Proposals

[Grey Guard]

Myrken is home to warriors, to wizards, to all many of human, demi-human and monster. Even the mundane folk are surely unusual, merely for sake of proximity and exposure to such things. So nobody offered too much surprise as a figure decked in elaborate armour trekked to the bakery.

An elaborate grey cloak poured over elegantly smooth pauldrons, hood drawn despite the heat and dry skies. There was no desire for bread in this one, however, as plate boots drew not into the bakery itself, but up the stairs leading to the office above.

It was the door of the lawyer Helstone where this stranger paused, hand lifted to calmly rap at the wood with the hollow clang of metal gauntlets. And then, silence, awaiting the man’s reply.

[channe]

The door would open shortly afterward, and slowly -- not on Helstone himself, but on a pretty young servant-woman in blue and white, who dangles a man's red coat from her left hand. She'll stare at the armor, her mouth agape, before fumbling to recapture her typical greeting.

"Good afternoon, sir," she'd say, a little taken aback. "C'n I help ye?"

[Grey Guard]

It was an intimidating figure, to be certain, so no blame to the woman for her startled reaction to find it standing before her here.

Intimidation was relinquished, perhaps, as the heavy gauntlets rose to the hood, drawing it back. Behind it, no horrifying sight existed.

She was slender of feature, with almondesque green eyes, and short blonde hair cropped to bob beneath her ears. Long ears - this was an elf, without doubt, who would have been delightfully attractive if not for a serious expression, and the haggard bruises beneath eyes, of an apparant sleeplessness.

"I would like to visit with Helstone," was the polite request, in a learned accent that belied proper education. Her eyes strayed curiously beyond the woman, inspecting. "Is this the correct place? I have a matter I wish to discuss."

[channe]

It's hot in the upstairs office. Mary, the serving-girl, would dare to say sweltering, if she knew that word.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll see if he's free," says the woman -- warily, although welcomingly enough; she'll step backwards into the room and indicate one of the chairs facing the barrister's expensive-looking desk. "Ye may sit, if ye like --" her eyes hover on the elf's considerable set of armor, and she amends, hastily: " -- if ye can. And, if ye please, leave any weapons ye might have at the door. C'n I get you any tea an' muffins?"

As it turns out, the lawyer is free; or, an approximation thereof, at least. Just as the girl sweeps up a silver tea-tray on a back table, trembling inwardly about the effect of metal on wood (and the resulting effect of metal-scratches on her boss's fastidious tendencies), Helstone himself enters the room from a oak door in the back of the room, perusing a book and talking to himself underneath his breath. He's looking rather well put together in a light summer suit of dark green, his black hair tied behind him with a matching velvet ribbon.

"Ah," he says in surprise, lifting his eyes to regard the new presence in his office -- obviously, he hadn't expected such a visitor. "Good afternoon, madam. What can I do for you?"

Strangers rarely seek out Coriolanus Helstone for any other reason than to provide an answer for that particular question, after all.

[Grey Guard]

At the request, the elf was removing the sword belt at her hip. It was a weapon of equal elaboration to the armour, and perhaps more ceremonial than functional. It was hard to tell, in its sheath. This was set aside, politely.

"No, thank you," was an equally appropriate reply to the offer of refreshment, and a slight inclination to the girl. Dismissive, perhaps, as the target of her interest appeared from behind that back door.

"Helstone, I assume," she'd inquire of him, stepping forward. No pause for his confirmation, he could be nobody else.

"My name is Milla Seyrevell, and I have a matter of business I wish to discuss with you. I hope that this can be beneficial to us both."

And finally, for the first time since her entrance, the elf named Milla would offer her smile, full lips turning upward in a heartfelt fashion.

[channe]

"Mary, tea," he orders, politely enough, and the girl dissappears into the back of the house, leaving Milla and Helstone alone. The lawyer places the book (so carefully! with reverence!) on the shelf of a nearby bookcase, and skirts the desk to stand near the armored elf, offering one hand in a graceful greeting.

"Helstone," he confirms, and pauses as she introduces herself.

He'll consider her then, with intelligent eyes taking in the armor; he attempts to place its origin, and fails.

"Well, Miss Seyrevell," he'll say, then, his voice pleasant and measured. "Do go on."

[Grey Guard]

The gauntlet wouldn't be removed - cool metal would accept his grip and squeeze firmly, but not harshly. Surprisingly cool, given the heat. A nod was offered for his words, polite, and hand would retract to her side, relaxed. Fingers spread, just a bit, however. Belying her readiness for action, should trouble somehow start.

"A pleasure," she'd agree, in finalization of the niceties. Then, her smile faded. Face was business, now.

"I represent, and own, a mercenary company called the Grey Guard. We are just recently arrived in Myrken, having heard of the difficulties in these parts. I won't lie to you, Mister Helstone; we're here to make a profit. However."

Here, Milla would offer Helstone her moderate smile. "We also wish to provide a service. The Grey Guard is not a cuthroat band of brigands, you see, Mister Helstone. We wish to provide the common man an opportunity to enjoy the kind of security that is usually reserved only for those of status. From the stories, your township has suffered enough. We seek profits - but meager ones."

The smile faded, and it was back to business. "Now, what I am here to discuss is the legality of this matter. I am unfamiliar with the laws of Myrken, and we do not want to step on any toes."

[channe]

Helstone is known in Myrkentown for his generous treatment of petitioners. Come to see him, and he'll usually speak at brief with a person about one's legal options with no commitment or legal binding in either direction; Miss O'Neill, already, has taken advantage of his open door; with Miss Carnath-Emory, such a conversation was parlayed into a job.

The elf's request is no different than either of these.

Helstone will nod, and listen; and when Milla is finished with her speech, he will remove himself to behind the desk and begin to fumble through a number of expensive-looking leather-bound books -- all with pages scribbled in the exact same tight-black handwriting (Helstone's, although Milla would not know that.)

"'Provide the common man an opportunity to enjoy the security that is usually reserved only for those of status,'" he repeats, picking one book and paging through it pensively. "I take it, madam, that you mean to offer bodyguard services to shop-keepers and bond-laborers, then? I'm afraid you must be a little clearer as to what services you mean to provide," he'll say, politely.

[Grey Guard]

A nod, agreement, from the elf Milla. It was a fair question. "As I've said, the Grey Guard is a mercenary company. It stands to expectations, of course, that every member of the Guard is a trained soldier."

"However, every member is also an able-bodied adult. Mercenary work does not necessitate warfare, you see, Mister Helstone. I've heard much of the trouble being endured here in Myrken. Is it wrong of me to believe that the tradesmen and farmers might be willing to pay a few extra shillings for a strong assistant and an able bodyguard?" In a time of failing crops and marauding horrors, who would argue with a farmhand who was willing and able to fight for you?

[channe]

Milla is given a thin but considerate smile, as Helstone closes the book and places it carefully on the desk-surface. He clears his throat, and begins.

"On a purely legal level, there is no law that would block you entirely from operating your company within the bounds of Myrken Wood, if certain conditions continue to be met during your residence," he says, his voice carefully held at neutral. If this were a different century, he'd sound like an encyclopedia on tape. "A private guard is not a listed right in Myrken Wood, but many of our great houses and notable personages do employ private fighters and dress them in proprietary liveries," he says.

He'll clear his throat again.

"As you know, the principal body of law enforcement and protection in Myrken Wood is the Order of Straka. Recent events have not changed this. A killing by a private guard is still considered, in the Myrken Wood court of law, to be a chargeable offense. As for stepping on toes, that is certainly a possibility: you may find yourself treading much the same ground as the Myrken Militia, which has been activated of late and serves in a military as well as a humanitarian capacity. Many of the members of the Militia are the very same tradesmen and farmers you seek as your employers."

He'll pause, and his hand will rest on the book.

"Now, the conditions I mentioned above: and I'll attempt to put them simply. Private guards are not empowered in the same way as the Order -- as a mercenary, you probably understand this quite well. You, of course, may only operate within the dictates of your contract with your employers, and even then, you may not break laws of the land for them. You must remain assured that Myrken Wood is not a place where unmitigated justice-by-the-sword is tolerated; this is why we have a court, and a Judiciary."

He notes that he's been talking for a long time; at this point, Mary enters with tea, and sets it before Helstone with a curtsy.

"Miss Seyrevell, these are not normal times," he says, picking up the teacup with a graceful motion. "Because of that, I believe you will find it necessary, useful, and required to speak with such personages as his honor Altias Bromn, governor of this province, or his aides; and Captain Kerrak Al'Nerun, the Councilor in charge of defense; Captain Thomas Daniels of the Order; and Cy Proxenus, a cook at the Broken Dagger tavern and head of militia operations in the area. The things that face our province, they find, are requiring a concerted effort to understand and overcome, and only they can tell you whether the presence of your company would assist or hinder them. These are dangerous, unknown times, madam, and *they* are primarily charged with the safety of our people."

Helstone has more his own thoughts, of course -- kept well behind the curtains that are his business-eyes -- thoughts that have slowly been forming in the latter days of chaos and heat. But Milla will not see those; no. Not today.

[Grey Guard]

As he spoke, Milla struck a relaxed posture. Plate-and-leather wrapped arms would fold across her elaborate breastplate, one shoulder risen as the spiel was given. It was a strange femininity, hidden behind a guise of practiced, casual strength. In all truth, Milla looked like she would have been better suited to the dance and frolic typically common amongst elves. Except for the haggard darkness behind her eyes, and the piercing intensity in the green gaze. An absent smile, now, though, as Helstone summed up.

"Ah, I'd never presume to take justice into my own hands, Helstone. Mister Helstone," she corrected, politely. Undue familiarity was rude. "Nor the hands of my men. I'd hoped to perhaps ease the troubles in Myrken in my small way, I assure you, not supply new ones."

"But perhaps I should consult with the individuals you've mentioned. I thank you kindly for your time, Mister Helstone." Grey cloak was swept back over her shoulder, and gauntleted hand opened the pouch at her hip.

"What do I owe you for your time and consultation?"

[channe]

Helstone smiles, and will walk around the desk once again to respectfully see her out the door.

"Her troubles eased; ah, that's a thing this land needs," he said, fanning himself with one hand for a moment. "It's a beautiful place, Myrken Wood, when not haunted by demons both real and of our own making." There'd be no comment on the name-correction; Helstone's stiff-backed, formal posture made it clear to many, however, what his position on that particular issue was.

"And as for the matter of justice, I do not believe you would. But not all companies are so... honorable. You'll forgive me; I draw from my own experiences, before I came to this place." Helstone'll smile; it's genuine, though, with no guile evident. "You owe me nothing; this was a short conversation. Such a thing is a service I offer everyone."

He is a man of the law; he is a man of order, of words and of logic. He's never understood the way of the sword; to him, it speaks in whispers of madness...

[Grey Guard]

Pouch was sealed, then - she'd not insult the man by insisting. Back towards the door she moved, personally-fitted armour surprisingly quiet for its bulk and ornamentation. "Very well, Mister Helstone. I thank you for your time."

"And please, do feel free to call on us yourself if you've any issues we might assist with," she finished with a slight incline of her head. The sword belt was reclaimed from beside the door, but she'd not keep him waiting for her by putting it on here. Such would also have been rude.

"Good day to you, Mister Helstone," she said, drawing up the grey hood, despite the head, as she stepped out. It kept the sun off at least. Soon the elf was back to the street, trudging back the way she'd come.

Within hours, scribes were hurrying about Myrken Town, nailing up the appropriate posters, exposing the presence of the Grey Guard. There was no time like the present to begin advertising. Altias, Kerrak, and Cy Proxenus had all been suggested to her. She would seek out their counsel in due time.

[channe]

Cory would have been lying were he to say to Mary, for example, that he hadn't been made uneasy by the elven woman's proposals. The last thing he thought the province needed were more people who could potentially be armed and dangerous, after all, especially whose loyalties were only to the money that being armed and dangerous brought them -- that was the lawyer's personal position. The whole situation was a pot of hot oil on the top of a rampart, waiting to be spilled on the province below.

Yet, there were no laws on the books precluding such a thing. And he was a servant of the law itself.

He did not like the timing of the woman's arrival: it was too consonant with Straka's seeming weakness and indiscretion. While he chalked it up to coincidence, the lawyer was nevertheless troubled by the woman's presentation and the rhetoric she used, especially in light of -- well, in light of the general stupidity and pants-leg clinginess of the average Myrkenite.

He did not hold coin in his pocket after this short consultation; he never does. And there is a reason for that.