|
|
Post by Athuraadd Fallonkreath on Feb 9, 2014 20:50:22 GMT
Slipping in curtly behind a rather heavy-set fellow, Athuraadd was relieved to have finally found a place to rest and relax. It was a familiar place too; he remembered fondly the trip he'd gone on with his father and brothers to this very inn when he was but a knee-high lad, and feelings of nostalgic pleasure washed over him like a warm tide. He wiltered a little however when he realised the heavy-set fellow was glaring down at him, seemingly eying up the new arrival. Athie treated him to his sweetest smile, gave him a little wave and quickly moved on, tugging up his satchel strap as he went. The tavern smelt of ale and warm food and cinnamon and wood burning in a hearth. Athuraadd adored such scents; it made him feel at home, even though home was far away. He was one for warmth and comfort and was relishing being out of the cold.
He crossed the tavern to the bar, where a barmaid was cleaning a glass. He approached with a large smile, "A mug of your best, please. Oh, and one room for the night." She gave him a sweet smile and poured out his beverage, handed it back and named her price. Athie delved deep into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pouch that jangled when it hit the wooden bar. He opened it and discreetly counted the needed coins, before handing them over to the barmaid. She thanked him and Athuraadd - remembering his manners - thanked her back. He popped the pouch back into his pocket, picked up his mug and turned to find a seat. He blinked and gave a sullen pout. The place was rather crowded; at every table and on every chair people were conversing and laughing and sometimes even chanting (although it was clear the alcohol was having a detrimental effect on their singing abilities). They seemed happy, but Athuraadd felt it wasn't his place to try and wriggle in. He thought of maybe turning back and drinking at the bar. The barmaid seemed friendly, perhaps maybe- Then suddenly, Athie spotted -in the corner of the tavern- hidden away from everyone else in a little nook and cranny, was a booth. It was near the fire and looked particularly comfortable. Quickly and nimbly, Athuraadd jostled over, plonked his mug down and wriggled into the seat, feeling rather content with himself.
As the noises of the bustling tavern continued to chorus around him, the satisfied Athuraadd brought the mug to his lips and sipped the first drop of ale. It felt wonderfully refreshing, and Athie savoured the flavour. Ale and rum was always something his family held rather fondly; when all his aunties and uncles and cousins were present the ale was broken out, and it wouldn't be a Fallonkreath social without substantial merrymaking. Athuraadd hadn't felt any pangs of homesickness until now, as he clutched the mug in his hands like it was a precious trophy. No, he thought suddenly, vehemently, There's only one thing to cure missing home. And with that, he took another large gulp of his drink, letting out a loud refreshed sigh as the mug left his lips. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his sleeve and delved deep into his backpack. He rummaged through all his ingredients and his cooking equipment and muttered something about being hungry. He gave out a triumphant "Aha!" when he found his item of choice, and pulled out a meat pie that he'd bought earlier from the market. His empty stomach gave an awaiting growl. He took a large bite, and found himself having to will his body not to let out a loud, satisfied groan. He noticed a window on the other wide of the room and saw droplets of rain beginning to lash against the glass. He stared out, aimlessly munching still, and felt a pang of pity for those caught out in the weather.
|
|
|
|
Post by Cedric Vyrrson on Feb 12, 2014 0:23:56 GMT
As a Vetr specializing in the darker side of public relations, Cedric had to be well-equipped for undercover work.
He traveled disguised through the city for the entire day, a black cloak shielding him from the leery eyes of the folks wandering the murky streets of the city. Anonymous, he was at his strongest point just as the clouds covered the sun. Now, of course, the night had rolled in, but he was comfortable by the fire of the Battleboar Inn and had decided to take a brief break from his relentless patrolling of the streets. It wasn't like he needed to meet with a particular client right now, anyway.
He was wearing the guise of a dark-haired, pale-skinned man he'd killed a few years back. Cedric had found the fellow abusing a hapless old lady who was shielding her infant granddaughter, rage in his eyes.
That rage had flickered out like a candle, snuffed by his hand.
But enough dismal thoughts, although the night was perfect for them. There was a warm fire beside him and the ruckus of drunk vikings all around. His hood was pulled down and a mug of ale at his side, with Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream in his other hand. He was here to have himself a nice drink and maybe beat up a few drunks, if the chance happened to cross his path.Things, unfortunately, were exceptionally good at crossing his path, even if all he did was want to read for a brief moment.
Cedric's attention was brought from his reading by someone entering. It was a small man, apparently rather amiable in temperament--the Vetr carefully noted his dashing smiles in response to some of the more burly patrons' glowers and what Ced could only guess were polite formalities towards the barmaid.
After a moment of glancing around, the man came to flop down in one of the few remaining seats, right across the fire from Cedric. Ahh, wonderful. Amicable company.
"Good evening," Ced greeted the man before taking a quick sip of the drink he'd ordered and returning to his book. The ale was not nearly as fine as the stuff he was used to, but homey and warm enough. Besides, he didn't drink much. It was better to keep his mind sharp.
Outside, the first few droplets of rain struck the windowpanes, the thunk of their impact drowned out by the viking merrymaking. He managed to pick up on the fact on one of his perfunctory scans of the room--he had to keep his eyes open for any sign of conflict or bad words towards the Drakonrhedi, after all.
"Looks like it's going to be a dark and stormy night," he mused with a grin.
A dark and stormy night, where a cloaked dark figure can meander in the streets, illuminated only by the flashes of lightning. How cliche.
Ced smiled to himself, taking another swallow of his ale before glancing around the bar.
Although there appeared to be no strife for him to resolve yet, there were a few louder shouting matches going on. The Vetr was more worried, however, about two vikings quietly growling to each other at the end of a corner table. Such quiet rage could never be a good sign.
He adjusted himself in his seat, ready to respond to an altercation, before looking back down to his book.
| Tags: Athuraadd FallonkreathInspiration: Iced Earth, mainly. Notes: HI TEAPOT I'M SORRY IT SUCKS HERE HAVE AN UNDERCOVER CEDRIC. |
|
|
|
|
Post by Athuraadd Fallonkreath on Feb 12, 2014 12:00:56 GMT
"Good evening,"
Athuraadd gave a sudden squeak of surprise, a few crumbs spraying from his mouth as he did so. In his embarrassment, he flung the back of his wrist up to his mouth to shield the proverbial floodgate that often occurred when he forgot to chew his food before speaking. He turned to face the source of the address and happened upon another man sitting at a nearby table, book in one hand, mug in the other. Athuraadd blinked, slightly curious. He'd completely overlooked this fellow tavern goer, seemingly more aware of the more...louder patrons. Regardless, Athie was pleased to have found someone else who appeared to be alone. He gave a warm smile, cheeks still bunched up with food, "Gobebemi-" He stopped, realising he was still in the process of chewing and flung both hands in front of his mouth this time, face turning a shade of flushed pink. He swallowed, took a deep breath and turned to face the gentleman, "Good evening." he grinned, a little sheepishly this time. He reached for his ale and took a large gulp to wash his food down, deciding it best to push his meal away from him in case he was tempted to sneak a bite.
He took another glance at the book the stranger was reading, but couldn't make the title out. Nevertheless, he deducted (in his own, special, simple Athie way) that this man was probably the more quiet type and that Athuraadd had to be on his most best behaviour; no loud jokes, no being a pest (that was asking a lot though) and certainly no more spraying food everywhere. He gave another blush of embarrassment at the thought, but tried to steer the conversation on, "What are you reading?" he asked, turning his body full on in his seat so that he was properly facing the stranger now, so as not to seem impolite.
"Looks like it's going to be a dark and stormy night,"
Athuraadd tried to smile and give a sturdy nod of agreement, but a small nagging thought at the back of his head made him shift uncomfortably in his head; Don't say you have a phobia of thunder, don't say you have a phobia of thunder, don't say you have a phobia of thunder. He cast a slightly nervous eye over to the window where the rain continued to patter against the glass, slightly heavier this time. He swallowed hard and managed to muster a tiny smile, "Glad I booked a room for tonight then." Another thought occurred and he prayed that his room had a window with shutters; he hated thunder the most, but the flash of lighting moments before is what initially causes all rational thought fleeing from him - rather like a startled pony.
He decided it was best to take his mind off the possibility and instead introduce himself to this new acquaintance, "I'm Athuraadd," He gave a pause, "But you can call me Athie. Are you from around here?" he asked, taking another sip of his drink, dimly aware that he was reaching the end of his mug by this point.
Athuraadd watched, slightly perplexed as the other man appeared to be scouting the tavern with a watchful gaze. It wasn't a sort of 'familiarising one's self with the other bar patrons' kind of gaze either, it seemed much more purposeful than that, like he was looking for something in particular. Athuraadd gave a quick glance around the tavern too, but couldn't sight out anything unusual. When he looked back at the stranger, his head was down in his book and Athuraadd concluded it must've been a good read - certainly good enough that you wouldn't want to be interrupted, so Athie took the final swig of his drink and sat patiently on the edge of his seat, like a schoolchild waiting for the commands of a teacher. Tags: Cedric Vyrrson
Notes: WHEEE HI, OPAL.
And noooooooooooooooo it doesn't suck - Shakespeare butters me up, YOU KNOW DIS.
|
|
|
|
Post by Cedric Vyrrson on Feb 12, 2014 13:11:05 GMT
Originally, all Cedric got back in reply was a, "Gobebemi-" as the man appeared to forget not to chew. The Vetr attempted to hide a grin by bowing his head, waiting for the rather flustered man to recover himself enough to say "Good evening" properly.
"What are you reading?"
It took the Vetr a bit to decide whether or not to tell the man. Of course, revealing his obsession with Shakespeare automatically connected him to Vetr Cedric Vyrrson to anyone who knew enough about him. It was usually a bad idea to connect one's disguise with one's identity through any means, but sometimes it could be done safely and carefully. Usually, if you broke with what your own beliefs were for the duration of the disguise, people would consider you a distinct person, while still assigning preconceived notions and assumptions to you enough that they often fleshed out your character for you.
Cedric was a lazy bastard, he loved making other people do his work for him. Playing two gangs against each other to eliminate them both was always so much easier than actually bringing in his Stalkers.
Either way, he was digressing. However, the man appeared to be quite curious, and also set on being polite, a rather welcome break from all the warriors that usually populated the streets of the Midgardborg.
"Glad I booked a room for tonight then."
Cedric nodded, a bit distracted by Shakespeare and a bit distracted by his own thoughts. He hadn't booked a room, he'd be out on the streets soon enough, probably playing clean-up or beat-up. Those two got confused fairly often, at least where the Vetr was concerned.
"I'm Athuraadd. But you can call me Athie. Are you from around here?"
Cedric glanced up with an apologetic smile. "Ah, my apologies. I'm Alvis. Athie," he repeated the man's nickname, as if to verify it in his memory. Cedric kept a few established identities, but this didn't happen to be one of them, and thus the name had come out on the spot. "Yes, mostly I spend my time in the Midgardborg. I do visit the villages on occasion, though."
The Vetr took a sip of his drink, then spoke again. "Oh! Yes. I'm reading Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. One of my favorites, although I'm only on my second reading. Sorry if I'm a bit absent-minded, just here to relax and all that." That bit about the 'second reading' was a terrible, terrible lie as far as Cedric's actual persona went. He'd read all of Shakespeare's works at least three times--or, at least, all the ones he could get his hands on.
He gave a rather lopsided grin, one finger holding his place in the book to enable him to converse with less distraction.
"Are you a traveler, then? I don't think I've seen you around here before. Although, it is a very big city."
Cedric quickly flew through a better backstory for this spontaneous disguise.
I don't think Alvis could use magic. That places a restriction on me, but that's alright, I don't think I'll have any particular use for magic at least in this conversation. He's an Armfastrung, and thus visits with them on occasion, as well as some villages with his family. Mostly, however, he lives here. Definitely not the most lawful fellow, to give an excuse for my work, but pleasant enough to be around.
The Vetr threw another glance around the tavern again, just to keep tabs on what was going on. The quietly angry men in the corner appeared to have escalated slightly, and were now spitting insults at each other.
"Oh, dear," he murmured, more to himself than Athie, peering at the two men. "I do hope I don't have to go concern myself in that. Would certainly not be a relaxing pastime."
He really would like a nice break before he went off looking for trouble to resolve and keeping tabs on his Drakonrhedi. Unfortunately, breaks were few and far between when one was a Vetr.
| Tags: Athuraadd FallonkreathInspiration: linkNotes: i'm sorry cedric needed a fake name in like literally ten minutes SO THAT HAPPENED Also feel free to have a giant fight break out if you feel like it. I'm totally chill with whatever. |
|
|
|
|
Post by Anton Nystrom on Feb 12, 2014 15:40:48 GMT
Anton was strolling through the streets of Midgardborg, both carefree and careful. He knew that he had fairly little to worry about, but that wasn't saying much. He held his caution at arm's bay, making sure that he wouldn't let go of it, but let himself both relax and enjoy himself when the times were appropriate. And tonight seemed like quite an appropriate time in his opinion. To ruin his lavish enjoyment of the moment, clouds had rolled in, threatening to produce a cacophonous piece of music, and rain was beginning to pour on him. Anton let a sigh go, but a smile was on his face. This type of balance was all too familiar to him: as soon as he began to enjoy himself, something would force him to find a different type of enjoyment. "This is how it always is, eh?"He found himself standing outside of a familiar inn. Without a second thought, he walked into the boisterous inn. The loud and rowdy inn was filled to the brim with people, almost all of them beyond just a bit tipsy. It was a frustrating room for Anton; he had no enjoyment of loud and rowdy, but he was certainly not one to pass up a good ale and a warm room. He walked up to the bar, with a small smile on his face. ”Say, have another room for the night? And some ale, if there's any left after all this.” He eyed the contents of the room as she was getting his drink, and besides the crowd of people, there was a warm fire in the corner, with a seemingly peaceful pairing. Perhaps I can barge in on their peacefulness – it would be nice to relax.He took a breath, the air a mixture of sweat, ale, old wood, and a hint of metallic tang. The ale and wood was a nice contrast to the familiar, dirty smells of everything else in the room. But soon, something even better would begin to flow through the room: the wonderful smell of fresh rain. It was the saving grace of the wet and cold weather that forced everyone inside. The memories of the past began to flood his mind, the rain splashing on his face as a child, the great airships of his clan guarding the city, as he slipped away to the ground, where he could run around like every child dreamed. He remembered the desperate dreams of his childish imagination, with a great drake swooping through the clouds, a blade in one hand and the flow of magic coursing through his body. What he couldn't believe is that all of that was now becoming a reality. Something that was no longer a silly dream in a child's mind, but something that he was training for. Of course, he couldn't believe the hideous horrors that came with the job, or the danger that he prepared for endlessly. The dreams of a child were no longer dreams – they were a sickening and beautiful reality. ”I suppose there really is good and bad in everything,” he whispered to himself. He finally brought himself back to the present, ale in his hand as he leaned on the bar with his other arm. I was supposed to go sit by the fire, wasn't I? Anton carefully navigated the tables filled with people and found himself closing in on the two. He cleared his throat and said, ”I don't suppose either of you mind me sitting here? Warmth and a hint of peace seems to make this the best spot left.” The peace was a far cry from what he was used to, but it would make do – it was better than the rest of the tavern. Inspiration: This fantastic TPoH fanmix. Notes:
AM I DOING THIS RIGHT I ADDED THIS IN BECAUSE I REALIZED THAT THIS WAS ACTUALLY TEXT AAAHHH I'M SORRY. |
|
|
|
Post by Athuraadd Fallonkreath on Feb 12, 2014 16:15:25 GMT
The stranger seemed hesitant to reveal the title of his book and Athie mentally slapped himself on the wrist for prying. He didn't read much, but when he did they were usually cookbooks; pages full to the brim with legendary recipes handed down through the generations. Athuraadd had a lot of them memorized, he didn't really need the cookbooks and yet still they were protectively sealed within his satchel. A thought occurred that he hadn't prepared his own meal in a while; he'd only been in Midgardborg a couple of days and had been basically living off things he'd bought at the market. He made a mental note to himself to pick up some ingredients in the morning, when the storm had passed. His stomach gave a small rumble and he found himself subconsciously reaching for the left overs of the meat pie. He was about to put it to his lips when he stopped and remembered his fellow pub patron. He lowered the snack and asked, "Do you want some?I don't want to eat it all by myself." Without waiting for an answer, he flicked out a butter knife that was wedged in his bag and carefully hacked through the remains of the pie, successfully cutting out a sizable chunk. He set it aside from his own portion, making it available to take if the stranger wanted to do so. Having grown up in a large family, Athuraadd was used to sharing a lot of his food; being the youngest brother made it all the easier for his siblings to snatch things from his plate and get away with it. Athie didn't mind, although he felt happier being able to actually offer something first rather than being the victim of a preemptive dinner table strike. "Ah, my apologies. I'm Alvis." Athuraadd gave a large, welcoming smile, "Pleased to meet you, Alvis." He leaned back in his seat, content to finally be on first name terms with someone outside his clan. Athuraadd was a friendly, sociable sort of lad, but the people of Midgardborg seemed very aloof and distant and Athie found it hard to even start a conversation. Or perhaps that was because Athie found himself - for the first time in his life - as the outsider looking in. "Oh! Yes. I'm reading Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. One of my favorites, although I'm only on my second reading. Sorry if I'm a bit absent-minded, just here to relax and all that." Athuraadd thought for a moment, "Midsummer Night's Dream..." he repeated, musing over the title. He'd come across Shakespeare a couple of times before; while his immediate family were not really ones for sitting still and reading, his auntie on his mother's side had certainly introduced him to a couple of plays before, but his recollection was hazy. He blew a raspberry, trying to remember the titles and the quotes, "My auntie liked Shakespeare," he began, vocalizing his thought process, "She always used to say this one quote...what was it..." He bit his lip, "It's going to drive me mad if I don't remember...something about music?" He shook his head and gave a sheepish grin, "It'll come to me. I'll tell you when it does.""Are you a traveler, then? I don't think I've seen you around here before. Although, it is a very big city." "Arrived here two days ago," Athuraadd began, "I'm Armfastrung, originally. I'm still...technically with them it's just..." He paused momentarily, trying to find a suitable phrasing, "I'm not..with them with them...you know?" He mused again and with a smile, added "But you're right; I'm a traveler...An Armfastrung traveler." "I do hope I don't have to go concern myself in that. Would certainly not be a relaxing pastime." Athuraadd peered over to where Alvis was looking and gave a small grimace, silently thankful they were at the other side of the tavern. His mind then processed what Alvis had said; "Concern yourself?" he queried. The two men were quite impressive in stature and their argument certainly escalating, so much so that Athie realised a couple of other heads in the bar were turned too. He mentally wondered why anyone would want to concern themselves if a fight broke out. His mind then came back to his empty mug, and he tapped a lightly clenched fist against the table, as if in resolution, "Well, Alvis, you can't go over and fight without suitable provisions. A mug of ale, yeah?" he asked jokingly.
”I don't suppose either of you mind me sitting here? Warmth and a hint of peace seems to make this the best spot left."
Athuraadd looked up, and suddenly there was a newcomer. He gave a warm grin, "I don't mind at all." he replied sweetly and - positive that Alvis wouldn't mind either - gestured the newcomer to sit beside him, "Best seat in the house," he confirmed, "I'm Athuraadd...or Athie...Athie's better." He suddenly remembered Alvis' drink and gave a quick glance to see if the stranger had a plentiful supply of drink. He did, so Athuraadd made a mental note to buy him a drink on the next round, "Excuse me for a second, just gotta get two re-fills!"
Thinking it best at this point allow Alvis and the newcomer to introduce themselves, Athie sprung up and bounded towards the bar, deciding to take the long route as far away from the bickering men as possible. There wasn't any notion in his mind that Alvis would actually go over there and bother himself in the petty arguments of others, and it was only polite to offer him a drink. Athie had enough coin for it; his family were reasonably well off in the clan and he'd been sent on his way with suitable coinage in his purse. He reached the bar and ordered two pints, happily leaning over the wooden counter like an expectant child at a sweet-shop. He received the drinks, paid and made his way back over to Alvis, deciding to take it extra slowly so he didn't spill any of the liquid. In his absent-mindedness, however, he walked past the table with the two quarreling vikings. One of them had clearly reached his boiling point and stood up in his seat, forcefully and angrily...and straight into Athuraadd's path. The much smaller (and weaker) viking made a startled yelp, stumbled, and fell head-first, whacking his head against the floor with a heavy thump. The mugs were knocked clean out of his hands the contents sprayed everywhere. Thankfully most of the patrons in the firing line had managed to dodge the blast. The only two affected were Athuraadd, who'd fallen into a puddle of the stuff and was now sufficiently wet...and the viking who'd knocked him over. Someone in the tavern cried out for a fight to start, and the much older, bigger viking seemed more than complacent. He wiped a few stray drops of ale from his face and glared down at Athuraadd, who was trying to deal with the strong, numbing pain in his head. "Perhaps you should watch where you're going." the viking hissed, turning slightly red in the face. Athuraadd looked up and - in the traditional Athuraadd code of conduct of 'not thinking before you speak' - replied; "Me?! You pushed your chair out - it's your fault!" he cried, more flustered than anything else. He wasn't particularly angry at this point, just...shocked, and his mind certainly was more erratic when he was surprised or frightened. Tags: Cedric Vyrrson, Anton Nystrom
Notes: EDITED NOW SO ATHIE DIDN'T TOTALLY JUST GIVE ANTON THE COLD SHOULDER LELZ.
Also, Opal - bad move to let me have free reign on the fight 'cause it's about to get MORTAL KOMBAT UP IN THIS MUTHAF*CKA. Hehe, jokes.
|
|
|
|
Post by Cedric Vyrrson on Feb 13, 2014 4:32:51 GMT
"Do you want some? I don't want to eat it all by myself."
"Oh, goodness. Thank you kindly." Cedric wasn't particularly hungry, but he probably would be soon enough with the work he planned on and a possible imminent brawl. It'd be good to not have to stop for a bit, at least.
Hopefully it's not poisoned. He doubted that an assassin would take the pain to decipher his disguise and then buy a meat pie in order to kill him. If someone was willing to go to those lengths, well, it was a new personal record for the Vetr.
As Athie began to speak about Shakespeare, Cedric snagged the meat pie and began to nibble. It was good, if a touch stale. Once again, not the priciest option out there, but the Vetr had long since discovered that the priciest things were not necessarily the best things.
"Midsummer Night's Dream... My auntie liked Shakespeare. She always used to say this one quote...what was it... It's going to drive me mad if I don't remember...something about music? It'll come to me. I'll tell you when it does."
Cedric chuckled. "That sounds good. Although I haven't read much of the bard's works, I always find them fascinating. Perhaps a bit mentally exhausting to get through, but he certainly has no lack of motifs and themes to analyze, along with puns and comedy enough to satisfy."
Soon enough, it was his turn to discover more about this man who had decided to offer him his company and food.
"Arrived here two days ago. I'm Armfastrung, originally. I'm still...technically with them it's just... I'm not..with them with them...you know? But you're right; I'm a traveler...An Armfastrung traveler."
The Vetr nodded. Whoops! Looks like I'm not an Armfastrung after all. Hah. I'm a Lennarting now, sounds like. He couldn't have any possibility that the man would realize he actually wasn't part of the clan he claimed to be, after all. But with such new eyes to the world, he probably hadn't come into contact with many outsiders.
"Travelling's enjoyable. I think someone like you will enjoy it." Cedric smiled from behind his meat pie with all the warmth and authenticity of a true grin. He did not doubt that Athie would like travelling--at least from what he'd seen, it seemed the perfect occupation.
In response to his mutter, Athie asked, "Concern yourself?"
Cedric blinked. He hadn't entirely realized he'd said that loud enough to be heard. He elaborated in a joking tone, "Well, I can't have the bar devolving into a fistfight this early. Most are barely intoxicated."
"Well, Alvis, you can't go over and fight without suitable provisions. A mug of ale, yeah?" the small Armfastrung replied with equal humor.
"I--well, ah--thank you?"
How uncommonly nice. Perhaps he is an assassin.
Before he could say much more, a rather familiar face came up.
”I don't suppose either of you mind me sitting here? Warmth and a hint of peace seems to make this the best spot left."
Cedric turned to find a Tiro standing in front of him. He only had really remembered the kid because of his hair--it was of a similar hue as the Vetr's own.
"I don't mind at all. Best seat in the house. I'm Athuraadd...or Athie...Athie's better. Excuse me for a second, just gotta get two re-fills!"
"Of course I don't mind! Come, sit on right down. I'm Alvis. Nice hair, by the way." Cedric gave a wicked grin. "I'm partial to cerulean tones myself."
Now was time for the Vetr to be infuriating and dance around the fact that he was in disguise. Ced could truly be an annoying pest sometimes.
"So, what are you doing here, then? I mean, besides taking a break from defending the populace and beating the monstrosities that have invaded our world."
He was just going to casually drop hints here and watch the poor Tiro's reaction. He'd have to stop once Athie came back, though. Couldn't let too many people catch onto it, and he didn't mind appearing creepy. All part of the amusement.
Cedric's attention was brought by Athie, however, taking a rather risky route back to their spot. He was looking the wrong way, and--whoops.
The Vetr flinched as the man catapulted forwards, alcohol spraying outwards to drench both Athie and one of the arguing men.
He gave a long, drawn-out sigh.
"It appears as if we must once again save the day. Feel like accompanying me on this particular escapade?"
Or, rather, night. Time is immaterial. Either way, at this particular phase of our clock, it is my time.
Cedric stood, a hidden blade in his coat sleeve tumbling down to rest in his closed fist, just in case.
"Perhaps you should watch where you're going."
The Vetr slid through the crowd, coming quickly to the scene.
"Me?! You pushed your chair out - it's your fault!"
Athie didn't seem challenging, just protesting an unfair pinning of the blame. Cedric hadn't seen accident too closely, but from his vantage point, it didn't look like the littler viking's fault.
It could be a trap, Cedric.
Or it could be a man who was nice enough to give you food and buy you a drink in trouble.
I'll try and not start any trouble now.
His first instinct was to start off this 'conflict resolution' with a quote. However, usually, Shakespeare was confusing to people, so he quickly translated his statement to more commonplace language. His instincts were coming through in a bad way--he didn't want the brawl this time around, although usually he preferred such occurrences.
"Calm yourself, my dear sir. We wouldn't want you ruining your fine evening, or getting kicked out of the pub so early in the night."
The man growled. "Why? This 'oron drenched 'e!"
Cedric took a deep breath, trying his hardest not to quote the Prince of Verona. "But you did send your chair back in his direction. I'm certain he had no such intentions of messying your marvelous attire." The Vetr threw a glance to Athie, motioning with a small jerk of his head and movement of his eyes to get out of the way, towards a safer locale behind the Vetr. "Perhaps apologies on both sides of the conflict would be in order, and all parties could return to their normal business."
Carefully, out of the corner of his eye, he glanced around for Athie and the Tiro to make sure they were both in advantageous positions should a fight start, away from the direct line of combat.
Finally, he scanned the room, finding many of the patrons looking his way with curiosity, wariness, or anger. Undoubtedly, many here wanted a brawl. He could deliver, if things came to that, but he would much prefer that such an option never came to be. 'Peacemaking' and all that, after all.
However, that didn't stop him from accessing his tactical position. Sadly, it appeared to be rather lacking: although he did have a good amount of cover, he didn't have nearly as many projectiles in arm's reach as he'd like.
| Tags: Athuraadd Fallonkreath, Anton NystromInspiration: The fact that everyone's using a name starting with the letter A. EDIT: Also, gizoogled R&J. Notes: SHIZZLE'S GOIN DOWWWWWN Also, I have no problem with anyone taking control of the vikings or bar patrons, so GO RIGHT AHEAD AND TWIST THE THREAD |
|
|
|
|
Post by Anton Nystrom on Feb 14, 2014 5:48:06 GMT
Anton was relieved to see that they warmly greeted him. He most certainly didn't want to deal with being shoved off to the side, but it seems that his original instincts: they were nice. The smaller man had patted next to him, offering a prime spot to sit. With a small smile, he sat down and muttered a thanks. The fire was a warm comfort to the cold rain, and the ale was good at dulling the thunderous tavern and torrential downpour -- with the occasional crack of lightning. "I'm Athuraadd...or Athie...Athie's better," Athie had said to him, interrupting his quickly digressing train of thoughts. Before Anton could figure out how to respond, he started to get up, apparently getting some more ale. In an effort to keep himself acquainted with everyone and friendly, Anton said, "I'm Anton Nystrom, by the way!" He was saying it to the both of them, but tried to make sure he could say it all before Athie had left entirely. He hoped that he caught that. Athie, however, seemed quite friendly in the few moments that they had spent together. Offering to get ale for his friend, letting a stranger sit next to him, and being quite enthusiastic about it all. It was pleasant to see someone so amiable in such a rowdy place. A small smile formed on the lips on Anton as his mind continued to figure out this friendly little man. "Nice hair, by the way. I'm partial to cerulean tones myself," Alvis had said -- a strange grin on his face. "Well, I'll take the compliment. I grew it myself, even brushed it this morning," Anton jested. He cared a lot more about his hair than just that, though. As un-Viking-like as it was, having such strange hair meant that it was one of your finest selling points. Being easily sold made some situations a lot less awkward than they would be otherwise. Being sociable was never one of his strong points -- he could be fierce, frustrating, awkward, shy, and aggressive. But sociable? Making small talk? He had to bless his strange hair to do that for him. "So, what are you doing here, then? I mean, besides taking a break from defending the populace and beating the monstrosities that have invaded our world." Alvis was certainly a strange individual, asking about this. He knew that Anton was a Tiro -- or at the very least, from the Hrafnung clan. Questions popped up into Anton's mind, but he silenced them with a sip of his drink. But he didn't seem familiar to Anton at all. He seemed like a stranger. If he was hiding something, he was either an expert or a fool. Or perhaps he could be a nobody, someone who was just a bit perceptive. Cerulean tones though? Blue hair. That's not common... "Every guardian needs a break now and then, don't they? I remember this place from when I was younger, so it's a nice place to stop in when I'm relaxing, eh?" Anton had actually meant to return to the Drakonborg tonight, but due to a handful of circumstances (the rain, Anton going into a zone, and most importantly, the idea of escaping from those crowded dorms for a night) meant that he had to stay at the Battleboar Inn -- something that he was most certainly not complaining about. He did have fond memories from when he was younger. The Inn was known to anyone who stayed a decent amout of time in Midgardborg. Athie had interrupted the two's conversation, and he was up in an instant. Following close behind Cedric, he had stepped just a bit away from the direct scene of conflict. If a fight broke out, he needed to observe the situation and cast, and both of those were a bit more difficult than he'd like if he were being hit by a bunch of idiotic men. He didn't want to be too closely associated with them so he might be able to avoid the first few blows and turn the tide of the fight just a bit in their favour. He glanced around the room, ignoring the conversation at hand as he assumed these vikings were beyond reason and logic, to see if any weapons were available. He noted a handful of mugs on the offender's table, but there was another table about four feet to the right of Anton. It had two mugs, as well as a candlestick. The candle itself would be very useful to Anton, the already condensed light would be easy to manipulate if anyone got close enough. As it stood, they were just a tad bit too far away to make good use of the candle, but perhaps he could weave the fight over to the table. He took a slightly defensive stance, ready to brunt an attack so he could quickly retaliate. While he wasn't too particular about explaining how the fight happened, he wasn't all against a fight breaking out. In fact, a barely visible smile curled at the edges of Anton's face.
Inspiration: OFF OST Notes: HOLY GOD THIS IS SO SHORT AND BAD but at least it's a reply? bah i'm sorry guys |
|
|
|
Post by Athuraadd Fallonkreath on Feb 14, 2014 21:08:29 GMT
The smell of ale seeped in through Athuraadd's nose, but it wasn't the nice sort of ale smell when you're just about to take the first sip of your pint, it was a 'oh gods I'm dripping head to toe in alcohol and I absolutely stink' sort of smell, but Athie -at this point in time- had bigger things to concern himself over. His wet clothes and slightly moist hair would have to be dealt with later. A bath would be good...if his room even came with a bath, otherwise it was going to be a 'hang your head and clothes outside the window' affair. He dimly became aware that Alvis, followed very closely by the man now known as 'Anton', had arrived into the fray. He shot them both a very apologetic look, guilty that he'd both split Alvis' drink and interrupted their conversation. He tried to prop himself up to get a better look at them but gave a sudden hiss of pain when he realised he'd fallen onto his wrist and trapped it underneath his body. Granted he wasn't very heavy at all, so the chances of him breaking a bone with his own weight were slim, but it still hurt like hell. "Calm yourself, my dear sir. We wouldn't want you ruining your fine evening, or getting kicked out of the pub so early in the night.""Why? This 'oron drenched 'e!"
"I...I..." Athie was lost for words, the unfair accusation hurting him deeply. Obviously, he was used to being called a 'moron' by his brothers and certain, high-ranking clan members. But hearing it from a total stranger -even one so inebriated- stung a little bit. He gave a little whimper to himself as he tried to push himself from the ground with his capable wrist, clothes dripping ale onto the wooden floor.
"But you did send your chair back in his direction. I'm certain he had no such intentions of messying your marvelous attire." By this point, Athuraadd was kneeling and cupping his hurt wrist. He quickly looked up at the angered viking, trying his very best to muster a sweet smile, "None at all! I promise!" he bleated. He felt a little pathetic, sitting there in drenched clothes with a hurt wrist, practically boot-licking a viking who - in Athie's eyes - was entirely in the wrong. He could only imagine the faces of his brothers, half of them laughing in the back of his mind with non-sympathetic glee, the other choosing not to associate themselves with their littlest sibling. But Athuraadd -despite yearning for the respect of his family- was resolved to remain pacifist in this situation. He admired Alvis' tactic and choose to nod eagerly with every word that fell from the other man's lips. He caught Alvis gesturing him to move away, so Athie quickly hobbled behind him and Anton, using the latter's height to shield him from the angry glares of the enraged Viking.
"Perhaps apologies on both sides of the conflict would be in order, and all parties could return to their normal business." Athuraadd's head by this point was nodding so quickly he thought it was roll off his shoulders. "I'm sorry!" he blurted out frantically, "I apologise! My bad! No hard feelings!" He daren't offer his hand out to shake, but felt his smile was peace enough. The Viking - and the rest of the bar - weren't taken by his apology. "Knock him out!" someone yelled, "Let 'im 'ave it!" another cried. Athuraadd could only muster a squeak. He could run...judging by the size of the other viking, he relied very much on upper body strength whereas Athie carried it all in his legs. He could easily outrun this man. He gave a quick glance to the doorway to see if he had a clear pathway but - no. It was sealed off by a gaggle of vikings demanding a bloodbath. His would-be opponent gave a heavy, throaty growl, like an animal ready to pounce, "How exactly do you plan to make it up to me?" His eyes glistened with rage, as he took a couple of slow but purposeful steps towards Athie, whose heart skipped like a rabbit in a trap. The sound of the man's boots clunking against the wooden floor echoed through the bar and silenced the sounds of the rowdy patrons, who fell deathly silent. In his complete terror and through no fault of his own, Athie's shaking hand subconsciously reached forward and gripped the clothing of the nearest person - Anton - and his nails clenched fearfully into the fabric on the man's back. By this point, the Viking had shoved his way past Alvis and Anton was now bearing down on Athuraadd. There was a moment's pause, when suddenly the older man's hand shot forward and seized Athie by the collar of his clothing, effectively holding by the scruff of his neck. It wasn't tight enough to cause any real pain, but certainly sudden enough for Athie to give a startled yelp. The Viking suddenly jerked his hand upwards and successfully lifted Athie slightly from the ground, with Athie's hand still tightly latched onto Anton's clothes. The other hand, despite the pain still in his wrist, came up to his opponent's wrist and gripped tightly, mostly out of fear and pure irrational thought. The Viking pulled him in close, so that Athuraadd could smell the stale beer on his breath. "I said," the Viking hissed, "-how are you going to make it up to me?" Athuraadd was about to whimper an answer, but before even one syllable fell out of his mouth, the Viking gave him a violent shake, causing Athie to give a choked gasp. Tags: Cedric Vyrrson, Anton Nystrom
Notes: Sorry, guys...didn't mean to make Athie into such a frickin' damsel in distress jfc
|
|
|
|
Post by Cedric Vyrrson on Feb 15, 2014 4:04:37 GMT
"Well, I'll take the compliment. I grew it myself, even brushed it this morning."
"Goodness me. How grateful your hair must be for the good care you take of it."
Cedric was silently snickering inside the safety of his mind.
Someday, perhaps, the Tiro would have cause to interact with Vetr Cedric Vyrrson, and Ced would simply have to mention how he was 'partial to cerulean tones' himself with a little sly wink before passing on. It was unfair to give a Drakonrhedi too many hints, after all, it ruined the Vetr's fun.
"Every guardian needs a break now and then, don't they? I remember this place from when I was younger, so it's a nice place to stop in when I'm relaxing, eh?"
"Indeed," he murmured, one eyebrow quirking in an absentminded concern. He was instead focusing on the fight in front of him--something probably requiring much more attention than a Tiro's reasoning behind a break from the cramped quarters of the Drakonborg.
At least Athie appeared to be being as reasonable as a Viking could be. With a series of apologies squeaked out, he was trying his hardest to make it up to the infuriated drunkard.
However, the Vetr noted something else. He wasn't able to scramble over--in the fall, apparently his wrist had become injured. This became obvious as soon as he tried to push himself up from the ground, instead falling back down and beginning to nurse one hand.
Probably sprained.
"I apologise! My bad! No hard feelings!"
Cedric watched for the viking's reaction. The inebriated man did not appear to be backing down at all, and Ced suspected more fiery-bloodedness than liquid courage. However, knowing his people, it was most likely a wonderful mix of both.
The viking strode forward, and the bar became silent. It was the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the plunge.
Ced hated the dramatics.
Quietly, almost entirely unnoticed, one hand curled into a fist, latent at his side.
Ced, you're on break, don't concern yourself with this.
"Knock him out!"
On break, remember? Long night's work ahead of you.
"Let 'im 'ave it!"
Cedric risked closing his eyes for a deep breath to calm himself down. He hated humans, he really did. The mob mentality here was simply a destructive force. Call them what you would, but at their core humans were no better than those around them.
And, unfortunately, the world was populated by lowly people.
"How exactly do you plan to make it up to me?"
Cedric, this is your break. You deal with behemoths otherwise. This is fighting those whose own stupidity would hurt something no more fearsome than a butterfly.
Athie was yanked from the floor, and Cedric's eyes opened again. He arched a brow, unimpressed.
"I said, how are you going to make it up to me?"
No offence to butterflies.
The viking evidently had thought him only useful as a peacemaker, and had left his entire flank open to the Vetr. Big mistake. Never leave your flank open to a Vetr, even if you're friendly with them. They might try to hug you.
That's what he'd learned from Talithe and Freya, at least.
Cedric gave a sigh, slipped the blade back into its hidden pocket in his sleeve, and turned to the Tiro.
"Anton? Don't try this at home."
In one swift step, he was inside the man's swinging radius, plunging his fingers beneath the viking's tendons in his elbow and digging in, yanking the tendons inside around in a manner most rude.
The man yelped, dropping Athie to clutch at his arm.
However, his yell and movement were cut short as the Vetr sailed in with his other hand, striking with his hand in a rigid line directly on the man's throat. He choked and gasped for air, and as he staggered backwards, Cedric stepped behind him and carefully applied two fingers just beneath his ear.
There was a sinus there, the Vetr knew, that monitored blood pressure for the head. Pressing on it could fool someone into essentially knocking themself out with little to no effort on your part.
"Hush, my little drunkling."
The man's eyelids flickered, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he sank to the ground, supported by the Vetr as to not collide too hard with the oak flooring.
Cedric dusted off his hands with a smug smirk, turning to find the entire bar still staring at him.
"Oh! My apologies." He fumbled in a pocket, finding a coin and flipping it across the room to the bartender. "Sorry about the mess, everyone!"
He gave the entire bar a bright smile and hand wave before tuning them out and turning to Athie, kneeling down beside him if he was still on the floor.
"You alright? How's the wrist?"
Ced shot a quick look towards Anton, making sure that the Tiro hadn't been damaged in some fight or other. People were weird beasts, indeed, and damaging a Tiro was usually frowned upon. All he'd ever been able to say was "oops."
It was probably why they didn't let him take on apprentices very often, or guard supply caravans. Not like he enjoyed the latter duty or anything, it was exceptionally boring in his opinion. He preferred his job, thank you very much. Recon, scouting, and infiltration (with the occasional caper or assassination just to keep life interesting) were more his thing.
The Vetr was only slightly concerned with the possibility that the entire bar would come after him. Usually, even drunkards had a bit of sense when it came to seeing displays of martial expertise or power. People very rarely responded to respect when inebriated, and Cedric preferred the 'fear' route as a rule anyway.
"Anton, look like they're going to try and pull anything stupid?" he inquired, just to check. Hopefully the kid would get his meaning.
| |
|
|
|
|
Post by Anton Nystrom on Feb 15, 2014 19:35:32 GMT
Athie's hands grabbed into the fabric of his shirt, which was frustrating but he understood the fear. Athie seemed to not be a fighter at heart, but rather a kind man who leaned on others. Anton had no qualms with such men, as he was more than willing to let someone take care of him if he were to take care of them. It was fair, and playing to the other's strengths. Anton placed a hand on Athie's wrist, in an attempt to calm him, but as he was about to, the drunken viking came pushing through, to grab Athie by the collar. The situation was tense, but Anton was concerned with how to pry the drunkard away from Athie without causing anymore pain to Athie himself. Luckily for Anton, however, the friend of Athie was a lot quicker than Anton was. Deadly so, in fact. "Anton? Don't try this at home."It was over just in time for Anton to realize that Alvis was striking. The man he attacked lay on the floor, already unconscious. The patrons who found themselves allied with the unconscious man would probably be angry as soon as they gathered their thoughts. As impressive as Alvis's fighting skills were, they displayed an excellence at removing a single target, which was useless against a mob. A mob which was, apparently, still very keen on getting revenge -- now for more than just one offense. Alvis stopped to pay attention to Athie, who was on the floor after the fiasco. Anton took the moment to look around the room, to see if anyone else was charging at them. For the moment, they seemed to be still gathering their thoughts, but Anton felt as if they didn't have much time to spare. Specifically, a rather large, bald man about five feet in front Anton, was already looking to go in. "Anton, look like they're going to try and pull anything stupid?" Alvis's question was there to see if they had any time to treat Athie, or at the very least, make a bit of peace. Sadly, it wasn't looking too good. The fact that the bald man had gathered his thoughts meant that other's were starting to the same, and it would just snowball out of control from there. "I can buy a bit of time, but they're about to do something quite stupid," Anton said, focusing on his opponents. When he spoke the words, it signaled that they were ready to either fight or run, despite the lack of truth in that. Athie could run, yes, but unless he could fight one handed, or had a trick of magic kept up his sleeve, Athie would be useless. Alvis, on the other hand, would have to translate those skills of taking one person out into a fully fledged fight, which was fine, if there was someone to take the brunt of the attack as he did so. While there wasn't anyone to do that, there was a wonderful distraction in the form of Anton. The bald man began to walk forward, his hands moving to strike Athie, who he apparently blamed more than Alvis. Which told Anton that, while he had a strong constitution, he was far from intelligent. The exposed chest let Anton place slice a string of light through his side. It wasn't nearly strong enough to go through skin, but it did destroy the clothes and inflict quite a lot of pain. The pain was what Anton was going for. The man gripped his side, not expecting the sudden flare of pain, and as he did so, another strand of light was whipped across the back of his neck, which meant his other hand flew to it to protect it. The magic was difficult to use, especially in such a high stress situation, but the years of practice let Anton be a bit more careless with it. The magic itself was rudimentary at best, but it flew with quite a bit of expertise. It was like a stone arrow, but perfectly aimed. At least, that's how Anton always imagined it. He knew that there were quite a lot of better ways to go about it, but that was what he practiced for. That is what he spent his years training for. The combat itself was secondary, the magic was what Anton was so impossibly fascinated with. Anton had no more time to deal with that man, as he had to put all his focus on him, which left him extremely vulnerable to anyone else. As he broke his focus with the bald man, he saw two others walking up to fight him. "That's all the time I can buy, guys. Make a move now," Anton said as he pulled his fists up to defend himself as best as he could. While he was proficient mostly in magic, his combat skills were still quite good -- which was a result of his many disturbances on the Drakonborg. He most certainly hoped they would do him good now. Notes: THERE I DID A THING ENJOY IT |
|
|
|
Post by Athuraadd Fallonkreath on Feb 15, 2014 20:25:40 GMT
"Anton? Don't try this at home."
Athie could hear Alvis addressing Anton, but before his mind could probably process the context of his words, the firm grip around his collar ceased and Athuraadd fell like a sack of potatoes to the floor, landing with an undignified 'Umpf!' on his backside. With his non-aching wrist, he went to rub his neck to relieve the slight throbbing and with a ping of realization he noticed his attacker now lying motionless on the floor. He blinked and his mouth fell open, aghast. He pointed dumbly at the out-cold drunkard, "Wha-wha-wha..." he stammered, looking up at Alvis, who was cheerfully addressing the tavern.
"Sorry about the mess, everyone!"
Athie blinked, dumbfounded. It had all happened at such speed, his brain was working on overload trying to process it all; boom - spill drinks, boom - fall on floor, boom - piss off angry, drunk Viking, boom - get choked by said angry, drunk Viking, boom - safe and sound, down on the ground. It was all a little too much, especially as Alvis seemed so relaxed about it. Athie gave him a sideways look, "How did you...?" He couldn't even finish his own sentence - he didn't know how to phrase it.
"You alright? How's the wrist?"
As Alvis came down to his level, Athie looked down at his hurt wrist and tried to smile, but it came out as a limp grimace, "It's...fine." he lied. He already felt overwhelmingly guilty for dragging Alvis and Anton into this mess, he couldn't bear the thought of troubling them even more. He did his best to restrain a pained hiss as he held up both hands to give Alvis two-thumbs up, complete with a strained smile through clenched teeth. "Nothing that more ale, won't fix, right?"
It looked like Athie's plan for more beer was going to be somewhat delayed, however. Out of the corner of his eye, a new challenger approached, teeth bared like a wild animal. But before Athuraadd could even draw in a breath, a sudden string of light fired itself from Anton's direction and flew squarely into the Viking's chest, causing him to cry out in pain and promptly fall to the floor. Another then flew out to strike the man's neck, rendering him out for the count. Athuraadd's breathing quickened in adrenaline and shock, and he whipped his head round to focus on Anton, who appeared to be the cause of the unnatural attack.
And then suddenly everything in Athie's mind began to click.
Magic.
He turned to look desperately at Alvis. Both he and Anton had acted almost like a team, a team who had expert knowledge on how to fight, and Alvis had addressed Anton with a strange sense of...familiarity?
Slowly, in Athie's head, a theory was beginning to form.
"That's all the time I can buy, guys. Make a move now,"
Anton's words suddenly broke Athuraadd's chain of thought and with a blink, he brought himself back into focus. He looked back at Alvis, "What do we do? Do we run?" He bit his lip, "Do we fight? 'Cause, I have to be honest...I'm not much of a fighter." 'Wow, huge revelation there, Athuraadd.' said a snarky voice in the back of his head, 'Big shock. How are they ever going to manage now.' Frantically, Athie's eyes shot back to Anton, who was now being approached by two new men, both seemingly hungry for revenge for their fallen (drunk) comrade. Deciding he was no use on the floor, Athie stood up - a little shakily, but he was now on his feet, poised for whatever action Alvis commanded. He looked imploringly at Anton, who seemed braced for another attack, "We can't just leave you!"
Tags: Cedric Vyrrson, Anton Nystrom
Notes: Ohmygosh that was hideous sorry guys. I'm poo under a time-limit lelz BUT I TRIED. also screw font colours it's orange now
|
|
|
|
Post by Cedric Vyrrson on Feb 16, 2014 5:29:39 GMT
"Wha-wha-wha... How did you...?"
The undercover Vetr flashed Athie a quick grin. "Don't worry about it."
In response to his query about the wrist, Athie attempted to tough it out. Cedric, however, was not so easily fooled. We'll be heading to an apothecary, I think.
Cedric sighed as Anton gave the report. "I can buy a bit of time, but they're about to do something quite stupid."
“Well, isn’t that wonderful. One just has to adore the constant idiocy of humanity, especially the drunk specimens. Looks like we’ll be needing to move out, then.”
Noting the encroaching Vikings, the Vetr was briefly tempted by a completely ludicrous proposition. If he were to unleash his magic, he could effectively root them all in place long enough for the three to take a nice, easy stroll out of the tavern with a quick “toodles” in farewell.
However, that was entirely ridiculous. Even Cedric could admit that there was something known as “overkill,” and that it involved a Vetr using his shadow magic to get himself and two people out of a bar full of drunkards. Surely he could resort to less drastic measures.
He stood, placing his hands on his hips.
“Well, gentlemen, I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. Anyone leave anything important by the fire?”
Ced propped himself up on his toes, peering between the heads of the Vikings to find Athie’s bag laying by his former seat.
“Shucky darn,” he murmured.
The Vetr paused, running a hand through his hair. No time for deliberation, though. They needed to be going.
Fortunately, the flickering tongues of fire provided for an abundance of dancing shadows. Cedric quickly thrust the satchel his way, propelling it with a nearly invisible wave of shadow through the straightest and least suspicious-looking path possible. He released the shadow sometime before the knapsack was close enough to the group, sending it sliding to a halt in front of him.
Ced stepped forward and snatched it up. “Thanks to whoever kicked that!” he called out. Totally not suspicious, Ced. Nice job.
Pffft, Vetr of Subterfuge was his title. Everything he did had to be 100% inconspicuous, even if it actually wasn’t. That came with the position—an absolute lack of suspicion. No one expected the Drakonrhedi Stalkers, anyway.
“Nice job with the magic, kid. Let’s move out quick, then. Just curious—how experienced are you two with the use of smokescreens?”
He could always pull out one of those. He was pretty sure he had some with him, or could make a mist of darkness as a sort of pretend smokescreen. Either way, though, he’d have to make sure his cohorts didn’t start stumbling about like lost rabbits. That would kind of defeat the entire purpose of attempting to cover their escape.
Tossing the knapsack more at poor Athie than to him, Cedric quickly grabbed a lighter table in their escape path and sent it skittering across the ground towards the mob behind them.
How are we to get through that mob of people in front of us...
The wall was only a couple vikings thick, as most had been spaced out behind them. Cedric was once again tempted to take the easy way out, using magic to clear his path. Otherwise, his unarmed combat skills were much more effective against a single target, not an entire wall of people, although he supposed a bull rush might work to get him through, he doubted the other two would be able to follow. Neither was he willing to attack people who had not yet struck him.
"What do we do? Do we run? Do we fight? 'Cause, I have to be honest...I'm not much of a fighter."
Cedric's mind was working even as the people around him encroached.
"We're going to make a covered escape." He drew himself up.
The lighting in the tavern was homely, illuminated mostly by candlelight and oil lamps, as well as the fire. As such, Cedric had ample shadows to work with, pulling the latent darkness of the air into a smoky ball. This was all done with a smooth, swift gesture of his hand--similar to a sleight of hand trick, but intended to make it seem as if he'd pulled the ball from his sleeve.
"Going to assume that you both have little to no experience with smokescreens." He held out his hand. "Hang onto me or each other if you need help getting through. I'll clear us a very small gap, and we will have to move fast over people, but no one should be left behind." A brief flash of concern about Athie's wrist went through him, but the man would have to deal for a moment or two longer while they got out. Then he could be guided to an apothecary.
Cedric had already selected his target, a man who seemed wide in berth and unstable from drink, standing in the first row.. Yes, indeed, you will do admirably for my purpose.
Turning to the encroaching crowd of vikings, he gave them a grin as he rolled the little ball of shadow between his fingers.
"Drink responsibly, my friends!"
With that, he threw the ball to the ground and dashed just as the smoke, made of wispy clouds of shadow, oozed through the room.
The Vetr charged full force at his target, leading the way with a kick intended to knock down a door. The man, startled by the smoke and queasy from alcohol, toppled like a dead tree, bringing down the people around and behind him.
"And over the hill!"
He leaped forward, tugging forward whoever was grabbing onto him before bursting out of the door with a shoulder.
"Should've given the barmaid a bigger tip," he muttered as he turned to make sure both had gotten out.
The magic would clear once he'd left the area, of course, but it wasn't like these two would probably get a chance to know that. They probably wouldn't want to go near that particular bar for a while.
| |
|
|
|
|
Post by Anton Nystrom on Feb 16, 2014 20:50:57 GMT
The initial attack was over, and Anton was certainly ready for a break. The magic had scared them off slightly, the power of it was definitely not something that you would want to mess with often. But, as drunken vikings were known for, they began to collect themselves, trying to fight us. However, Alvis was there to figure something out. Anton had bought them just enough time. “Nice job with the magic, kid. Let's move out quick, then. Just curious – how experienced are you two with smokescreens?” That was most certainly curious to Anton – why would this effective nobody have something like a smokescreen on them? Well, unless they weren't a nobody. He could be a Drakonrhedi, but Anton would have expected to know the person from somewhere. The person was as mysterious as ever, which only led Anton to more confusion. Of course, now was most definitely not the best time to think about something like that. Anton quickly remembered the question, saying a quiet, “None at all – wasn't trained for that type of combat.” He trusted Alvis, though, as ridiculous as that was. He was friendly, and seemed to be attempting to get them out of combat, and if he was a Drakonrhedi, then Anton wouldn't have to fight him, and if he wasn't, then Anton could most likely win in a fight. And who was Athie? Was he Alvis's friend? Or was he someone else entirely, simply happening to meet him? What was going on? There were quite a few questions that he had to ask, but he wasn't sure how to ask them without being blunt. He didn't want to scare Alvis away – it wouldn't help him figure anything out. Alvis told them that they were still going to use the smokescreen, and to hold onto to him or each other. He lightly held onto the fabric of Alvis's shirt and followed the man. The movements were quick, but luckily the smokescreen had not gone done yet. He dropped the ball that held the smoke, and as soon as that happened, he ran forward to kick a rather large drunkard onto the ground, forcing the others behind him to fall down as well. Anton was tugged forward and he jumped onto and over the pile of men, through the door, and out onto the street. And with that, they were safe – mostly. A quiet chuckle escaped from Anton as he shook his head and looked Alvis. “You're someone... Someone ridiculous, you know that?” The whole matter left Anton lost for words, and he wasn't entirely sure what to think of it. “Who are you, though? Clearly someone experienced with smokescreens, and someone who's quick to figure things out. If I hadn't known better, I would think that you're a Drakonrhedi, but I haven't seen you aboard the Drakonborg at all. I mean, I could have missed you, but I would think I would have at least seen the face somewhere...” Anton sighed and look around the street. The apothecary was a short walk from here – they got quite a bit of business from the bar, so they were fairly close. But it would be a walk nonetheless. He turned to Athie and looked at him. “And you? Are you all right? We should get going to the apothecary; I wouldn't want your wrist to get any worse. Plus it might dull the pain a bit...” He genuinely was concerned for Athie, and that confused him. He couldn't understand why he would have such feelings over a man he just met, and why he would be so willing to risk himself. The confusion piled up in him and quickly turned into frustration. Anton was terrible at dealing with frustration. It quickly turned into an anger, an anger at himself and an anger at Alvis. The anger was burning hot, not something that could be worked with or helped. It was an anger that was almost acidic. Typically Anton found a way to relieve himself by hurting something or someone. Getting into a fight was the most effective, but slicing through a sack of grains with a sword or magic and watching them pour out was oddly satisfying. He couldn't take it out on Athie, he wasn't the cause and Anton felt bad for him. Alvis was an unknown factor, and he could possibly be someone stronger than Anton. He doubted it, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. He took a breath and looked forward. If he couldn't take it out on anything, he would just have to hold it in till he could. They had to move forward anyway, the bar patrons would gather themselves and check to see if we were still here soon, so they would have to run off sooner or later. "I suppose we should get going, yes? No point in sticking around here for someone to realize we're still here. Wouldn't be fun if we all had to run off, now would it? I'm assuming everyone here knows where the apothecary is, but if you don't, follow me.”Notes: have a post yaaaay |
|
|
|
Post by Athuraadd Fallonkreath on Feb 16, 2014 23:05:48 GMT
"Don't worry about it."
At this point in time, Athuraadd really really really reeeaaally felt like worrying. Alvis had shot him a grin and Athie tried to smile back in reinforcement, but it came with a strange, squeak of anxiety. However, he took solace in Alvis' (and Anton's) calm composure - this wasn't unfamiliar territory for them. Taking in a deep (if a little shaky) breath, Athuraadd resolved himself to put his entire trust in these two men...that he'd only just met. It sounded crazy - even to him. Naturally, Athie was a trusting sort of lad anyway; he felt relaxed when people took control of the situation. Alvis certainly seemed to be in his element. After a moment's pause, Athie looked up at him, "I'll um, I'll try not to."
“Well, gentlemen, I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. Anyone leave anything important by the fire?”
Athuraadd blinked, and suddenly hissed in frustration, "Bugger!" he exclaimed, a hand coming up to entangle itself in his messy tumble of hair, "My bag!" He looked around desperately, but couldn't see his satchel for all the approaching Vikings, "It's by the fire! All my stuff is in it..." He felt suddenly lost and desperate; he needed that bag, it had every single possession worth keeping in there. A sudden thought occurred; he could - theoretically - shift. In his horse form he was much more capable of strength. But just as quickly as the idea formed, a problem sprouted to hinder it; even in his animal state he was considered rather puny...as horses go. He was certain that it would only take around two of these burly men to bring him down with a well-aimed stab.
But then - as he was busy pondering his flawed theory - Alvis had the bag in his hand. Athuraadd turned around to face him and did a double take, "What the...how did..." There was absolutely no way Alvis could've made his way past the gaggle of Vikings, snatched up the bag and made his way back to him in those few seconds. Not unless he used magic. Athuraadd had never experienced anyone actually capable of magic before. None of his family were startouched, and the only members of his clan who had been were snapped up by the Drakonrhedi and-
Oh.
Ooooooooooooh.
Athie blinked, bewildered at Alvis, "Are you a-"
“Nice job with the magic, kid. Let’s move out quick, then. Just curious—how experienced are you two with the use of smokescreens?”
Before the question even managed to form itself, Alvis had intercepted. Athie stumbled on his words, catching his satchel that Alvis had handed to him. The sudden new proposition catching him off-gaurd, "A...wait, what?"
"We're going to make a covered escape."
Athuraadd look around at the swarming mass of angry bar patrons. What Alvis was suggesting was physically impossible.
Physically impossible if you didn't have magic.
Athuraadd winced, half-anxious that he was probably about to be involved in some sort of supernatural trick. As one would be, he guessed.
"Going to assume that you both have little to no experience with smokescreens. Hang onto me or each other if you need help getting through. I'll clear us a very small gap, and we will have to move fast over people, but no one should be left behind."
Without letting a beat slide, Athie's hand lurched forward and gripped Alvis' outstretched one. There was a slight pause, and he gave a small, embarrassed cough, "My palms are sweaty because I'm scared, alright." he explained, sincerely, "I only had one drink, y'know-" He was suddenly caught short when a sudden eruption of smoke appeared from nowhere (of course if Athie had been looking, he would've seen that Alvis had been the cause, but he was far too busy explaining his sweaty palms). Alvis sprang forward. Athuraadd let out a yelp in shock, and his took his legs a moment or two to kick in. But then suddenly, thanks to a flair of adrenaline, his feet gained momentum and he rapidly sped up, eager to escape. He was coughing from the smoke, more out of instinct then anything else, and his eyes involuntary snapped shut and his eyelids clenched together.
All he'd wanted was a drink.
Quickly and suddenly, Athie felt the cold rush of the outside air, and his eyes popped open. The slight pattering of the rain was welcome on his warm skin and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He was panting, but not from the running - Athuraadd had good stamina. The excitement was beginning to catch up with him. He let go of Alvis' hand and returned it back to nursing his aching wrist. He gave a thankful smile up at Alvis, eyes shining in almost childlike wonder.
“You're someone... Someone ridiculous, you know that?”
Anton's words earned a loud burst of laughter from Athuraadd, who had to put the back of his hand up to his mouth to keep it contained. The relief to finally be outside and -for the moment- safe coupled with the intensity of the previous situation sent his emotional level sky-high. "I can't believe that really happened..." he breathed, restraining a giggle, "That was...amazing." Athie neglected to mention that it was almost bat-sh*t crazy, but they were safe, and Athuraadd was thankful for that.
Anton began questioning Alvis, and mentioned something about the Drakonrhedi, but Athie was only half listening. He shot a look back towards the tavern, and his smile was replaced by a grimace, "Tsch, probably shouldn't of paid for that room." He was doubtful he could sneak back in and reclaim his bed for the night.
“And you? Are you all right? We should get going to the apothecary; I wouldn't want your wrist to get any worse. Plus it might dull the pain a bit...”
Athie turned back to Anton. He noticed the concern in the man's eyes and felt genuinely touched. He couldn't be more thankful that both he and Alvis had decided to shack up at the Battleboar Inn that night. Athie gave a sweet smile, "I'm fine. I'm better now. But-" He looked down at his wrist, he had to be truthful, "It still hurts. I don't know what I did to it." The idea of an apothecary sounded appealing, if one was even open at this time of night. The idea of a pain-relief was even more appealing, granted it didn't come in the form of some sort of injection.
"I suppose we should get going, yes? No point in sticking around here for someone to realize we're still here. Wouldn't be fun if we all had to run off, now would it? I'm assuming everyone here knows where the apothecary is, but if you don't, follow me.”
Running was something Athie definitely excelled at, but he agreed with Anton. "Right behind you." he grinned, and made a mental note to pick up a map of Midgardborg in the morning. He looked back to Alvis, just to make sure he was game too. The question he was dying to ask this new, mysterious acquaintance was lingering on his tongue, but it didn't feel like the right opportunity as of yet. It was just have to wait. Tags: Cedric Vyrrson, Anton Nystrom
Notes: YES I DID IT WOO.
also stand back guys, athuraadd's finally beginning to cotton on. stop the presses. |
|
