A Winter Night

[Quincy]

Disclaimer: All and any are welcome to join; this might be a long scene, and so, to prevent keeping characters out of play, It Hasn't Happened Until It's Over.

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The candle was getting very low in the brandy bottle; weak fingers of light reached for the shadows of the room, so that the painted walls burned with a sombre effulgence. Over the mantelpiece was a picture of a child skimming the faces of flowers with a butterfly net. There was a note beside the guttering candle on the low table, a note pinned down by a small, superfluous gold bell. The letter's words were slashes of excited brevity and questionable contents:

All is well.

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Death alive it was cold!

No drum could exhilerate the heart quite like the heavy, thuddy noise of racing horse hooves on the path. She raced alone along the ragged horizon of forest just before nightfall, when the evening star was a ghost of itself in the sky. The outline of the trees was perforated with a myriad of microscopic glints of light; she knew them to be Myrkentown's distant lanterns. The horse's white fetlocks thrashed through the winter dead reeds by the long, iced lake. The Broken Dagger's porch lights sang out to horse and rider, up ahead. It was a good song: Come home, come home!'

The burgandy tassles of her heavy cloak swept the snow when she landed on the road; her armour shone with some of its own, personal starlight as she rushed to the doors. It was a night of rare ribaldry in the tavern. There was a minstrel making love to the ladies with his eyes while he played them a song; there was a fuss in the kitchen, a roar of happy drunkenness at the bar, and all the barmaids were busy bees. She danced through the crowd, nearly brained by a swinging, frothing, heavy mug of ale; her dark eyes cast about for a certain face.

It was with a lungful of relieved air that she finally bounded up the stairwell, and soon enough, her leaping shadow was on a particular door. She raised her gloved knuckles and sharply rapped.

Knock, knock!

"Mister Acteon Skinner, are ye ready t' go?!"

Quincy Randall resisted the urge to press her ear against the door; instead, she stood there, a very slight figure of utmost patience. A sleek helm like a hawk's head was tucked under her sword favouring arm; tiny, mithril half-moons were curved to her upper ears. She was a girl made slightly ridiculous by the hulking broadsword on her back.

[Minty]

It was cold. Which could account for the sour mood held by certain patrons of the Dagger. There is a racket in the hallway. Or at least it is considered a racket by certain people possessed of sharp ear and foul mood. This, combined with the racket downstairs is just -TOO- much. Door opens. Not the one Quincy would expect, though.

Ignas Demonsbane peers out of the doorway, frowning deeply. The halfdemon has a look of upset, irritation upon his face. "Do you mind keeping the racket down out there? Some of us are trying to--", he exited the room further. "What's with the helmet? Are you going to war or something?"

The best way to relieve oneself of cold is activity. Interfering in people's business is generally a decent way to do that. He stands, frowning in the hallway, waiting for a response.

[Rattrap]

The self-employed bartender couldn't say exactly why, but the words of a man who introduced himself as Vaird were rolling around in her head. It wasn't so much the man who said them, but the words themselves - that incident was not the first time she's heard of the Goddess sharing her name. She suspected that's why she had been given it.

Lo and behold, there entered into the Broken Dagger a figure that brought up other thoughts that were much more immediate and exciting. Athena watched with curious dark blue eyes as Quincy headed for the rooms upstairs in her decked-outness. Sword, helmet...the tavern was crowded, but who could miss those? ...bad question. Most of the patrons did. She kept watching even as Quincy left her sight, following her footsteps on the stairs overhead.

Maybe something exciting was going to happen. Athena grabbed herself a mug and one of the many bottles on the counter top - she meant to be prepared for excitement.

[Acteon]

A rustle within and then the sound of boots on floorboards--new boots, recently crafted of wood and hide. The door opened to reveal Acteon Skinner, his face scruffy and his hair tied back with a leather thong. In normal circumstances he would have smiled to see Quincy, but her armor surprised him. It made sense to be cautious, he supposed, considering the damage this creature had caused, but he didn’t expect a fight, merely a scouting mission of sorts.

He was dressed quite differently than she. Where she was ready to battle a King, he was dressed only to hunt a stag. He wore his normal furs and a leather brigandine. Its latten rivets were hewn rough, raw, and blackened, so that the metal would not glint in the light of the candle or any other source. He had a rucksack, quiver, and an unstrung bow over his shoulder. A skinning knife lay upon his belt and another, longer blade (though shorter than a short sword--perhaps only a parrying knife) is strapped to his thigh.

His surprise dissolved slowly and was replaced by the delayed smile. “I am ready,â€

[Quincy]

It was a magical moment: knock on one door, and not one, but two doors open.

The slight, armoured girl took one step back and said nothing for a moment; she held a kind of spry dignity, her long hair in thin braids. Her deep cloak hung from her shoulders like a drapery. She saw how they were looking at her, and her half smile was a knowing one. She always expected a fight, and she was far too small to risk a powerful blow without protection. From what she had heard, bad things originated from these caverns, these caves of the cultists.

"Aye. We're meetin' Ari in the clearing, an' we're goin' by 'orse," she replied at last. "She'll be showin' us the way from there."

Acteon's brown eyes and Quincy's black eyes fixed on their nosy neighbour, and perhaps Acteon could sense that his guide was familiar with the half-blood in their midst. It was the smaller of the two that replied to irritable Ignas. "Ari is takin' us to the caves o' the Cultists. We're goin' to explore, that's all. I jus' thought I'd be careful ... "

The pale, sculpted girl turned her back, preparing to head back down the stairwell, a small set of chimes stirring at her belt with the movement. Her helm was still tucked under her arm.

"Come on if you want," she added, slight nose in the air. With that, she stalked toward the mouth of the hall. Her sister was waiting for them.

[channe]

Downstairs: young Agnieszka Kaczmarek, black-haired and burning-eyed, tossing coins at the bartender like a good off-duty soldier. Mostly so -- she's got a bag full of something at her feet, and her sword at her side. So much to do! But first -- ale.

Ale always comes first.

[Minty]

Cultists. Ignas listened, and turned around. Door to his room was reopened, and he disappeared inside, with little more than a "I'll be out in just a moment. I won't need a horse.", the idea of horses was distasteful. Nevermind. If it were cultists they were after, he wanted to follow.

He is quick in equipping himself. Shirts are changed out. He pulls on a tight-fitting black shirt with long sleeves. Pants are much the same. A harness is pulled on top of that, and among the pouches, holsters, and straps, equipment is taken. Knives, razorblades. A few vials of liquid, a small silver flask. Ropes, bandages, a small book, and several charcoal bits. Upon his belt, he hooked the scabbard for the sword-rapier he'd commissioned. Over this, the patched-together cloak of devil's hide was worn.

Sufficiently prepared, he left his room, locked the door and followed after Quincy. Looked like he'd get something better than a restful night's sleep today: Action. He would stop beside her at the end of the hall. "Are you expecting opposition? Or is this for...reconaissance?"

Had he overprepared?

[Acteon]

Acteon was surprised by the invitation to include Ignas, but was certainly not put off by it. Considering Quincy’s choice of armor, she clearly thought the more steel the better. And, judging by the stories that Acteon had been hearing over the past week or more, she was probably correct in her inclination. He didn’t try to answer Ignas’s question since he didn’t know the answer to it. He didn’t introduce himself either, because he didn’t wish to interrupt the conversation. Instead he moved down the stairs with them.

He headed out the door of the inn and toward the stables. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly to get the stableboys’ attention. He waved toward the horses inside, indicating that they should start prepping his horse, Venatici. He then pulled riding gloves from his belt and pulled them on. The stablehands only had a few seconds headstart on Acteon by the time he arrived, but they had already started to put the saddle on the horse.

Venatici is a dapple gray mare. She was smaller than most of the other horses in the stables and was clearly a courser. She almost looked a pony next to the palfreys and destriers that crowded the wooden structure. A war horse she was not.

Acteon busied himself checking the Venatici’s saddlebags while the boys strapped the horse. In a flash, the horse was saddled, bagged, bridled, and reined and when the gate opened again, Acteon quickly swung himself up onto the steed. The pair then exited the stables, entering the grounds. They were ready.

[Carnath-Emory]

They are meeting this woman in the clearing, and from there departing by horse, which is all very reasonable and orderly. It is a perfectly practical plan, delightfully straightforward, and it has proceeded precisely as it was supposed to --

Except that at some point in the evening, this woman had had a thought for her ward's dignity, and reckoned that instead of sitting double with her, he really ought to have a horse for his own.

It's on this account that Venatici’s not been the sole courser in those stables. Some short time ago, a chestnut palfrey'd been ushered into a stall; light-bodied and smooth of gait, it had since then displayed a remarkably docile temperament. As well, since this had been much of what had prompted Ariane to select it in the first place, Bromn not being known for his love of the breed. That Ariane is, is all the explanation of her tardiness this evening that a man could want for: the fact of the matter is that she'd decided on making the purchase with time enough to spare for it, but had lingered so long at market, that the shadows were heavy on the snowy ground by the time she'd been within sight of the tavern.

Still ... noble Thessilane stock, they'd said, which was a lie. Placid and even-tempered, they'd said, which was not. And feel the depth of that broad chest, and note the spectacular turn that the shoulder gives to its legs -- and she had, and she had, so that they'd gotten to talking and haggling, and hours later --


Hours later, here she is: a dark-clad sliver of a woman, moving fast through the kitchen, and up the staff's stairs to the second-floor landing, so that chance is likely to decide whether Agnieszka catches sight of her at all. There are knuckles for the worn surface of a particular door, and another hand opening it before the knocking's quite done; she is late enough that some small niceties have been abandoned.

"We leave now, if you're willing," she's beginning, when the door's eased open something more than a crack; careful positioning of her narrow body will preserve Bromn's privacy from outside eyes. "A quick, hard ride will take us to the others; Quincy and Skinner, I think. Its yours to say whether you'll join us, or keep to Aeryn's man, but I think -- "

you will watch them die around you until you beg me to send you to them

" -- you're best to come with us."

[Quincy]

Her eyes embraced equipped Ignas as he joined them at the apex of the stairs, and she shook her head - dallying there for a moment.

"We're goin' to see what's there. If there's somethin' to learn, we'll learn it; if there's somethin' to fight, we'll fight it, aye?"

A good night's sleep had been as essential as the restful day leading up to this small journey. There were no tired rims around her eyes; she had not the gentle flush of the exhausted. Quincy had the calm, burning look of determined and ill-restrained excitement.

The tavern's firelight seemed to weaken and intensify constantly as the busy patrons moved around, blocking and unblocking the hearths.

"That's 'ow everything is."

She flung the pale shadow of a smile at the half demon and hurried after their no-nonsense companion. Maybe it was surprising that she would invite Ignas along -- oh, at one time it was unthinkable. Foolish independence had caused so much loss in the interim. Now she believed wholeheartedly in comrades, in teams, in loyalty ..

.. in life.

There was a straight, trampled path through the snow from the porch to the stables. She always thought of Rayin Taliaferro when she thought of horses; how she missed that scarred, melancholy man and his delicate tea cups. She wondered if he ever really forgave her ..

"Aya!' She yowled for her horse, which had gone rambling around the inn, untethered; her own destrier was white and saddled, and pranced to her with a whickering toss of his head. A gloved hand touched its warm throat, and Quincy glanced over as Acteon emerged from the stables on his smaller horse.

"I come t' fetch you, an' you're ready faster than the rest o' us," she grinned and mounted up, sitting tall; she carefully slid on her sleek helm, with its shrewd, hawk slit for eyes.

[Vanidor]

As for Aeryn's man: He waited quietly just outside the courtyard of the Broken Dagger, sitting astride a great beast of a horse. This, Ariane, was noble Thessilaneian stock. Though it was not placid, nor even tempered to any degree. The creature had the look of a war-mount, and bore enough scars to prove that point. Muscles through the chest and shoulders showed the signs of carrying heavy barding into battle, things which were left in the barracks this evening. The man upon the back of the horse however, he was girded and prepared.

Look here. For he had a longsword strapped to one hip, and visible upon the right leg was a long dirk. On the left side of his warsaddle was a dulled-down mace, the flanged head protected by a leather sheath, hanging upon a leather thong. On the other was the scabbard for yet another sword, this being a curving sabre. In his lap was a short horse-bow, and a quiver of arrows rested upon his back. Over the shoulders a cloak of dark mottled grey and green and black, with a hood that was pulled forwards over the crown of his head.

Quietly, then, he waited in the clearing that Ariane had sent him towards. A shadow of death, as it were, just like the first time he had gone hunting for Thadius Dhrin. The only change this time was the lack of a reassuring flames of Kerrak's powers... He was, perhaps, one of the few people who was saddened at this prospect...

[Awry]

There were thousands of different ways to spy on people.

There were rather simplistic ways to do it, such as dropping a magical sound stone, no larger than a pebble, somewhere on your target so that you could retrieve it at a later date and review what sort of words they'd passed to others. There were difficult ways to do it as well, such as setting up a city-wide network of contacts, testing their loyalty from time to time, keeping them in check, and weeding any of them out if they compromised any sort of information while in the meantime making certain that there were no third parties (or as few third parties as possible) involved - a rather taxing process, all-in-all. If you had the resources, you could get a mage or priest to scry someone for you (although you had to make sure that they were loyal with whatever information you managed to glean from that arcane viewing). Oh, the traditional break-in-scour, where you (surprise!) broke in a target's residence and either tore the place up subtly, no trace of your passing remaining, or in such a way that would leave no doubt that someone was there while they were gone, inspiring a sort of paranoia or fear - of course, you could also leave something very small *slightly* askew, putting them under the impression that you didn't *want* to be noticed, but they're more observant than you are careful... that was entertaining, from time to time.

But, despite all these methods, beginner and intermediate and advanced, Sefall had chosen to use two that were rather old-fashioned methods, if indeed not *the* most old-fashioned methods - shadowing, and eavesdropping. Of course, just because they were old-fashioned didn't necessarily mean that they didn't *work* - he had, after all, noticed on one of his late-night jaunts that there was a particularly familiar dark-haired woman, whip thin and serious-looking, making her way back to the rather hub-like and popular Broken Dagger Inn.

He was at that precise moment leaning against the outside of the building, his back to the stable wall and next to a window no patrons were currently around - oddly enough, in most taverns, unless they were crowded people tended to sit in the dark corners farthest away from the door, next to the hearth, at the bar, or in the middle of the common room - lucky for him. From his vantage point, arms crossed over his chest and periodically glancing into the inn from the side of the window - a shadow in the shadows - he had observed Ariane going up the stairs to the second floor. If he had been feeling more adventurous, perhaps he would have gotten up to the roof, closer to the window that looked down the hallway of the Dagger's second floor, noted which door she went to, and then gotten to the appropriate place and found out more. She was in a bit of a huff, after all, fast moving with a slight look of urgency on her face; considering it had been a boring night, his curiosity was piqued.

The observant could come to their own conclusions, though. He was near the corner of the building, and motion from the stables caught his eyes. Look there - Quincy, Ariane's sister, and from the looks of it, heavily armed and accompanied by others, all of them having a certain airs around them, strapped with equipment. Sefall crouched, behind the side of the tavern, watching them for a while, and then he glanced in the window again casually - this type of business became casual, after all, when it was your profession for so long. Well, look at this - the young and rather ill-tempered Agnieszka sat in the common room as well.

This was a bit more than coincidence, he thought. Something's afoot.

A large yet sleek bulk then pushed into arm as he knelt - Smoke. The timber wolf was as silent as he, but she didn't blend into the night as well considering she was more gray than black - she countered this by staying low to the ground, where she could blend with the bushes. She emitted no sound, only communicated here by touch, reaffirming Sefall of her presence - the man in black responded in kind, resting a gloved hand on her head.

He - they - could wait.

[Minty]

Seemed that tonight would be a very interesting night. A cultist hideout, with an unknown number of occupants. And horses. Vile, ill-tempered brutes of beasts. The halfdemon got jumpy around them sometimes. Tonight was one of those times where he forced himself to get over it.

He pushed his way past the customers downstairs in the Dagger, briefly noticing Agnieszka. Well, this did not concern her. And likely, she'd not join a mission that involved him, anyways. Her loss, he was sure. He paid her little attention more than that glance, and was on his way out.

He stood a small distance away from the mounted Quincy and Acteon, quite an odd sight, really. But he was an oddity, and his transport would be odd, too. "I will run beside you.", he'd refuse a horse if offered...even if it meant he might be slower than those two. He couldn't very well hop up and ride with one of them, after all. The horse would likely get spooked. They could sense the rabid predator that he was.

And then...a slight frown came to his face. "Do either of you have bows?", or shields, for that matter. Had Quincy just picked up the first piece of armor she found that she could afford? Ignas himself, looked poorly equipped, except for his sword. But then, appearances could be deceiving, couldn't they?

[Acteon]

Acteon grinned as he circled Venatici. He had organized everything that he needed so that he would be ready as soon as he was summoned. He was glad that she was amused by it. In response to her comment about his rapid preparation, he recites a rhyme...

“Preparation slays the hart of ten,
be it bow ‘n stable ou par force de chiens[i],
but be thou one step ‘fore your quarry,
lest the baying stag’s tines earn the day’s glory.â€

[channe]

Wasn't this a curious sight: armored Quincy, armored Ignas. So when they pass her on the way to the stables with purpose, the following logic runs through the young Kaczmarek troublemaker's brain:

Quincy's up to something.
I bet it involves Ariane, 'cause it's Quincy.
And if it involves Ariane, it probably has to do something with this crap she's been feeding to Ma and Dominik.
I'm gonna see this with my own eyes.

So -- up she goes, with one last half-swig of ale out into the courtyard. A quick, curious glance for Sefall, whom she's seen talking to Ariane more than once, confirms it. Down to the bottom of the stairs, then, with a glance around; noise in the stables, Jons on a horse.

Jons? A double-take.

There's no way the queen of rampant-curiousity and jumping-to-conclusions is going to miss this one.