - necessary, and almost wholly impractical; hers are not Catch's senses, which might discover madness in the scent of the man's spirit; not an architect's eyes, which might discern death in the lay of his skin's very pores. It had been necessary to search for the man's manner - which she has known so well, and for so long. More importantly, it had been essential to assure herself of his very real, very physical presence: whole, healthy, tangible. "But Kerrak," she's smiled after it, "I've always been good at very bad conversation."

It's a smile which widens when he alludes to other times, older times. This woman with her mind for patterns and symbol, she cannot quite help the associations it makes - so that the General, say, had always been well-tooled leathers and vivid greens; the architect is russet tones and shadows. And Kerrak al'Nerun will always be a single room not far from cursed Orvere - a smiling face in a desperate moment - but he is rich colour as well, he is fine fabrics and wine of surprising quality. So that his home had not surprised her, and that he mentions largess can only widen her smile.

"What is there to say," she begins slowly, "but that Kerrak al'Nerun, I have missed you." And there is a weight to the word; it is how the spirit finally exhales, and there comes an instant after it in which she must slightly turn her head, must let the dark hair curtain features over which she'd lost any semblance of control -

There. It passes. And there are eyes for his again, and a sliver of apple for her lips before: "Of this I am glad; I had not meant to be spoken of." Had sometimes worn her own name; had very frequently not, for all that it hadn't kept an assassin from her throat not two weeks ago. "And what I did was - very quiet, I think. Very ordinary. And for you, Kerrak - I heard that you were... gone." She cannot, will not, say the word. "It was not until I returned that I learned differently - and even then, only pieces of it. A place with the government, other things; I have been given," small, wry smile, "a many pieces of paper speaking some of these things. I've read only a very few."
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Vanidor » Sun Jul 08, 2012 2:29 pm

"Mmh. Pieces of paper can be full of lies, no matter how well the intentions of the giver. This is a thing I have... Had learned over the years. Search them out for the nuggets though, and there will be the prize." Another bite of this slice of his, the cup raised to lips in order to savour the joint flavours of brandy and fruit together. He sighs a bit, closing his eyes in the process. When next he speaks, it is thusly.

"You are right in understanding of my departure. I only remember it in flashes, however. There is hate. Anger. Fire. Most of all there is darkness and ill dreams. In the end, I can remember that it was Coran that saved me. And the province, like as not. There is a spot by the lakeside even. Where rock is burnt and nothing will grow. I am told that is where we dueled." Though not where he died. That was in the tavern, as odd as that was. A Cup of Mercy.

"There has been little else, though. It seems that most of the populace has forgotten, or at least has decided to forget. There is no tossing of rotten fruit or vegetation. No heckling cries. I am surprised that the Kingsman here in town has not come knocking on my door... Not that I would let him take me, but still." Here, eyes are opened and the woman is peered at for another moment. There is a small laugh.

"For truth, I would much rather be left alone. But your Burnie? He is a devious sort, with his words and promises. A good man, I think." And a man who knew too many secrets. Even a few of his own. "And crafty. He reminds me of Burel, when first he stepped into office. With just as much bloodshed, come to think of it." Myrken being Myrken, after all. "A place on the council, after a fashion. A leash. And two pretty young women as leash holders."

He laughs with this. He wondered how Agnieszka and Renea would take to that description. "All in all. It suffices. They leave me alone, and generally keep me from... Being More of Myself than I should be, which I can understand." There is another pause here, another sip of amber liquor. "I told Agnieszka that she could finish me, if it came to it. She seemed to find the thought distasteful though." There is a grin, even for such grim news. After dying, there was little that truly made the man dour, at least when it came to death and the surrounding issues.

"There is the story. At least the short-notes of it."
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Sun Jul 08, 2012 3:24 pm

"These pieces of paper are full of words, written in four different hands - of which at least one cannot spell, or else I cannot read," and she can laugh about it then as if it's not an irritation, and even as if it's not true. "But it is as you say, mn? These things they write are opinions, and they are useful - but not if I want nothing but truth. Still, they have told me some things; the names of your two pretty women, for instance." Lingering amusement, and this is when she'll lift her own cup, sip testingly at its brandy. "Agnieszka. And Renea Sund - " Ah! It eludes her, a word so unfamiliar that she'd skipped over it more often than not. "Sundering. Or something like it, mn? And you say this thing, Kerrak - an appointment that is a leash, and I wonder at it; I cannot imagine that it could hold you, that you would allow it for long. But then I remember the feel of it."

Bea Kanaya. The collar upon her throat and the restraint upon her inclinations, wielded so deftly by then-Governor Calomel - long ago, when it had been necessary, and for months afterwards, when it was not. That has changed in recent times, and perhaps it had taken a years-long absence to effect that change...

But this she'll set aside with a shake of her head; there are more important things. This tale of fire and wrath, which has her quietly sobered; this description of a duel -

"Of this I knew: that you battled, you and he; that it was Coran, that it could be no-one else." For who else could understand the quality of that madness, what other man might hope to contain it? "I heard - very little; only that it was done and that the outcome was certain. None offered more detail than that, and I - you understand; I did not seek for it." Cowardice, the eyes confess; simple grief. "I have said it before, that I despise that magicking, that talent, because it is cruel." The filth that festers within the glory. "But I had hoped never to see its cruelty - demonstrated."

Terrible words. Spoken by a swordswoman who abhors their necessity, and drinks a little more deeply from the glass when she lifts it next. "Our new Governor - is he good to you?" And it is a significant question, but it is also a series of words to fill the space during which she considers what he'd said - odd thing that it was. Glenn Burnie. Alike to Burel. The idea quietly, swiftly fascinates.
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Vanidor » Sun Jul 08, 2012 4:01 pm

"It was something that needed to be done, and he was the best for it. I do not begrudge him that. And yes, it is like a leash. But one that is not so tightly held at that. But it is enough to know that it is there, and so I keep myself... Stable." A rock of shoulders at this and the cup is set down upon the tabletop. Back into his chair he sits, making the simple leather thing seem like a throne. One amidst three at that.

"Sunstride. Sundance. It is something like that. I know I should know better, but alas. It is enough that I know of her, and approve. And of Agnieszka for that matter, if she can control her temper. The two of them are a match, that is for sure. Like two cats tossed into a bag, and then tossing a bucket of water o're the bag." There is another laugh, as this is a particularly amusing image to Kerrak. And rather on point, if he were to say so.

"Burnie? He is good enough. He knows how to ask the proper questions and how to... How do you say. Prioritize things. And how to find those he needs to fill the niches he does not have experience in. That is what I have seen and heard of lately. He makes a fine enough governor. There is good... vision to him. But intentions, my friend. The way to Hél is paved with the best of them. I just hope his path can continue as cleanly as is possible." There was no ire here in this, just a wish and a hope.

"Sometimes being on a leash can bring freedom as well, Ariane. At least I know what I will be doing tomorrow, and the day after."
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Mon Oct 15, 2012 2:07 am

Sunstride. Sundance. Solnyshko, and this is a thing she has slowly learned to enjoy: the trading of words back and forth between one language and the next, and nevermind that it's not actually contributed anything much to her grasp of either. Pyatidesyatnik Solnyshko. It suits. It is even grand. And she is smiling against the cup's edge as her friend speaks, but then she'd been smiling since first she'd set eyes upon the man and he's said little that could change this. Not even the description of that - departure, and its means.

He sits here now, after all. He makes a throne of that chair, fills glasses with brandy and the room with the scent of fresh fruit; he breathes large and energetic life into every corner of this place, and perhaps into her own threadbare spirits as well, so that a woman who'd come here with a fatalist's expectations of the worst has felt her lungs recall how to breathe, and to love the sensation of it. Duels. Deaths. No. Let the past weep for the passed. She will concern herself with what lives - right here.

"Mm. I could not do this; my throat has not found the collar it can comfortably wear," and there is a quiet, fierce amusement lit in the pale of her eyes; this was only a thing which both of them already knew. "But if it is good to you then so be it. I recall the need. It was Coran himself who asked such a thing of me - a very long ago. That if it grew too large within him, mn? If it were to overcome, that I would - " How does one speak the words? " - subdue it." Simply. Because this, too, is understood between them. "So." And with a shake of the head, a lift of fingers from her glass, she is already redirecting them from old hurts, old cautions; things which sting.

"I am full of questions. Too many, perhaps. I do not have our Glenn Burnie's talent for mm - prioritize. So I begin with the most important - which is you - but then? I wonder where to begin." It is a confession; an apology; very much the sort of thing that she will permit in this room - with this company - and hardly anywhere else at all. "I wonder at how it goes with young Agnieszka, and it is you I ask of this because - trouble between she and I, yes? Long ago. I do not wish to pain at old wounds. I wonder at this thing you say, also - of your Governor and Burel. And there is another thing - a visitor to my home, and I must ask you of this but it will wait a moment yet."

It must.
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Re: We Were Never Assassins.

Postby Vanidor » Mon Oct 22, 2012 1:06 pm

"T'cha. I never did say that I was COMFORTABLE with the leash. But it is... It is necessary for the time being. This Glenn of yours, hah, and of mine I guess, he is no fan of magic that I can understand. Perhaps less so than even you? Though he utilises it when the need is there. I figure that this is why he keeps me around. It could be worse though, yes?" Kerrak took long enough to swallow another mouthful of brandy, the last in the cup it seemed. A slight snort and then the man would lean forward in his chair. He DID make it seem like a throne, didn't he. Even barefooted as he was.

Still. This forward motion has him placing hands against the knees. "But, here we are, saying the same things, hmn?" And that grin again, as he then reaches for the decanter for another small dram of liquor. "You question me about Agnieszka, yes? She is what is has become. And I am almost sorry for it." The liquid is poured and the decanter set back down. He remains in this forward posture, one hand holding the cup and the other still at the knee.

"I do not claim to know the whole of it, but she went west after... After it all. Can I claim her as a protege? That would make it two that I did not do right by, if I can. Her and Aeryn each, yes? A sad loss that one, and to think that they will not allow me access to his hunt." He pauses once more, lips press against one another. "T'chaa. I am rambling. Our Agnieszka has become the woman she has become, probably because neither of us were there to properly guide her." It is a conceit to think this way, perhaps, but there it was.

"I only wish for the best for her..." The pause here is short once again, as if his mind was picking up on something else entirely opposite the conversation at hand. "I am thinking of opening a school here. To teach the sword, as it was taught to me. What do you think?"
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