Chapter One - "The Letter" - Part Two

[Airyn]

With Altario’s approval, Airyn followed the men carrying his friend through the sea of curious faces and raised eyebrows. No one stepped forward to help, but no one cleared their way either. Scowling, she hastily wound her way through the crowd until the bottom step of the staircase met roughly with her toe. Airyn hopped on one foot, one hand clutching her tow whilst the other waved to the men, now at the top of the stairs. “Wait!” She called, “I can help him! Will you please wait for me?”

One of them turned his head to find the source of the sound whilst the other snickered and kept moving. Not really wanting to drop the barely conscious friend of that other wealthy-looking man downstairs, the first continued to walk. Airyn glowered at their backs as they disappeared from the top of the stairs. Dropping her leg, she jumped the steps two and three at a time, stumbling when her feet failed to move as quickly as she had hoped.

Standing on the top step, the noise from the room below became no more than a low hum. From what she could see, there was no one else in the hallway. Oh no… Where is Sage? Her eyes shut and her hands balled themselves into firm fists. She couldn’t leave him down there on his own, who knows what might happen to him. Even still, Altario’s friend needed a healer immediately and, as far as the elfess knew, she was the only one in the building with any experience. A loud thump came from behind a nearby door, catching her attention instantly. That’s probably them, Airyn presumed. She’d only be gone a little while, Sage would still be asleep under that chair by the time she got back.

Puffing out her chest and walking with her back as straight as seemingly possible, Airyn marched up to the door and pushed it open. She could feel the burning of embarrassment engulf her entire face and the back of her neck. A very confused looking man and his wife glared at her frozen form in the doorway. Airyn suddenly had no control over her body. Her limbs wouldn’t move and tiny mumbling sounds came from her lips, not knowing what to say first. She needed no more encouragement to leave the room when the very frustrated looking woman yelled for her to “get out and close the door!”

Airyn was left feeling extremely uncomfortable and tongue-tied, standing in front of the closed door. Only when a loud and impatient voice boomed at her, did she move without hesitation. “Are you coming or what, lady?” She stuttered a few syllables that sounded like ‘yes’ or something along those lines, and rushed to the opposite end of the hall, where the burly man had his head poked out from behind a door.

She entered the small room cautiously. The two men who had carried Altario’s friend stood across the room, leaning against the wall, looking at her with boredom and interest. Airyn could have sworn that she heard one of them ask the other “why he was so special.”

Reaching to her shoulder, she pulled the bag away from her arm and sat it on the floor. Kneeling, she looked up at the two men and frowned. “Would one of you please go and fetch some water and a towel or a cloth of some sort?” The less muscled of the two, the one that had snickered at her earlier, shrugged and left. Airyn huffed and began to drive her hand to the bottom of her bag when that other man folded his arms and snorted. “Apparently he’s a baron,” he laughed to himself, “but from the way he was acting before, I say he’s full of it.”

Paying no attention, she continued to rummage about in the bag, pulling out every little jar she could get her hands on. Soon enough, there was an assortment of gels, liquids and leaves all spread out on the floor in front of her. Her right hand passed over the tops of each, fingering the tiny labels she had placed on them. Finally, she found a jar labeled ’juk’lan’. It wouldn’t be of much help to him if he was to pass out, but at least he would be able to breathe a little easier in a little while. She didn’t have time to brew anything… Cursing, she looked back at the doorway to find that man standing with a bowl of water. “Don’t just stand there, bring that over here please.” He hurried forward and the elfess took the small bowl and the stained towel from him. Carefully, she shuffled over to the bed they had placed Altario’s friend on and gently put a corner of the cloth into the water before dabbing the blood away from the corner of his mouth. “My name is Airyn,” she spoke softly and wiped his brow, “Can you hear me? What is your name?”

Not waiting for an answer, she reached for the jar and a small spoon which she had laid beside it. Well, it’s not hot but it’ll have to do until I find a market. Carefully, she pulled the cork out of the top and poured a little of the brew onto the spoon. Putting down the jar, she gingerly lifted his head up with her left hand, wincing at the sudden searing pain under the bandage. She placed the spoon between his lips and withdrew it carefully. “You may not have scurfy, but if you take it easy it can help that chest of yours. Maybe a little water instead of alcohol would do you some good, too.” Another large spoonful into his mouth, and Airyn sat back on her calves and examined him closely, still frowning.

Despairing for a moment, the elfess looked at her disarrayed backpack and the few medical bits and pieces she had left. She needed to know who he was and what in the world he had gone through to cause him this illness. Maybe then she could do something productive.

[Damien Scar]

Damien thought he was dead and floating to meet Queprur and to discover his destiny in the afterlife. He wondered what kind of sentence she would give him? He thought back upon his life; the carousing, the killing; either in the name of preservation or his King. There was also killing of revenge, She would apprecitate that,wouldn't she? Then there were the friends, more like casual aquaintaces, that could have become friends if he had not either pushed them away or in the case of the female persuasion he would always try to bed.
 
But that was in his younger years, well- he felt an inward smile- at least for the most part. Regrets? There were too many to even think about but the several that crossed his mind were Rach, Voltigar, then more recently Rhia-whose pipes he could faintly hear, their music perhaps haunting him in the afterlife because he had not told her he was sorry and had asked for her forgiveness.

Then at last there were the ones who became life long friends, like Altario. A sadness passed over him as he realized he would never be able to help his friend find his daughter. Something he had promised to do and now Seyella took that out of his hands. He prayed a short prayer asking Seyella to change his fate. To ask Queprur to give him a year to help Altario find his daughter and to atone for his regrets.

He felt water upon his lips-cool and refreshing- not like he imagined Queprur would greet her guests. He heard a soft melodic voice ask him his name. Funny, I would think that Queprur would know all of the names of the dead and who would have guessed she had such a beautiful voice. I suppose even of the gods and goddesses you put your own biases upon them; most would think that Queprur would have a more sinister lylt to her voice, at least he had thought so.

He opened his eyes to see the goddess of death as she took his head and poured some liquid down his throat and was shocked to see a fair-haired, young elven girl staring down at him. “You may not have scurfy, but if you take it easy it can help that chest of yours. Maybe a little water instead of alcohol would do you some good, too.”

She poured another spoonful of the stuff down his throat and then sat back on her calves, frowning at him.

He coughed. This stuff was terrible tasting, nothing compared to what the old healer had given him before. And then realization hit him. He was alive! Somehow he was in his room and lying upon his bed. Seyella had answered his prayer! And it seemed sent him a beautiful damsel to help him in his distress. Wait! He was not given life back to try and bed women, even if the woman was a young, beautiful fair haired elf and even... if she did, this old poor wrecked body of his probably would not be able to handle the strain, still...An elf! He then recalled a fair haired elven girl sitting at Altario's table next to another fair haired woman who had danced strangely with him, carried an old rusty sabre and had been pulled away from him by...who else but this elven girl.

"My...my name is Damien Scar, Baron of Voldar m'lady and what may I call you?" he asked with what he thought would be a handsome baritone voice but came out as though his voice had been coated with dry corn husks. At least he gave her one of the best smiles he could give at the moment.


Hyram quickly walked through Damien's door and noticed the woman kneeling by his bedside. Well he must not be as bad off as I was told if he can still woo a young girl, Hyram thought, chuckling to himself. Then he noticed the open pack and herbs and other things. He rushed over to the girl. "What did you give him?" He demanded.  "He has medicine. In those bottles right over there," he said pointing to the multi-colored grained bottles sitting on the wooden shelf above the fireplace.

[Airyn]

So he really was a baron, eh? Baron Damien Scar, he’d said. Baron of Voldar. What is with everyone and this place? Airyn demanded silently. She continued to stare at him, losing the worried frown and looking curiously into his eyes. There were so many questions she wanted to ask of him. Airyn opened her mouth to speak but Damien beat her with a question of his own. “What may I call you?”

Airyn stuttered, and then frowned. As if someone forgets their own name! Concentrating intensely on trying not to blush in front of him – not that it made any difference anyway – she slowly began to say her name. “My name is Airyn Lesthos, sir. But please, call me Airyn.”

She began to wipe the cloth over his forehead again, but a loud thumping of footsteps made her jump and drop the cloth on his head. Quickly, she snatched it back and stood up, being careful not to knock the bowl she had placed on the worn piece of floor beside her. Her expression was murderous. She started to demand why this man had rushed in without a second’s warning, and why he was suddenly beside her with panic and urgency printed clearly on his face, but he sharply cut her off. “What did you give him? He has medicine over there.”

The furious elfess followed his gesture across the room to a plain fireplace. Above it was a simple shelf, decorated with various bottles; some she could identify and others, curiously, she couldn’t. Her stare flickered back to him, and she sighed and shook he head. “I gave him a tea made with juk’lan leaves and waterberry juice. Since I can only guess what’s wrong with him, I figured that the tea might be useful. Just in case.” She batted her eyelashes after those last few words, trying to make him forget the glare she had given him earlier

Making careful steps, so as not to tread on any of her precious jars and vials, Airyn made her way across the room to the fireplace and ran a finger across each of the colourful jars. Turning her head back to him, she smiled. “You are his healer, yes?” Her tone now polite and a little chipper, “Maybe you could tell me what is wrong with Damien? I’d rather help him than make anything worse.”

Stealing a glance at the very worn looking baron, she knelt back to the floor and began to pack away all of her little bottles and things. She looked up at the very confused looking man, craning her neck so that she could make sure that he saw the most amicable smile the elfess could muster. Now that she had given him time to speak, she packed up her bag, got to her feet and waited patiently with her hands at her sides.

[Damien Scar]

Hyram

Hyram calmed down after the elfess told him what she had given Damien. "So you thought he might have had the scurfy? I had thought so too at first when I first met him but when he told me about almost being drowned in the ocean by some sailors who did not care for his..um, let's say smell and apperance at the time I figured he had some sort of infection from the sea water. Then I heard he had been beaten up pretty well by those men who just carried him up the stairs and if you would have checked his right side you would have noticed a slight depression above his third rib, which could mean either a crack or broken one," he sighed as he took one of the bottles down from the shelf and poured into a cup and filled it with some hot water. "Where was I? Oh yes, on top of all of that I think he tried to drink himself to death."

He gave the cup to Damien who sheepishly took the cup and drank down the liquid. "Aye, m'lady Airyn. Tis what he says is the truth." Damien said.

Hyram turned to the elfess. "I apologize for yelling at you miss. I was just afraid that whatever you gave him would have serious side effects to the potion I had been giving him. My potion," he held up one of the multi-colored bottles, "is a secret recipie made from Waterstar berries, Silkel Tree, and Redberry bush. To liquify all of those ingredients is easy enough, the secret is to dry them and make them into small bits of granules so that the medicine can be carried easily enough, especially in the desert, where water is not easy to come by," he said rather proudly. "If you wish to help him as you say then you may stay if you wish, but this little potion makes a man drowsy and Damien should be sleeping very soon now."

He turned and Damien had already closed his eyes and his breathing was soft, but regular. "If you do not have a room for the night, I suggest you go downstairs and get one, or as I said you can stay here, I am sure I can get Pagran to set up a cot for you once I tell him that you are a healer and a friend of the Baron's. It is your decision, Airyn. It is ok that I call you Airyn is it not?" Hyram asked.

********************************************************************

"Look, you two can play footsies all you want after the job is done," Tyrr whispered harshly at Grallen and Gres.

The commotion on the other side of the room made all heads turn including Tyrr, who saw Damien being lifted by Pagran's bartenders up the stairs. That man is too sick to be worried about, Tyrr thought. It was the other man that worried him. He was a big, barrel chested man, bigger than Quar and he had the manner and bearing of one who knew how to fight as well. He would need a distraction.

He turned back to Grallen and looked her right into her yellow eyes which was a bit disconerting, but he ignored it as best as he could. "Listen, I need information from you. I recall you saying something when you were speaking to Pagran about that man over there. The information you give me, depending upon if it is information we can use, will make you very rich. Now, first things first, do you know that man?" Tyrr asked.

His hand already had the knife out ready to plunge it into Grallen's side depending upon her answer. If she knew him too well...well too bad for her. On the other hand if she just knew about him, then perhaps they could do buisness...he awaited her reply.

[grallen gast]

Something was altered in Tyrr’s movements. Grallen remained smiling and inoffensive as she wondered whether he’d risk real violence, a calculated attack, right here. Quite likely, from what she’d seen, despite what attention it’d draw to have two people collapse in a few minutes. Tyrr was the kind of guy who’d take that risk gladly, maybe not even see it as a risk, if it allowed him to keep the leverage he required over whatever situation he liked to imagine he was running.
Well, let’s not disillusion him, especially as that’d quite likely cause him to disembowel us...

She smiled charmingly, waving the hand holding a drink so that it sloshed without spilling. “Who me? Know that gennelman? I’m not sure how things work round here, mate, but where I’m from, the riffraff don’t really get a chance to know his sort, not properly.” She emphasised the word, gently mocking Tyrr’s phrasing. “nah, I’m just a hanger-on, at best. T’be honest, I shouldn’t tell you any of this, but hey, what can I say? I guess I’m a sucker for unsubstantiated offers of unimaginable wealth.” She carefully articulated the word unsubstantiated, allowing the low light to glint off her long canines with every syllable. What kind of idiot d’you think I am? Nobody gives out information to a bunch of likely lads who flash pretty words about “wealth beyond your wildest dreams”. You’re gona have to try harder than that, honey.

[Capher]

Tyrr did not know what to believe about what Grallen just told him. She just did not...feel right to him, but he needed her and her not so obvious way of saying "no money, no information' was not lost on him. He would probably say and do the same if he was in her shoes, so he gave her some points for being smart. But he had guessed that already when he first saw her and then spoke with her earlier. He decided to put a teaser where his mouth was and see if she would bite.  He slipped his knife quickly back to where it belonged and pulled out his purse.  He placed the purse on the table, opened the purse strings and let the silver gleam in the low light of the inn.

"You have earned something for your troubles, Tyrr said glancing down at his purse, "You may take one piece of silver just to show that I mean buisness. There are more pieces of silver available once the job is finished.  We," he waved his hand toward the two brothers, "are in the people buisness. There are some who pay extremely well for certain types of people and we acquire those types for our clients. Do you understand?" Tyrr asked her.

OOC sorry I forgot to change my character...forgive me.

[Damien Scar]

Pagran

Pagran looked around as he washed off the counter on the bar. It had been a long day. In truth it had been a couple of very interesting days and nights ever since Damien came to his attention, then acquaintance, and now he thought of Damien as a friend, though he knew better for Damien was damn near royalty, he was a Baron of some unknown place to Pagran way up north, not to mention his hiring of Rhia who was still playing her pipes; the tune was soft and melodic and he could just fall asleep listening to it.

There was the appearance of another stranger with the type of bearing that said, "I too am someone important" Pagran had seen fasle types of bearings and the real, and even under the influence of alchohol Pagran finally saw the true bearing of Damien and this man definately had the same type of bearing as well.  The two women with him were mysteries and as much as Pagrans inate itch to discover who they were, he had enough sense not to pry. However there was one man who did not and he concerned him.

Pagran did not know Tyrr except by reputation and rumour and all of it was bad. According to rumours he worked for some very powerful people to acquire things that they wanted, including people, if the rumours were to be believed. It was told he had connections high up in Stratanarian society and even in the guards who watched over the city. It was told once that Tyrr had killed a minor noble and had gotten away with it because of all things it was planned and paid for by another noble; one who was a bit more richer and connected than the one that was supposedly murdered by Tyrr. All Pagran knew or could find out from his sources was that the minor noble had gone out into the desert and never returned.  Of course those were just rumours, if you tend to believe them.

It was the female orc talking with them that concerned him now. Oh well, best not get into anyone's buisness but your own, Pagran thought. He had learned that lesson in the last couple of days, but he also gained a friend, or so he hoped. A town crier called out the time and Pagran sighed, finally.

"Last call folks. I only have a certain number of rooms available so if you are needing one you better get them now while they last, either way drink up your drinks, you have fifteen minutes," Pagran yelled.

There were some grumbles but most quickly finished their drinks and headed home while some did take his offer and get a room.

********************************************************************

Tyrr heard the "last call" and swore under his breath. Grallen had not given him an answer yet. He and the two brothers had a place closer to the docks so that was no problem, the problem was Grallen. If he allowed her to go her way and she told someone, then his plans and his riches flew out of the window and he would have to be on the run again. On the other hand he could persuade the orc to stay with them for the night, he doubted anything would happen, even if Gres-the thought made his skin crawl and shudder- she probably would not go in either case.  What could be the harm of letting her find her own place to stay for the night and making arrangements to meet here tomorrow? If she did tell someone, who would believe her? She was an orc and a thief and if Tyrr knew anything she was probably the one that his friend the Captain of the city guards was looking for.

"Look, we have to go Grallen. I do not know if you have a place to stay. You can stay with us, we have a small place down by the docks or you can find your own place; either way lets say we meet here after the heat has gone down tomorrow, say around three and we will continue our conversation. I am trusting you Grallen to keep your mouth closed," Tyrr said draining his glass, watching the two brothers drain theirs. and then they all stood up. "15 bells then, we meet back here."

Gres hesitated as if he wanted to say something to Grallen but he followed Tyrr and his brother out of the inn.

[grallen gast]

"You may take one piece of silver...”
Grallen raised an eyebrow, trying to see if he was chiding her or patronising her... neither would be in his interests... but took the coin anyway. It flashed briefly in her fingers and was gone, disappeared into the crisp, innocently spotless folds of her clothes. She allowed herself to smile slyly at the men, meeting their eyes in turn.

And then Tyrr spoke again, and whatever words she had been forming died in her throat.

“We are in the people business. There are some who pay extremely well for certain types of people and we acquire those types for our clients.”

She didn’t show it. Her mind may have stopped still as the cat that realises the mouse it has caught is a vilerat, but on reflection, she would be proud to note that the only hint of her sudden dawning horror was a slight glazing of her sharp yellow eyes.

“Do you understand?”
Yes. Oh, a thousand times, yes, more than you could possibly guess. And the worst thing wasn’t in running up against slavers, or in suddenly seeing that the people she’d hidden in the back of her memories were barely more heartless or cruel than herself. It wasn’t in reliving all those years of silent isolation, and finding they hurt just as much as they did every time her angry mind dredged them up from the dark corners of her memory.

The worst thing was that she wasn’t sure what to do, now. In theory, there was no reason to change her plans now – she was dead sure she’d worked for people more callous, more vindictive, more simply and unashamedly vicious, than these petty traffickers. But... she’d never knowingly worked for slavers before – it was no point kidding herself, there must have been times when she’d simply not let herself find out what it was people really did, to save herself from having to ask these questions.

Grallen Gast was approximately 17 years old, and she had always known what she wanted to do, if not always how exactly to go about it.

Right now, she had no idea.

The barman was calling time, and the men around the table were moving restlessly, wanting to be away. She had to come to a decision. She had to make up her mind, and she had to make the right choice. If she didn’t she’d be risking her neck...

And what about the others? Why did they want to know about Mister Altario so badly? More questions, when all I want is a single straight answer.

“I am trusting you Grallen to keep your mouth closed. 15 bells then, we meet back here."

They were going. And they were trusting her. Fools as well as worms. She nodded, grinned, and waved them away with every appearance of cheerful indifference. She ignored the roar for blood that pounded in her ears as she watched them leave, ignored the desperate need to hunt them down and make them scream their confessions to the darkening streets as she paid for a suitably shabby room for the night. Ignored the red shadows that danced behind her eyes as Pagran helpfully explained the costs, the times for breakfast, pointed her towards her room.

She smiled, carefree and easy and charmingly dangerous, at those she passed on the way to her room, while her head echoed with snarls and the smell of hot blood.

Carefully, quietly, she shut the door of her room, softly, she sat down on the little palette-bed, took Earnest from her pocket and placed him in the wash-basin, which she filled with the water from the jug set aside.

And then she carefully, and with great concentration, ran her nails down the walls, again and again, completely absorbed in the sound of crumbling plaster, until the wall was scored all over with long broken lines, and her fingers were bleeding, and she was too tired and confused to think any more, and she fell asleep, and dreamed of cages.

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