The new day was dawning, misty and crisp, as Jeran - at last - came in sight of Caemlyn. He could not say what it was tht had compelled him to travel on through the night rather than stopping for respite; it had just felt ... necessary.

 

Sighing, Jeran sat gently on the grass, tugging off his boots to allow the cool morning dew to soothe his aching feet. Inhaling the aromas of the breaking day, Jeran took stock of the sights around him. Caemlyn would be the first city he would enter on his travels and, if he was honest with himself, he was feeling more than a little apprehensive.

 

Beside him, a young tree, barely more than a few years old, had been recently cracked along the length of one of its branches. Gently taking the wound in his hand, Jeran Sang to the tree of healing and wholeness. He ran his hand along the length of the split and the rumble of his Song faded to reveal a a smooth branch, as the Creator had intended. It had been a quick Song, to be sure, but he breathed heavily as he finished; the exhaustion of his journey through the night had sapped his strength.

 

Pulling his boots back on, Jeran prepared himself for bustle that the city ahead would hold in store. Resolutely, he headed onwards, composing his mind as he went. His arrival at the gate was timed just after they opened and he finally stood beneath the archway of the gate, ears twitching in uncertainty, a Guardsman staring at him.

 

"Good morning, sir." Jeran's voice was deep and seemed to startle the Guardsman even further. "I have heard rumours on the road that there may be Ogier staying in the city. Do you know where I can find them by any chance?"

"I believe there are Ogier staying at The Howling Monkey, an inn, good Ogier." The Guardsman pointed into the city and gave Jeran directions.

 

Nodding his thanks, Jeran proceeded into the city, eyes glancing about warily. It seems the tales may be exagerated. This place looks less busy than I had feared.

 

It took Jeran a few moments to find the inn that the Guardsman had described and, in finding the inn, he also found the inevitable bustle he had been concerned off. What surprised him even more, was the form that bustle took: it was the Ogier he had been searching for and their party!

 

ooc: Oooo this guy needs some RPing to pollish him off, he's a bit rusty at the mo! :D

OOC: Sorry it took me so long to get a post out, y'know yesterday... was yesterday. :P

 

And so Tyosh made haste to his destination, The Light’s Abode. He had no idea where it was, but he was hoping he’d find it quickly. He wanted to break into a run, but he was afraid he might miss the Inn altogether if he did. He had absolutely no indication of the bloody thing at all, it was close by and all but by the Light couldn’t the young man just give him some directions and maybe a description of the bloody place? This hurrying around a city he’d only been in for a day was anything but pleasant.

 

But besides being utterly lost, there was another problem he had noticed, everyone seemed to notice him as well. There were all types of stares towards his person, there were people that openly stared at the blood stained coat he held tightly in his right hand. The boy Warder couldn’t have just given him a nice little note instead of a coat that screamed violence and gore. People seemed to be afraid of him because it. Light! They must think I was the one who bloodied it and am keeping it as some crazy trophy. As long as the watch didn’t apprehend him, which was another good reason to hurry before they did, he didn’t really mind the fear, for one thing it kept the pesky peddlers away.

 

But there were other stares, dark stares, stares that would’ve killed if they could him into a lonely alley. Whoever the two had attacked last night had friends, lots of friends. He was an alright fighter, but against 3 or 4 darkfriends he’d surely fall and that was the last thing he wanted right now. So he kept to open and crowded streets and avoided asking for directions altogether, you never knew if there was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, like his uncle used to say.

 

He wanted to get out of Caemlyn as fast as he could but it was as if this bloody inn didn’t even exist. Dilora’s night companion didn’t seem like much of a liar, but Tyosh all the stares and being lost was getting to him. Oh bloody hell that’s it I’ll have to go back to our inn and get indications, if we stay much longer here I fear for what’ll happen.

 

This time he did dash, seeing as how he wouldn’t have found the- and as if the Creator had been playing a practical joke on him, there appeared The Light’s Abode in all its glory.

 

He speedily entered without taking care of how many people he pushed out of his way. Inside he quickly scanned the room with the same precision, he’d use for hunting white rabbits in the snow. And there she was, the tall woman carrying a mohawk, Rosheen Tahn Sakhr. She sat at a table apparently waiting for someone, maybe the owner of the cloak?

 

“Excuse me, Rosheen? I’m here to deliver a message”, he handed Rosheen the stained cloak, at this point Tyosh began to worry, the woman seemed capable of protecting herself and there was no real guarantee that Tyosh hadn’t just beaten the lad and taken his cloak and was now leading Rosheen into an ambush, he just prayed silently that she knew it had nothing to do with that and kept on delivering his message.

 

“Him and my companions are going to wait for us on the outskirts of Caemlyn, so we should really be going as soon as possible, there might be people around who wouldn’t appreciate us staying.” At this last part he gave her a suggestive glance at the enemies her friend would have to face upon staying in Caemlyn much longer, and not only him, but Forge, Dilora, Thorfinn and even himself.

OOC - Just doing the meeting and greeting while we're waiting for Rosheen to come back :)

 

~Dilora~

 

What a mismatched crew they were. Surveying her friends gathered in the common room, waiting for Tyosh’s return with the Rosheen woman, Dilora couldn’t help but make an entry in her journal. Her pen flew across the page, her neat handwriting making descriptions of those present. She felt oddly peaceful in spite of the pressing urgency of their situation. Nerome, the poor soul she had accompanied into that Darkfriend’s den, was drinking brandy from a tin cup, dabbing some of the spirit onto a nasty gash and wincing with the pain. Forge, the Ogier, was sat honing the blade of one of his wicked looking axes with a stone that looked tiny in his huge hands, but would have been difficult for Dilora to pick up, let alone wield as daintily as he did. Thorfinn, the hunter wearing the same clothes he had done the night before, had his packs assembled and ready, along with the soap she had asked him to find as well as other items they could trade en route to Tar Valon. Tyosh, she knew, would come back with that cheeky look on his face above that Saldaean beard and, if he weren’t suffering from too much of a morning-after head, he’d make jokes at Dilora’s expense most likely. She wondered what this Rosheen woman was like though. To hear talk of it, she was a fierce warrior and had a good deal of renown – would she tolerate a small party of an odd nature? In any case, Dilora continued to write. She wrote down the events of how she had gone out for a walk, early in the morning to clear her head and had come across a man she took for a thief trying to break into a house. The man had happened to be Nerome, in training to serve the White Tower as a Warder, and the people inside the house had been friends of the Dark and pledged to serve the Dark One. They were also responsible for the deaths of some of Nerome’s friends, so Dilora could see why the chap wanted to get some revenge. They had gone inside and things had not gone according to plan – they had managed to knock a couple of them out and then blades had been drawn. Cuts, scrapes, a few puncture wounds here and there, and Dilora and Nerome running down the street as though chased by the Dark One Himself. The Darkfriends had pursued them, and the pair had retreated to the inn to gather their belongs and try to lose them on the road, and that’s where they waited now, for Tyosh to return so they could leave.

 

If only she could sketch! It would be good to augment the journal she kept with pictures, so that if she ever found someone that was interested in copying it to sell to people, they would have pictures to look at. And her memories would be recorded forever, timelessly. She exchanged a grin with Forge, who returned it with a smile that split his face and lit his eyes up like evening time on a feast day in Ebou Dar. She broke eye contact with those saucer-shaped eyes and found that they immediately latched on to another pair of startlingly large eyes. It was surprising that Dilora had encountered one Ogier in the form of the twelve foot tall Forge, and yet it was felicitous in the extreme that her gaze now held that of another. Ignoring the painful cut in her own arm, Dilora rose and went over to the Ogier, feeling impossibly small in a roomful of giants.

 

“Greetings, Alantin, the Light shine on you this day.” The smile that she wore on her face was one of genuine warmth and happiness – it was always nice to meet the brothers to the trees. Strange to find two in the same place, but the Wheel did weave as it willed, and it had obviously woven their threads in the pattern together for a reason. Who was Dilora to contest that? “My name is Dilora Fashelle, and I am a peddler travelling these parts – lately with haste, I have to say, but we are bound for Tar Valon. There is not a sight like it, the Shining Walls as the sun hits them first thing in the morning, you know? What brings you to these parts, friend Ogier?”

The negotiations had gone as well as Rosheen could have hoped, meaning she only paid twice the price of what the merchandise was worth, but at least she had it now. Detailed lists with names and job descriptions and links to other people. The big picture. Lyanna would appreciate having it. Besides, her own personal treasury could deal with the costs. Somehow Rosheen didn’t think the money came directly from Lyanna though. This was Tower business, or at least something that the Tower wanted to make it’s business. Rosheen didn’t particularly care about the reason why the names were important. She only dealt with the aftermath of it, and in this case with some of the dealings that happened before the Tower got involved.

 

Now she was waiting. Time slid by, slipping to her fingers, second after second, minute after minute. She’d sent a girl to find Nerome, but Nerome hadn’t been there. She’d sent the dirty murandian to go look for her trainee outside, but he hadn’t been there either. She’d wandered a couple of blocks herself, and Nerome hadn’t been on her path. That was worrying. She had thought that the boy had enough sense by now to make sure that he didn’t wander all by himself, at least not without letting her know where he was. So she waited, sitting by the fire with a mug of ale and a scowl to keep the crowd away. Once she got her hands on that boy, he’d be in trouble, that much was sure.

 

Her eyes fell on a man, carrying something familiar. She’d seen in on Nerome’s so many times that to her it had almost become a part of the boy. And yet here it was, without the boy attached to it. As the man approached her, she noticed that the cloak was bloodied. Her hand tightened around her mug. Explanations first, beatings later. Her breathing slowed just a bit as she tried to keep herself calm. She took the cloak out of his hands, and listened to his explanation. It was weak, but he was shaking in his boots. Rosheen decided to believe him, for now at least. If he turned out to be a liar, she could deal with him later.

 

“Can you ride?” she suddenly realised that those were the first words she’d said to the man. “Nerome came by horse, and I think that eventually, he’ll have to leave by horse as well.” She got up and tossed the barkeep a few coins. More than she owed, but she wasn’t just paying for the ale here. She was paying for his discretion. “Follow me then.” They went out the back way, where her own stallion and Nerome’s horse were stabled. Minutes later they were on their way, riding through the city. “So tell me more about this trouble that my trainee is in. And tell me a little about yourself, while you’re at it. I wouldn’t mind knowing who I’m riding with.”

 

~Rosheen Than Sahkr

Blademaster

Forge sat silently through the boy’s tale. He had traveled long enough around these humans to not be surprised at their capacity for violence and pain, even hurting their own children as often as not, but it still saddened him. Perhaps the next turning of the Wheel would send a happier place for them to live in. The Light send it would.

 

Forge also understood the lad’s insatiable thirst for revenge, but the giant Ogier had long since learned the folly of such thinking. Killing for revenge was much like drinking the nectar of honeysuckle blossoms. It tastes sweet on the lips but does little to fill the hole in your stomach. But Nerome seemed like a good boy, and it was likely that he would learn his lesson soon enough.

 

After the boy’s rasping recount of his past came to a conclusion and Dilora began taking charge of the situation, Forge rummaged through his pack and pulled out his whetstone. He needed time to think. He didn’t want to be hasty.

 

Soon the gentle, soothing rhythmic whick whick of stone on steel allowed his mind to relax as he sought his way through the brambles of life in the human world. Of course, his axe had no need whatsoever for sharpening. The Aes Sedai-wrought metal from Ages gone by would never lose its razor edge, no matter if he split stone with it. In fact, all he was doing was wearing down a good whet rock, but the simple task helped him concentrate.

 

Perfectly balanced, the battle axe had an exquisitely crafted head inset with flowing leafwork, mounted on a sung wood haft about seven feet long that appeared to have grown into the head rather than been shaped. The haft had a slight curve to it and widened slightly at the base as if grown to fit perfectly in his hand and was covered in flowing leafwork as beautiful as the head. It was as much a work of art as craftsmanship. The other, still lying alongside his pack, was its twin.

 

Sometimes he hated the bloody things.

 

As he moved the blade expertly up and down the stone, with the practiced rote made possible only by years of familiarity, the giant Ogier’s thoughts drifted away from the inn’s common room and back into his past, his hand unconsciously rubbing the words etched into the haft in Ogier script… Though the burden is heavy, the work must be done. Have a care, for Death now rides on your shoulder… this wasn’t his first encounter with Darkfriends.

 

His nose, broad as his face, wrinkled at the smell of death. The Shienaran soldiers weren’t the only ones who muttered prayers under their breath to the Creator. The mutilated bodies were staked out in gruesomely obscene poses, illustrating to all who witnessed it the perverse pleasures the Darkfriends took in serving their master. Not even the children were spared. Their tiny bodies were a grim testament to why their could never be truce or barter with the Shadow. Surprisingly, their were no partially eaten corpses. That meant there were no Trollocs to follow, only humans and possibly a Fade or two. In a way, that made their job even more difficult. The Ogier’s grim thoughts already siphoned away the emotion of the tragedy, although his ears were laid back flat against his head, unconsciously displaying his cold anger to any who cared to look. There was work to be done, no matter how heavy the load, and this was a task that must be finished.

 

In the Borderlands, the Shadow was not something of story tales and drunken curses. No, it was the bitter reality of burning villages and the screams of terror as the innocent were eaten alive. Many here, overcome by the bleak loss of hope in the face of such dread, embraced the Dark and succumbed to its vile pleasures. His job, and the soldiers with him, was to prune the Borderlands of such vile undergrowth and their wicked fruits. He was good at his job.

 

They had caught up with the Darkfriends only a few miles away. The Light-traitors had been consumed with the desire for pleasures of the flesh and felt safe enough here on the edge of the Blight to engage in more traditional methods of terror and pillage. Their drunken laughter provided stark counterpoint to the screaming of the women and young boys being raped. Of course, the noisy debauchery meant it was easy for Forge and the Shienarans to approach unnoticed.

 

They didn’t remain unnoticed for long.

 

Soon the screams came from the throats of the predators-turned-prey. It was still a mystery to him why, as steel pierced flesh, so many Darkfriends called out for mercy to the Light. He bitterly joked that surely Death’s Dark embrace held no unwelcome surprises for its “champions.” No matter how hard he tried, he could never pretend that the sickening crunch of his blades cutting through bone was just like cutting through tree limbs. They both needed pruning, though, so he did his work well.

 

The Darkfriends had proven no match, the band of soldiers hadn’t lost a single man, except that there had indeed been two Fades. One fell to his axes, the other pin-cushioned with Shienaran arrows, but not before doing there damage.

 

He would forever be unsure if the surviving women the two Shadowspawn had been “enjoying” were better off living.

 

Thoughts of the innocent turned his mind back to Little Bee. He grinned at the vivacious little woman whose smile could light up a room. I hope you never have to see anything like that. Only, you’re not afraid of anything, are you? Maybe you can help make the world a better place, a little at a time. One where Ogier and humans don‘t have to be mixed up in such violence.

 

“Greetings, Alantin, the Light shine on you this day.”

 

Dilora’s words snapped Forge back to reality. Looking to the door, his saucer-sized eyes grew even larger with joy. Another Ogier!

 

Forge

Dilora

Jeran looked with curiosity at the peddler. The respect in her voice was clear, but what really attracted his attention was an air of something about her. After a brief second or two, He decided that he had neither the skill nor the talent to put his finger on what it was.

 

Inclining his head politely, Jeran introduced himself. "I am Jeran, son of Kailan, son of Hariv. I have travelled far, following rumours that an Ogier was on the road ahead of me and now I see that it is so. Are you perhaps travelling with him?" Suddenly his eyes widened with disbelief and he strode over to the other Ogier, who had noticed him in the doorway. "Forge?! Is that you?! Light! I had heard that the Ogier I was following was large, but I took that to be human silliness!" Jeran pulled Forge to his feet and wrapped his arms around him in a rough embrace, or as rough as an Ogier only just taller than a man could manage!

 

Ears twitching in embarrassment at such a public display of emotion, Jeran pulled away from his friend and turned back to Dilora. "My apologies, but I have not seen Forge for a great while. I'm sure you can understand the shock of seeing him here, of all places."

So here Tyosh was riding down the streets on a strange horse, in a strange city accompanied a strange woman with a mohawk. He definitely hadn’t woken up yesterday thinking he’d be escorting a lady who probably saw him as a runt she could run through with ease and judging by the look of how she handled herself, Tyosh guessed she almost certainly could, while taking minimal damage. Not to mention the fact that he was being awaited at an inn by a 12ft ogier, two apparent darkfriend slayers and a man who might be able to split a hair with his bow. Today definitely was a day where interesting threads in the pattern were crossing.

 

And so they rode on, the sound of the hooves on the road was actually soothing and the brisk cool morning air mixed with the curative properties of the willowbark made his head as clear as tranquil pond. In fact, he was pleased he got to retrieve Rosheen. He hadn’t been able to see the sights of Caemlyn, what with the drinking with Dilora and Thorfinn. Having been lost and running around in circles, he’d really gotten a feel for the city, he planned on coming back someday, maybe even visiting the infamous Inner City.

 

Besides seeming as dangerous as a pack of lit fireworks, Rosheen appeared a nice enough person. Someone who showed concern for their trainee couldn’t be all that bad and knowing a little something about someone you were traveling with was just common sense. Tyosh decided he liked this person and was glad to be traveling with the weapon named Rosheen.

 

“In reality, I don’t know the finer points of the problem with Nerome. All I know is that this morning, he and a companion of mine named Dilora, arrived at the inn after fighting darkfriends covered in blood and making preparations for a quick journey back up to Tar Valon.”, narrated Tyosh. She listened and took everything in stride with no apparent change in demeanor. He realized it wasn’t much of a story really and that as soon as he got back everyone had some ‘splaining to do! Tyosh went right on speaking,“And myself? Well, there’s not much to say. I’m an herbalist and a hunter who travels around trying to make a living. Besides that, there’s not much to say, let’s listen to your story. I’m sure yours is a tale worth listening to”

~Thorfinn~

 

Thorfinn had been listening to Nerome's story and felt bit of simpathy for the lad. H ehoped that the man he had been after died a painful long death. He puffed a large ring of smoke out of his mouth and puffed away on his pipe.

At least we don't need another horse, the Light knows where i would of found one.

Things were hetting a bit quite, the rythmic noise of Forge sharpening his beutifully crafted axe.

No way could i habdle such a thing, at least i wouldn't have the problem of striking my self, that huge shaft would strike the ground before it hit me.

He puffed anouther ring and nearly choked when he saw a second Ogier in the door way. Dilora welcomed him as if it weren't anything unusal.

By the Light this is spicing up now two Ogier, this would only happen in a city, the sooner we're out of here the better. I just can't beleave people saty in such a weird place, I won't be back here for a long time. Nothing like this would happen in Emond's Feild or Watch Hill.

With that he stood up and made his way through the kitchen, on his way to the stables when he heard raised voices.

'Who's horses are these boy? Tell me soon or i'll run you through.'

All Thorfinn could here was the poor boy whimpering. Before he entered the stable he had a broad headed arrow noched and when he pushed the door open with his boot he saw the yung stable boy pinned to the wall by the arm of one of the gentle men he had saw in the street in the morning. The Shadowspawn had a knife to the boys throat.

Thorfinn drew the string to his check and waited. As the the boys eyes widened at the sight of Thorfinn the man turned his head round and in the same motion the knife left the boys throat a fraction.

The arrow was loosed and it hit it's mark the mans eye and out the back of his skull, the body folded up like cloth on the hay covered floor not evn moving the knife still in his hand.

The boy hit the floor hard rubbing his throuat weeping.

'You okay lad? Did you telll him anything?' The boy shook his head whilst staring at the floor.

' Go into the common room and tell Lady Dilora that we've had company in the stables and that I'll be here.'

The boy hurried off and Thorfinn nocked a second arrow......

"STOP!! THEIF!!"

 

 

 

Like bloody likely I am... this time... She cursed as she dodges easily past a few merchants, common folks and even a few smaller children as she escaped away from the calls of the soldiers that struggled to keep up with her.

 

It was not the first time that she was busy dodging people to escape arrest. Only difference is that in the years past she had grown smarter about it. Only this time they decided to point at a random person and blame them for the crime. Unlucky for her it was her. Unlucky for them that it was her. The bloody fools won't know what hit them!!

 

Ducking into a tavern on the outskirts, she casualy walked to the bar and took a seat, ordering a warmed mead, winking at the maid, and settled in her seat as she saw the guards run past the window yelling. Stupid guards.

 

She made small notes of her surroundings and sipped her mead with a small smile. her life was never boring. For that she would drink to.

 

 

 

Beatrice

Thieving Writer

 

Ooc: Not really sure where everyone is. If your in the tavern bar or whatever, i plan to start a bar fight when the guard find her. *grins* It will be a ploy to escape. Of course, recognizing Dilora, she' will say hi. :) Hope that works okay....

Distractions were easy to find in a busy inn, and at this moment, Nerome wasn't sure just which distraction he should attend to first. After all, there were important matters at hand. Like running away. Or not getting killed by Darkfriends. Or even not being clobbered by his Mentor. She would be arriving soon, he realized with a cringe. A bloody cloak hadn't been the smartest thing to send, but Nerome had a tendency to turn quite dumb in tense situations, so he decided firmly that he had to store worrying away for those few seconds before she made her way into the room. Opening his mouth, Nerome started as if to reply to Forge, only to be cut short yet again by one of those much loved...distractions. Turning to where the noise was coming from, Nerome found himself staring at a rather familiar sight- a brawl. What really made him stare though, was the person who seemed to be the cause of the huge mess. Dark brown hair streaked with gold, big liquidy brown eyes...and a small red mouth out of which were currently leaping the most interesting things. She was Cairhienin, he realized, trying not to laugh. Was it a coincidence that it was another of his nation that stirred trouble?

 

Distracted by the Ogier greeting each other as though old friends, Dilora barely registered the commotion. A woman, a figment of her past, a memory she could not forget bounded into their common room, her hair spread all over her face and a wild look about her. Oh, Light, Bea, what have you gotten yourself into this time? She had the same mouth on her as she’d had back then – volatile and slightly petulant, but the look suited her. What under the Light was she doing in Caemlyn though?

 

For a few moments he simply watched the scene unfold before him. She was fierce, he realized. Small, but then, in comparison with a lot of men his own age, so was he. Turning to Dilora to comment, he found her doing the same thing he had been, except her expressions were a little different. She seemed puzzled. Why in the name of Light was the woman puzzled? Looking from one to the other, Nerome shrugged. Peddlers had their fair share of contacts after all, and considering the manner in which Dilora had suddenly walked into his life, he would not be surprised if she'd done the same with others. Her little..clique? travelling folk? Her friends were rather unique, after all. Ogier who threw him against the wall, men who knew herb lore as if it had been the very reason they had been born to see the Light. A young Cairhienin woman who indulged in brawls almost suited the whole thing. "Do you know her?"

 

“Know her?” Dilora smiled at the memory, the hands that had tried to steal her purse, the way her eyes had portrayed incredible innocence and then the way she had run, autumn hair bouncing behind her … No, Dilora was unlikely to forget this one in a hurry. “Oh, I know her all right.” She wouldn’t go into details now. From the looks of it there was not really enough time, not given as a slight young stable lad with a harried expression on his face ran in through a side door and cast his gaze around for someone. And then that gaze landed on Dilora, and he ran over to her gratefully.

 

“Miss! Miss! There’s a man in the stables says that Darkfriends are in there with him!” No wonder the boy looked scared. He was barely fifteen, unless she missed her guess, and none too eager to be caught up in matters that were out of his league. He’s a smart lad. Most his age would try to fight them himself, but no, he has common sense enough to stay out of things that could be dangerous. That had to be Thorfinn, he was the only one not to have remained in the common room.

 

Women often spoke in a mysterious language according to Nerome, but Dilora seemed a little different. Eyes far away, a little smile playing on her lips...insanely enough the image of another woman popped into his head. Rossa Venye, sitting amongst books and shelves. There were few women who reminded Nerome less of Rossa, but here he was, fascinated by how deeprooted memories of the past could be. However, this memory seemed to have been brought back to life. Looking from one woman to another, it was more with exasperation than surprise that he watched the boy run in, wide eyed and pale. It was only when the words left the boy's mouth that Nerome snapped out of his mood. Everything goes, indeed. Fear clawed at him, scraping and laughing as he thought of the men he had killed. He had already had Darkfriends on his tail once. Now they would come seeking revenge. Tit for tat. Blood for blood.

 

“We need to get out of here, Dilora.” he said in a low voice, his tone urgent and his face transparent. “They’ve already found us, and more will come once they realize the others are taking too long.” Nodding towards the brawl and the girl who was still struggling through it, he gestured at her before continuing. “Looks like she needs some help. I say we finish this, because noise is going to attract them here like bees to honey. What do you think?”

 

"I say this: Let's do it." Dilora snatched the nearest object to hand, a table leg that had splintered off in some long forgotten bar fight, and with a last look over her shoulder, she ran past the woman into the fray. It was almost as tall as she was, and when compared to her stood at almost waist height and had a round turned top to it that looked like some regal sceptre made of dark carved wood. It served admirably for the intention Dilora wanted: that of a stout cudgel.

 

Her dark hair bounded behind her, leaving Nerome standing momentarily with mild shock most likely registering on his pale features. He probably thought that all women were mild and meek, apart from the Aes Sedai who were all fierce as hawks or something. At least, that was what Dilora had heard tell from every village council on the other side of the Tarendrelle. Having met a few Aes Sedai in her time roaming the countryside, Dilora knew that the women of the White Tower were as infinite and varied as herbs in a garden. Some looked pretty; some were powerful, and some just got right up your nose. But they were useful. Footsteps behind her indicated that Nerome was catching her up and the other woman was whirling to see what the commotion was about. She dared not risk a look over her shoulder; the doorway loomed large ahead of her and, oddly shaped table-leg held above her head ready to swing, Dilora stepped through.

 

Amused by her sudden energy, it was a smirking lad who shifted his gaze from the remaining wooden leg to the brawl further ahead. Some day perhaps, when he was old and had weak eyesight, he would write a book about this. It would certainly be a remarkable story, names changed or not. And it isn’t even over as yet, Nerome thought with a smile. Picking up the wooden leg that sat covered in dust, Nerome joint the brawl with something a little too close to happiness for a man who was being hunted down by Darkfriends. Oh well, thus ended the days of him being considered smart.

 

Still, the pressure that they could get to him was there when they descended about the girl and the people around her, clubbing their way through. Heated swearing and even a few blows in return, it was going to be difficult to get her out, he realized. That worried him slightly. They didn’t have enough time! At the best, the Darkfriends wouldn’t attack outright at an inn, but hiding in an inn was certainly not a good idea. Raising his club-like weapon once more, Nerome wondered how he managed to get himself into such things.

 

Nerome Seshir

Dilora Fashell

 

OOC: That's your cue Arie. :) *hugs*

Ooc: I should have put part of this into my last post, oh well.. :)

 

If you love me, then let go of me.

I won't be held down by who I used to be.

She's nothing to me.

 

Freefall, freefall, all through life

 

IC:

 

It was about halfway through her ale that her luck turned. Not nearly enough time to enjoy the drink, but enough time to make a quick plan of escape. Until she saw a smaller party head towards the back blocking her only exit. Beatrice was overall unimpressed as she skimmed over the inn, counting numbers and the smaller parties. If a brawl was to start, it would be much easier to get out either of the doors before the guards were to find her. However, if she was caught, ti would mean paying for any of the damages. She doubted her golden patron would be willing to fork over for expenses that could easily have been avoided.

 

Avoided? it wasn't even my light blinded fault! She thought out-loud into her Ale that she promptly drowned the mug, put a coin down and got anouther, smiling coyly at the waiting wench (who she decided wirily was very cute), and gave the girl a sheepish wink as she then tossed the drink behind her as far as it could go. Holding up her hand for anouther the girls shocked look had Beatrice grinning. So very cute. Blowing her a kiss, she turned to the masses.

 

HEY! - Resounding over various parts of the inn as splatters of Ale coated over various patrons, just as her perusers walked into the Tavern. It took only a matter of seconds as time slowed but a little as the room and voices echoed endlessly around her. Looking over to the City Guards as their looks registered shock. Grinning at them, she gave them a one finger salute while sticking her tongue out at them, and jumped off her stool kicking over the nearest table with surprisingly little effort shouting, FIGHT-!!.

 

Shouts and Chaos occurred within seconds of her flying ale and table tossing as she leaned over and sucker punched a rising occupant, ducking their hit as their neighbor took the hit, upturning anouther table to put between her and the city guard. There was no way they were going to get her without a fight! She would rather bare arms and scars than go in meekly for questioning. ESPECIALLY when it was not her fault. The guards were on crack to point her out.. Of course.. if I had not started to run, maybe they would have over looked me.. old habits are ever so hard to break...

 

Kicking in a chair and breaking off a leg to use as a simple mace, she used it to parry against a larger mans fist, catching him off guard as it reverberated with a disturbing thunk. Not waiting for a second hit, she started to slowly work her way to the back of the inn, but found herself caught, very caught in a larger fighting circle right at her exit. Searing herself she found herself on the defense, struggling to stay apart from the city guards and to gain access to the door.

 

Ducking under a woman's swing and a flying ale jug, Beatrice found herself back to back with someone she had never expected to see anywhere near here. Expecting the woman to attack her, she found the swing going past her and hitting anouther. Beatrice blinked for a moment and nearly ducked in time for anouther swing at her head.

 

"Long time.. Dilora.. Helping out an old friend or are you going to throw me to the wolves?" Beatrice smiled with a mischievous grin as the two of them hit the attackers behind each other. "Not that I have anything of yours.. this time."

 

“I’m very glad to hear it, Beatrice. I never thought I’d see you again, full stop, unless some fluke I was in the same town you had been put in the stocks in. Come to think of it, I might well have thrown the odd rotten tomato or so.” She didn’t mean it, really. It had only been a mere trifle that Beatrice had stolen from Dilora, but it was enough to make her cautious and cause a little bit of feminine rivalry with the woman. After all, first impressions were everything, and when that involved chasing her down the streets shouting and waving her arms about, it was not something Dilly would forget in a hurry. Still, they were in the same boat now.

 

She devoutly hoped that when she turned around, Dilora would not hit Beatrice on the head with her newly acquired weapon. The stout cudgel did not weigh as much as it appeared, even for solid wood, which made her think it was hollowed out somehow to save money. Some tavern-owners, Dilora thought, just don’t appreciate the quality in their furniture. They only think of a quickly replaced cheap substitute. Bah!

 

A heavyset man lunged at her, and Dilora swung the table leg hard. It caught the ginger-bearded man full in the face, and she heard the sound of his nose breaking. As he fell back, sneezing, Dilora had an idea that was unrelated to the fight. She’d have to develop it when she got more time…

 

“Who’s next?” She called out. A glance around to Beatrice revealed the other woman was standing ready, looking for where her next opponent was coming from. “We can handle this, right?”

 

"Handle this? Yes.. But help me out of here and I'm your new best friend." Beatrice gave a passing head a good hard whack and the body fell to the ground. She felt a little more relieved that the woman was in good spirits. If Beatrice was not in so much hot water she would probably have far more fun at the chaos she had just caused. It was not that she could nto help but be impressed by the beauty of it all as the Inn was being torn apart.. Maybe she would write to the her Parton for a bit of gold to help out with the clearing up of the mess. But she would have to feel guilty to do so in the first place.

 

"Let's aim for the back door, and just go." She eyed the city guards that were closing in on her, although looked delightlyly worse for wear. "I don't think we're welcome here anymore."

 

 

Such understatement! The woman had a very good grasp of the situation she had caused, and no mistake. Heading for the exit was probably a good idea, and she could see Nerome out of the corner of her eye knocking another of the ruffians – innocent bystanders that had taken exception to something the flighty thief had said or done, Dilora supposed, to the floor and swinging around coldly. He had a strange light in his eyes that was probably something to do with his training, but it was very effective and had caused one or two of the drinkers to back away.

 

I shall settle things up with the owner here. I can’t have it generally known that Dilora Fashelle, peddler of high renown and repute across all of Andor was participating in a common tavern brawl! A word in his ear and some favourable terms with my next trade contract and he should be fairly well-received … and I do know where I can get some good quality barrels of apple brandy cheaply enough to sell to him cut-price and still make a profit. Everyone would forget, after a time. The people in the tavern would forget and blaming it on some hellcat that would get taller and more beautiful with each telling. Luckily she had not introduced herself to this particular crowd of people and therefore she was practically anonymous. Before the end of the year, the tavern would have had them in scanty armour, holding off evil thieves and darkfriends while their beauty protected the drinking patrons! Okay, so a few choice rumours planted as well would help her case. Dilora knew all about the value of good publicity, and how to engineer it.

 

Bonk!

 

The table leg was brought down in an overhead sweep onto the top of a man’s head, and his eyes rolled up in his head, falling to the ground like a girl. Bless him. It must have been a hard day for him. Making for the exit, Dilora held her culinary cudgel in front of her threateningly, and started forward.

 

Taking the moment to steal the advantage, Beatrice ducked one last swing and pushed her back against the back wall while avoiding anouther swing and then stepped outside of the inn. But not before giving one last salute to the guards as she turned her back and followed Dilora out of the Inn. Laughing as they were the first and only to escape from the brawl thus far.

 

"A fine piece of work, if I do say so myself." She grinned tossing the chair leg to the log pile not far from where they were. "Thanks Dilora. I owe you for that. If you don't mind, can I tag along with you? No thieving, I swear!" She paused with a wink, "Well, not from you."

 

A wry smile painted her lips as Dilora mulled over the possibility of having Beatrice accompany them. True, she had abilities that would come very much in handy. It was also true that Beatrice, with a thief’s history, would have contacts that Dilora could make use of in furthering her own career. When it all came down to it though, Dilly decided that she actually liked the girl and thought it would be a pleasant change to have some female company for once. She was a pretty thing too.

 

Dusting off her clothes, she cast her mind back over the morning. Darkfriends before breakfast, a tavern brawl before breakfast and now waiting in the stables for everyone else to get out of their with their belongings so they could get out of Caemlyn, fast. Dilora saw her wagon was ready to go, but Altie looked worried, and then Dilora remembered the message the stable lad had passed to her from Thorfinn that there were darkfriends in the stables. Oh Light, whatever next.

 

“Sure, you’re welcome to tag along. It’d be nice to have someone along that doesn’t think the funniest thing is in the world is gas of his own production.”

 

Now, all they had to do was load all their belongings into the back of Dilora’s wagon and get to the edge of town quickly. There was no way the two Ogier would fit in the wagon, so they’d have to ride, or walk, but everyone else should be able to get in there. Where under the Light where Tyosh and this Rosheen woman anyway? And Nerome and Thorfinn? They all needed to get a move on so that they did not linger in danger any more than they had to. The Adventures of Dilora Fashelle were not going to end ignominiously in some ragged tavern stable!

 

Beatrice glanced back as she caught the look on Dilora's face. "Do not worry. All will be well." She smiled warmly, almost uncharacteristic as she gave a soft whistle. A soft nicker could be heard over the noises from within the Inn, she turned to Dilora once more. "Come. We will be of no use to your friends if we have no horse ready for them."

 

Heading to the sounds of her horse just of the Inn, as she had not the coin for the use of a stable, nor had even been staying at that particular in, leaving Kar un-tethered worked well, for both of them. Kar never liked to be tied up any more then Beatrice did. Smiling Beatrice started to hum. it was shaping out to be a non-boring, entertaining day. And it was very good for her readers. That and the cannon fodder was good too.

 

 

 

Beatrice & Dilora

"Dirty Pair"

 

 

 

Thread is still open for the Spar.. so go a head and get a good fight in!! ;)

~Thorfinn~

 

Thorfinn managed to close the stable door tight and had moved the dead darkfriend out of the road of the door. He pulled the arrow from the darkfriends head and wiped it on the mans coat.

He had forgotten how easy an arrow could pass through a mans skull, they weren't as thick as a deer skull after all.

It was then that he relised that he had left Mani tied outside the inn, so with that that he slowly pulled the stable door open and stalked through with an arrow knocked.

Now one was in sight, the buzz of the city drowned out the relativley qiet of the stable. But, never the less he couldn't hear anyone outside either. He placed his arrow back in his quiver and walked round to the front of the tavern, just in time to see some City Guard busslin into the tavern front door.

Don't tell me their after us? Maybe one of the Darkfriends has peoplehigher than i thought. Without pause he untied Mani and lead him round to the stables.

As he was just coming up to the corner of the tavern, he could vagely make out a fight in the tavern. Light! I hope they haven't caught any of us. With that Thorfinn started to run when Mani stopped dead and Thorfinn reached the end of his reins and was stopped dead by the Dhurran stallions wight.

 

THUNK!

 

Just a foot in front of Thorfinn a crossbow bolt materialized in the wall. Right where he would of been if Mani hadn't of stoppped.

Quickly Thorfinn's sharp eyes scanned the street whilst he knocked an arrow smoothly from his quiver to bow.

There, he saw a head and the end of an empty crossbow peeping round a chimney. He drew the string to his cheek and waited.

The man appeared again with the crossbow loaded and was bring it up to his eye to aim.

Thorfinn's arrow apeared in the mans eye and he dropped like a poleaxed deer.

I'll never get that arrow back now, only 39 left now, damn him and his toy.

He started to jog for the stable door, giving Mani a high pitched whistle. The stallion followed, as Thorfinn was getting close to the stable door he saw Dilora and another women creeping out of the stable.

What in the light has the girl done now?

'Dilora! Over here......'

Forge couldn’t have been happier if were sitting in a Grove eating honeycakes. Jeran’s surprise appearance had him grinning like a cat in the cream. Evidently, Jeran was just as happy, because such outward displays of emotion were unlike him.

 

Forge didn’t know why they made such good friends, because they were almost completely opposite from one another, like a flawed mirror image, but he was the closest friend he had among the Ogier.

 

Physically, Forge was one of the largest Ogier to ever emerge from the stedding, standing 12 feet tall and thickly muscled, even for an Ogier. Jeran was possibly the smallest, being just larger than a tall man. Emotionally, Forge was calm and friendly until the axe was called for, then he went all cold. Jeran was normally emotionally distant, preferring the world of the intellect over interaction with others, except when he grew angry. Then he went berserk with a fiery passion. And he had quite a temper, strange for someone so logical.

 

An even odder twist existed with their outlook on the world and their Talents. Jeran’s passion resided in the world of ideas and philosophies, despite possessing the Talent for Treesinging, the most precious gift any Ogier could have. Jeran usually found beauty in ancient books and scrolls rather than focusing in the natural world. Forge, meanwhile, enjoyed the physical aspects of life. He didn’t even have a scrap of Treesong in him, but he preferred the living world. He crafted works from Stone and Steel of such beauty they almost came to life, but alas they never would.

 

But despite all their differences, or perhaps because of them, their friendship was so deep it bordered on family. Jeran was like a brother to him.

 

Seeing Jeran’s discomfort at the emotional outburst, Forge draped his big arm over his little friend’s shoulder. “How about we take this outside? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

 

Forge grabbed his gear and led the way outside, making his way around the back where they would have more privacy. He couldn’t wait to hear the latest news. Jeran was always knee-deep in scholarly pursuits, and as such he often had all sorts of insight into goings on in the world. He didn’t much care, usually, but he valued knowledge and knew Forge was pre-occupied with that sort of thing. At the least, their conversation would be a welcome respite from dealing with the Shadow.

 

As they sat there in the shade, propped up against the inn’s wall, Jeran pulled out his pipe and began regaling Forge with tales from all manner of books. Forge quickly lost track of the actual point Jeran was making, which was often the case when the scholar began delving into some philosophical conundrum, but he enjoyed listening to the convolutedly brilliant thoughts of his friend. It was soothing to listen to another Ogier’s voice. It had been a while since that had happened.

 

Jeran looked befuddled when a loud commotion from inside interrupted him. Forge, half asleep from the pleasant combination of sunshine, shade, relaxation, and Jeran’s bass rumble paid it no attention. He merely chuckled, “These humans are lively, aren’t they?” To which Jeran returned eagerly to his lecture.

 

It wasn’t until Dilora Fashelle and a strange young woman came sprinting through the door that Forge focused in on what was happening. Perking an ear toward the ruckus within and hearing the brawl, the giant Ogier hurriedly stood and calmly assessed the situation.

 

“Jeran did you see the pair of women that burst out of here? Yes? Good.” He quickly described her, just in case, before adding, “They’ll probably be coming out of the stable. Tell Dilora that I’ll be there as soon as I check on Nerome.”

 

With that, he squeezed through the too-small door, cracking a few timbers in the process. Moving with a grace that belied his immense size, he entered the bedlam of the inn’s common room and easily spied Nerome. He was in a small clear space, obviously maintained by his fighting skill. Happy to see the newcomer’s whole story hadn’t been a lie, Forge strode through the room until he reached him, oblivious to his effects on the brawlers.

 

Nerome seemed to have received a wicked blow or two, despite his abilities, so the Ogier asked gently, “Are you alright? I think we need to leave. Quickly.” Nerome nodded, wincing from an evident headache, but looked content to follow him.

 

Forge wasted no time leading them out the backdoor.

~Dilora~

 

Dilora put what she could into the back of her wagon and gave Altie an absent pat on the nose. Something seemed to be worrying the mare, which although unusual, was hardly surprising given the amount of strain there had been. Altie was a very perceptive horse and had probably picked up on the frisson of danger and fear running through Dilora. Beatrice would’ve seemed to be a very strange woman, and so near to her owner, poor Altie probably got the impression that she was going to be left behind, or stolen or something. Dilora’s cool fingers gave her nose a reassuring pat and reached down into the belt pouch she wore to pull out a honeyed apple and fed it to the mare, who bit it hungrily. It wasn’t as if she’d not been fed, so perhaps there was something else the matter with the animal.

 

No use in worrying now though, as there were far more pressing matters at hand. With Beatrice following close behind, Dilora crept across the stable yard and poked her head through the doors they’d not long ventured through, spying the Ogier and Nerome following. Where were Tyosh and Rosheen? They should be here by now. Surely they wouldn’t be forced to leave them behind? No, Nerome would not do that. He hadn’t seemed the kind of person to pursue Darkfriends though…

 

“Quickly! We need to leave, now!” Dilora called through to everyone, urging him or her to get their belongings into the stables quickly so as much haste could be retained. That hot bath she’d wanted would have to wait.

 

OOC - Sorry for the short post. We need to get everyone else into the stableyard so things can progress :)

Jeran watched Forge squeeze his way back into the inn and stood with an expression of consternation on his face. Forge has obviously been with humans for too long. Even he is getting hasty now! But it was an afectionate thought that brought a smile back to his face.

 

As he turned, the peddler - Dilora - came out of the stable and, before he could so much as open his mouth to pass on Forge's message, she had looked back into the inn and shouted to her companions inside.

 

Ears twitching in embarrasment, but with a determined gleam in his eye, Jeran gently tapped her on the shoulder. "Forge is journying with you? Then I shall be joining you as well. We have much to discuss and no part of it is so trivial that it can be left until the Pattern brings us both together again."

Jeran turned away before an objection could be raised and proceeded to check the fastenings on his bag were closed securely, keeping his books safe.

 

ooc: :) Hehe, mine was shorter. lol :D

~Thorfin~

 

Following Dilora and her new freind back inot the stable Thorfinn noticed the horses were restless, even Mani who had been in battle.

By the Light if I ever come back to a city again Mani, call me a fool. As if the horse could read minds he nuzzled Thorfinn's arm.

 

Posted: e16Saturday143606 Post subject:

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

~Dilora~

 

Dilora put what she could into the back of her wagon and gave Altie an absent pat on the nose. Something seemed to be worrying the mare, which although unusual, was hardly surprising given the amount of strain there had been. Altie was a very perceptive horse and had probably picked up on the frisson of danger and fear running through Dilora. Beatrice would’ve seemed to be a very strange woman, and so near to her owner, poor Altie probably got the impression that she was going to be left behind, or stolen or something. Dilora’s cool fingers gave her nose a reassuring pat and reached down into the belt pouch she wore to pull out a honeyed apple and fed it to the mare, who bit it hungrily. It wasn’t as if she’d not been fed, so perhaps there was something else the matter with the animal.

 

No use in worrying now though, as there were far more pressing matters at hand. With Beatrice following close behind, Dilora crept across the stable yard and poked her head through the doors they’d not long ventured through, spying the Ogier and Nerome following. Where were Tyosh and Rosheen? They should be here by now. Surely they wouldn’t be forced to leave them behind? No, Nerome would not do that. He hadn’t seemed the kind of person to pursue Darkfriends though…

 

“Quickly! We need to leave, now!” Dilora said.

 

With that Thorfinn leaped up onto Mani's back and waited for everyone.....

Telling her life story while racing towards the inn where her trainee was waiting for her to give him a good talking to wasn’t exactly something Rosheen had thought she would be doing in Caemlyn at that time of the day, but she found herself obliging to Tyosh’s request for a good story anyway. “I grew up in a merchant caravan with my parents and my little brother. Always wanted to become a warrior, ever since I saw the border guards in Shienar. Everyone thought it was silly, of course. A little girl with a sword…” And yet when they saw her now they all bowed. A big girl with a sword and a title. How things had changed. “I went to Tar Valon when I was sixteen, and I became a tower guard when I was eighteen. Now I’m just a Blademaster, doing things for the White Tower. And chasing after her trainees, apparently.”

 

The boy was going to be in some serious trouble when she caught up with him. Dilly-dallying with darkfriends, without informing her? He could have gotten himself killed, or worse, captured and forced to swear to the Dark one. She’d heard of such things happening before, and there was no way in the Light she would be able to explain that to Ginae. She imagined herself standing in the office of the Mistress of Trainees, explaining how she’d lost her trainee in the middle of Caemlyn, and how she allowed him to be taken by darkfriends. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to much.

 

They soon arrived at the inn where Tyosh said her trainee was waiting for her. People were streaming out, pointing, shouting, laughing. The worlds “thief”, “Brawl” and “Ogier.” Reached her as she dismounted. “Blood and ashes.” She muttered. “What has he gotten himself involved in now?” she threw the reigns of her stallion to Tyosh. “Hold those. I’ll be right back.” And with that said she stormed into the inn, instantly locating the source of the brawl.

 

Her trainee was in the centre of things, as usual. Nerome seemed to have a talent for getting in trouble. In fact, he had a talent for being at the very centre of trouble. There were people surrounding him, with clubs, and other things people generally used to beat people’s head in. Rosheen didn’t waste any time before getting into the fight, throwing people aside and breaking a few bones. “Nerome! Get your scrawny self over here!” she shouted at him. After elbowing yet another ruffian in the face, she finally reached her trainee. “Outside, now.” She said, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him out of the brawl. “Now you’ve got some explaining to …” she fell silent then, looking up at the Ogier that had followed them out of the tavern. “Forge? What are you doing here?”

 

~Rosheen Tahn Sakhr

 

ooc: I got a little confused as to where we are and stuff, I hope this works, but if it doesn’t just let me know and I’ll change it.

The afternoon was getting late, the slow falling sun dipping ever closer to the embrace of the distant horizon. The heat was still searing and no rain had fallen in a very long time. The now less busy street of Caemlyn’s new city looked incredible, and the stone masoned buildings that stood everywhere were always a sight to see, especially now against the orange sky. Malic sat atop his stallion at a standstill to admire the beauty that was Caemlyn, the heart of Andor.

 

Trotting on slowly, Malic brushing his fingers through his long dark hair, patted his stallion with the other hand, whom he called Munch. The high-speed journey he embarked upon from four kings took just about a day, and surly left Munch feeling tired, but more likely hungry! He should make a stop soon.

 

His aim at present is to search out the band of travellers that he accompanied to Caemlyn, whom he lost in a surprise battle with Darkspawn he had never encountered before. Drawing him away from the campsite, the hoard he was up against wounded him gravely; they took up much concentration and strength to get the better of. When the battle was over he collapsed and woke up in a strange house, with a farmers wife nursing him…there was no getting away, she insisted on Malic staying a while longer, and then a little longer after that…and so on! The farmer and his wife were very kind to him and Munch, but eventually he had to sneak out in the dead of night.

 

Dilora…where are you? Following your breadcrumbs is proving to be a tough exercise…especially with Munch hovering them up as we go!

In truth, if Malic never met Dilora, he would not be in Caemlyn. With he being a gleeman and Dilora being a peddler, they were able to talk sometimes the whole night through, exchanging stories and songs and showing off tricks and wares. After a week of travel there was definitely something there between them He vowed to accompany her to Tar Valon, so the guilt that ran through him now can only be remedied by the thought of sweet reunion.

 

Three laughing drunkard noblemen began walking alongside him, muttering something that sounded like;

“Ogier…

fighting…

and tavern… hahahahaaa!”

Munch came to a halt, allowing Malic to flick back his cloak and dismount to the side where the noblemen were plodding, “Kind sirs?” he said during a short bow. Swaying, the drunks turned their attention to him, “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I’ve just arrived in the city and need to gather a little street info. Did I overhear you mention something about a tavern brawl with a crew of Ogier?”

“*hick* Hahaa, yes I was there myself last night” this man looked considerably higher in status than the other two, “and from what I saw the ogier and the folks they were with didn’t even have to break out in a sweat!”

“and of what sort of folk do you speak of?” he asked while scratching his chin.

“*hick* well it is a bit hazy, but there were a couple of warriors and a peddler I think *belch*”

“Is that so? Thankyou, now could you point me in the direction of this tavern?”

 

The men did point out the direction and better. The tavern was well far out of the new city so he made his way immediately, and knowing the name of the tavern was a great help. Well Dilora, if this is you I’m hearing about, I can’t say it was difficult finding your breadcrumbs now can I! And failing this attempt of finding you, I’ll have to hope Altie is still on heat!

~Dilora~

 

The arrival of the interestingly-haired warrior lady and the herbalist, Tyosh, meant that they no longer had any time to lose. Just because there were no obvious signs of darkfriends in the stables that Thorfinn had mentioned, didn't mean that they weren't hiding in one of the stalls or in the hayloft. She had never envisaged leaving Caemlyn in such an unusual manner, or at such high speed. Taking Beatrice's arm, Dilora walked around to the front of the wagon and helped her into one of the seats while she looked around for the others.

 

"We can reminisce when we're on the road! We need to get out of here now!" Dilora's face blanched as she saw the reaction of the woman with the mohican and then immediately blushed. She'd taken charge of the situation when from her air of command, this Rosheen was obviously used to giving orders. Light! Oh, well, perhaps she could smooth things over on the way with a little gift somehow. Watching everyone scramble was a treat though. They were all moving at her words, swinging up into saddles or standing with their bags in their hands, ready to make a run for it as soon as the word was given. Time for a little bit of a speech, seeing as how she had already taken command accidentally.

 

"Right, people." Her tone took in the Ogier as well as the other humans equally. My, how the townsfolk would react when they saw three fully grown Ogier running through the streets of Caemlyn! If they were unused to the larger than normal figures and recognised them as the legendary builders then such a sight would give cause for awed silence, or for children to run to their parents and point. If they had not seen them before, Dilora supposed they might well be mistaken for Trollocs. If that happened, they had better run bloody quick! She climbed up into the spare wagon seat and clucked Altie's reins to get the mare to move. "Head for the north edge of the town. Remember, we're heading to Tar Valon when we get outside, but should we get split up, meet about a mile outside the city. Make as much speed as you can without looking too conspicuous. Got that?" Her upturned face caught some of the early morning sun and made her eyes twinkle like dark ale. She smiled at them. "Good." Making the gesture that meant Altie would start walking forward towards the street, Dilora reached under her seat and pulled the bow and quiver of arrows out. She could well be needing those...

Tyosh rode on listening to the Blademaster, Rosheen’s, story. It was amazing how she could make her story, which was sure to be filled with astounding details, sound so very hollow, as if she was trying to keep it all secret, hoard everything except the lightest sketches of her past. But Tyosh supposed it wasn’t his concern anyways, everyone had issues they wanted to keep secret and so he kept on listening without asking anymore questions while they quickly closed in on their destination.

 

Something seemed to be amiss though, the closer the pair got to the inn, the more hectic the streets seemed. It wasn’t uncommon for the streets of Caemlyn to be thronged with people at these early hours, preparing for the activities of the day, selling their wares and in general getting an early start on the day, any advantage was worth having among the merchants and peddlers. But the present street occupants weren’t in a preparing and dawning spirit, quite the contrary, they were bubbling, effusive and practically bouncing around from excitement.

 

Tyosh wanted to ask around a bit at what had the people in such frenzy, but he remembered the haste they must make once they reached the inn, stopping now would delay it all, and that could cost them dearly. He did however strain his ears to almost One Power like sensitivity. He wasn’t very surprised when he heard “ogier”, even though there seemed to be talk of more than one, but that was just probably rumor, it twisted facts in an insane manner. But hearing about a brawl distressed him a bit, maybe it was a common tavern brawl indeed and not a dark friend attack, Light it might even be another inn on the other side of the city. He was just being paranoid for sure. And yet the doubt was enough to make him speed up to a fast canter.

 

The trip to and from the “Howling Monkey” inn was a thing of less than an hour, but time seemed frozen for a while there, as if the Creator himself had slowed it all down to make minutes seem like weeks, maybe even a month. But after his month long journey of rendezvous with Rosheen he was finally back to the inn and certainly enough the origin of all the rumors.

 

After Rosheen and himself arrived at the inn, he quickly made his return known to the rest of the party. But the party wasn’t the same party he had left behind, there was a new young lady who seemed to be coming along for the escape ride and another addition which would be somewhat hard to miss was the mysterious second ogier he had heard about. Tyosh would have to get to know both of them later on, because everyone seemed ready to go and just waiting for the new arrivals. Nerome’s horse was a fine beast but no horse compared to Arrow in his mind so Tyosh quickly regained control of his own horse and saddles and was ready to ride when the peddler, Dilora indicated the need to ride out north, but he followed another lead that the peddler didn’t speak, the preparing of bow and arrows.

~Thorfinn~

 

The streets were getting busy and the constant hum of noise was getting on Thorfinn's nerves. He couldn't wait to get out into the country side among the trees and the rivers.

Thorfinn felt a small tug in his mind of his log cabin way back in the Misty Mountains, sorrounded by Birch, Oak, Ash, and Pine.

But there was no time for that now people needed his help and he would sooner eat trollic than abandon them.

 

Thorfinn looked over his shoulder to see how Dilora and her young lady friend were doing. Dilora had drawn a bow and quiver from under her seat. It was a nice simple bow with no embelishment or decoration. Just like bows should be. After all they were for hunting not show. He gave Dilora a wink and turned back to the direction they were heading in.

 

He scanned the streets looking for the signs of people following. There was no signs but he was sure they wouldn't be left alone that easyly. After all Dilora's little group had killed quite a few of there number. Thorfinn could voach for two at least at the cost of loosing one of his arrows. He would have time once he was out on the road to make another, he always kept spare arrow heads in his saddle bags.

 

The crowd seemed to be staring at him he could feel his shoulders begin to itch. He really had to get out of this city fast. With that he kicked Mani into a canter....

~Dilora~

 

City streets gave way to gates, and then gates gave way to open countryside.

 

The walls of Caemlyn dwindled behind them, or at least that’s how it appeared in the sheet of polished metal Dilora was tidying her hair in. Somehow the fine dark strands had escaped the braid she wore yet again to frame her face with mahogany softness; blending with the patches of colour on her cheeks from the thrill of their departure and, of course, making her look like a farmwife mid-harvest. One hand on the reins, the other smoothing her coiffure, Dilora looked back to see that they were, for once, not being followed. It was going to take a while to smooth the wrinkles from her reputation and her mind was already working to try and find the best solution to keeping both her dignity and her potential future livelihood intact. She smiled at her reflection, the knowing dimple appearing in the right cheek as a suggestion rang loudly in her ears.

 

Just write to them, Dilly. Tell them a little something about what has happened, and leave other bits out. The tavern owners would know what to tell regular patrons, and they would be discreet if the letter was accompanied by something to cover the damages. Some praise and soothing words, and the promise of a good mention at every town or village between here and Tar Valon and they should be happy to have me back.

 

Happily, Dilora dropped the smallish mirror into her belt pouch and surveyed the road ahead. No other travellers loitered on the open road and given the state of the horses and the riders, she thought it might be prudent to slow the pace down a little after the hasty retreat they had made. Darkfriends in the stables, brawling in the bars … Caemlyn would not forget Dilora Fashelle in a hurry. And one thing was for certain, this was going to make an interesting page in her journal.

 

She breathed a sigh of relief but did not quite reach down under her seat to put her bow and quiver of arrows away. In her wagon, the length of turned wood she’d kept from the brawl would serve as a reminder to tidy up after her escapades more thoroughly, and it did season life in the most interesting ways. Dilora considered turning the item into a peppermill as a novelty item for the kitchens of somewhere like Fal Dara – they must get through sacks full of pepper and it would make a nice ornament. It would take only minor adjustment to make it fully functional. Lost for a while in pleasant reverie, Dilora did not notice the passage of the clouds across the sky, or much of the chatter of her companions. She was cataloguing what she had in her wagon still that would be useful to trade. And there were plenty of herbs that grew wild if you knew what you were looking for. Dilora vowed to ask Tyosh for some advice on what was safe to use in which situation and the types of remedy that were highly valued. Partially drowsing, she continued to hold Altie’s reins loosely in her hand while she let the other rest in her lap

 

“Not long until Tar Valon now…”

 

Dilora looked up to see a figure she had not expected to see, and smiled.

Forge couldn’t wait to talk to Rosheen. It had been quite a while since he had seen his friend, but he was sure she had some stories to tell. She was quite the striking figure with her exotic hairstyle and the Heron-marked blade on her back. How long ago had it been since he had saved her life and she had taught him so much? Too long. His reverie was short-lived as Dilora Fashelle took command of the situation. He would never cease to be amazed at the versatility of these delicate little humans, especially the tiny woman on her wagon. Dilora claimed she was just a peddler, but she had more layers to her than a rosebud.

 

"Right, people. Head for the north edge of the town. Remember, we're heading to Tar Valon when we get outside, but should we get split up, meet about a mile outside the city. Make as much speed as you can without looking too conspicuous. Got that? Good."

 

Forge couldn’t help but smile as his Little Bee became the Queen again. He slapped Jeran on the shoulder at the befuddled look on his old friend’s face. “I see we have a lot to talk about, Jeran. But we’ll have plenty of time on the road for me to explain everything.” Jeran’s harassed look only made his smile become outright laughter. Pulling out one of his axes just in case, he assured Jeran that everything would be alright then took another look at the menagerie of strange characters that made up the group: two Ogier, an imposing female Blademaster with a Mohawk, a hide-wearing huntsman on a huge Dhurran, and a peddler holding her bow. Ha! Without looking too conspicuous? I can’t believe she said that. How was he the only one who found that funny?! All this bunch needs is a fire-swallowing gleeman, and we could start our own circus.

He started the long trip toward Tar Valon.

Ha! I’d say the only way this horse is still on his feet are those breadcrumbs that Altie is leaving him behind! Many breadcrumbs Dilora...many. Come to think of it, I don’t think the folk up ahead could hide a needle in a haystack!

Malic smiled, more than just his usual fixed grin, this one almost stretched from one ear to the other. His exit from the city seemed to have gone unnoticed, but he did have a strange feeling of being pursued part of the way. Ahead the mud track road to Tar Valon, were the outlines of a traveller’s wagon with a couple of mighty large humanoid figures rising above the height of the wagon, which could only be ogier. First thing he will do is warn the company of the dangers behind them and attempt to avoid them. Munch sprinted up the track at such a speed that now he was barely able to canter. Saying that, the two companions had travelled hard from four kings with only an hour or so to breathe again. But still, at this slow rate they seemed to be catching up, becoming more a familiar site and less of a distant dot over the hill.

 

---

 

Back to earlier events of the Howling Monkey Inn, Malic couldn’t quite believe the sight he saw. He stood at the entrance with a gaping wide mouth and a sheepish look about him. The door to the place hung off just by a nail, which seemed to be a pointless attempt to fix it back into it’s framework. The destruction was so great that the only way it could have looked worse was if the entire building fell in on itself! There wasn’t a single chair, table window or piece of art still in one piece and the bar looked as if a very large person had been thrown straight through it. Only two people buzzed about trying to clear up the mess, they had to be the lord and lady of the house. After looking around astonishingly Malic knew he must have looked ridiculous, so righted himself and began wading his way towards them.

 

“No...I will assume you have enough brains to notice that we are in no need of a musician...sir” The lady barked, covered in dust and wearing a face surly redder than the cold blood pumping through her body. Malic - even though disgusted with his welcome - still produced a short bow minus the flourish of his cloak, which also began collecting dust of it’s own.

“Kind lady” he began, whilst brushing his shoulders off, “I am certain I have brains to know this fact, and without seeming over confident and cocky may I add...where exactly would I perform?!” The landlord in the corner stood from his crouching cleaning position, obviously overhearing Malics cynical question and approached with a grim look on his face. Malic continued, “I will not lie to you, news travels like a doves feather in the wind, especially in large cities like this one. I hear you have had ogier staying here, what happened exactly?”

 

At first the pair would not share this information, but Malic’s powers of persuasion were fit enough to influence a wild bear into hugging him affectionately! He got a great deal out of them eventually, including a good description of Dilora, but curiously no good descriptions of the crew she was travelling with towards Caemlyn. Besides the obvious events (which we all know), mercs and the city guard showed up and left with the dead and unconscious moments before Malics arrival. The three mercenaries that came by rattled a bounty out of the inn owners for the carnage. It turns out that the owners of this particular inn are well-made and related to a high lord living in the city. This made Malic feel very uncomfortable all of a sudden, but he held his demeanour straight.

The others must only be a couple of hours ahead, but light, I must leave and now...discretely.

 

---

 

Malic approached the front of the slow moving wagon after regarding the couple of ogier travelling alongside. At the head sat a sleeping Dilora, Malic’s eyes lit up at the sight of her and sighed a breath of relief. Taking out his harp and playing a light chord, Dilora opened her eyes; this produced his best flourish and a nice smile of recognition from her. She looked ravishing to him .

“And so we meet again my dearest Dilora”...

 

OOC: Love the siggy silhouette!

Jeran's eyes lighted upon the new arrival, who's fingers were busy caressing his instrument. Light, this crew becomes more and more unlikely with each passing minute. He felt sure that there was some intrigue, a history of great import, that swirled around the group like an invisible shroud caught on the breeze. He had little talent for it, but even Jeran could feel the threads of the Pattern binding the group together.

 

From his place in Dilora's wagon, wedged between two large melons, Jeran watched Dilora's smile at the music that drifted from the harp. Indeed, it was strangely compelling and it reminded him of a particular tune he used when he greeted a tree as part of his Song. He hummed the tune quietly and the dancing chord from the harp mingled with the bass note of his Song, intertwining in an exquisite uninion, before reaching it's climax and fading away, spent. He saw Forge smiling at him and winked at his friend. How long has it been since I saw him last? and he went into a brief reverie of the time he and Forge had spent at the Topless Towers.

 

With a smile on his own face, Jeran jumped down from the wagon and trotted alongside it, taking in the sights of the world, before his feet complained at him for his incessant overuse of them and he mounted the wagon once more, settling back in between the two melons and sighing.

 

He pulled out his notebook and re-read his most recent discoveries on his journey. They were startling, and he couldn't wait to return to the stedding and reveal his findings, but that would have to wait until his theory was complete. "A task which the library at the White Tower may help with significantly." he mumbled to himself, "I wonder if they'll let me see it." It had taken some significnt persuasion before he had been granted access to the Great Library.

 

Making a quick note of the similarity between the harp's chord and his own Song, Jeran resolved to speak with the new arrival about that later and put his book away before picking up Dilora's length of turned wood. He ran his hands along it's length softly, feeling the smoothness of it. He knew that Dilora had a project in mind for the piece. It's a shame she didn't speak with me first. I could have Sung some wood for her.

 

With a sigh, he settled his head back and let his mind focus on his theory. Now how in the Light am I going to find an aiel to discuss this with....