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One Week Prior
"And you're positive that's what you saw?"
"Yes, Lord Hawthorne. He might be a descendant from the old kingdoms..."
Lord Gray Hawthorne sat for a moment in his study, staring down the seer in front of him. His feif was a little ways away from the snow-covered mountain tops of the location this strange being spoke of- Zelrya, it had been called, the capital of a kingdom of glittering ice towers and sparkling roads. Its inhabitants had been some kind of blessed humans, magic flowed through their veins and expressed itself in the very snow that fell from the skies. For elves and fae, such a thing would be common, but a whole human kingdom of magic wasn't quite common in these parts. And no one had known how or why this utopia of a kingdom had vanished...only that it had taken but a day, wiped clear from existence.
Many had their theories; some claimed an avalanche buried the capital and snuffed out the magic that supported the lands, others insisted demons or some higher power had wiped it from the map, erasing an abomination never meant to exist. Even more claimed that this paradise of snow was still there, but sleeping, awaiting a reawakening... either way, this strange man who had been descending from the mountains was concerning. Powerful magic such as that needed to be reported to the King, so they could be certain it would not be a risk to order- and to eliminate the threat if it was posed as such.
"I shall write to the King. He will need to be informed immediately...but I shall take it upon myself to make the first move, in our best interest. Thank you Vance, you are dismissed." Gray snapped his fingers, and as the naga slithered away from him, to his side came a winged man, with soft pink hair and feathers that matched the hue. The young man smiled, and Gray looked at him, before humming softly, "Icarus. Do spread the word...I seek warriors and hunters, to track and capture a man for me. Payment is of no concern and will be plenty...and bring the interested to me, understood?"
The harpy halfbreed offered a pleased smile to his master, bowing at the waist, "Certainly, my Lord. I shall return soon."
From the feif, the message spread quickly, of Lord Gray's offer to bounty hunter and bandits, militia men and other nobles alike. Those interested were quick to present themselves at his manor; and quickly the Lord's tastes were made clear, when many were turned away from the task. The Lord rubbed his temples as he sat in his study, Icarus rubbing his shoulders, "Come now love, just a few more, yes?"
"They're all clearly too incompetent, Icarus...I may just have to send you with the next lot." He sighed, "Let the new few in. Hurry. That message will reach the King shortly, and if Vance's sight was true, then that man is already down the mountain...the further he gets, the harder it will be to find him."
Icarus sighed softly, walking to the door of the study and opening it up, where the next few had been waiting, "You can come in now. Be on your best behavior please, any more heathens and Lord Gray might just hurt someone..." The last phrase, coming from the rather pretty mans mouth, was certainly not inviting.
Perhaps a weeks travel away, a man sat in a quiet tavern, gazing out the windows and keeping to himself. He was an odd looking fellow, but he was well behaved and so the tavernkeeper had let him stay and served him- sometimes the stranger would begin to accumulate ice, and he would always apologize and step outside to thaw himself before returning to the same seat he had sat in.
But today, he had yet to need to step out- he was too focused to let his mind wander, though it didn't look so. He had found some boards posted, and after asking around, had sent out a few different messages to a few different men- mostly bandits and mercenaries, not the most tasteful but certainly good enough for the task at hand. This man was Kazimir, though that was all he could remember of himself, which was the problem at hand. Certainly one wouldn't go to bandits and killers to find his memories, but in this case he wanted to return to that strange room he had emerged from, the vast cavern of columns and stalagmites might be his only clue to his identity. And of course, with what he perceived as ominous roars being heard in the distance, the man felt it best to assemble some kind of protection. Besides, traveling with others was certainly more pleasant- the descent from the mountain was lonely and silent.
Kazimir sipped on his chilled tea, glancing at the ice that had begun to collect around the rim of the cup, before his attention was swept up to the rush of wind that accompanied the opening of the tavern door.
One Week Prior
"And you're positive that's what you saw?"
"Yes, Lord Hawthorne. He might be a descendant from the old kingdoms..."
Lord Gray Hawthorne sat for a moment in his study, staring down the seer in front of him. His feif was a little ways away from the snow-covered mountain tops of the location this strange being spoke of- Zelrya, it had been called, the capital of a kingdom of glittering ice towers and sparkling roads. Its inhabitants had been some kind of blessed humans, magic flowed through their veins and expressed itself in the very snow that fell from the skies. For elves and fae, such a thing would be common, but a whole human kingdom of magic wasn't quite common in these parts. And no one had known how or why this utopia of a kingdom had vanished...only that it had taken but a day, wiped clear from existence.
Many had their theories; some claimed an avalanche buried the capital and snuffed out the magic that supported the lands, others insisted demons or some higher power had wiped it from the map, erasing an abomination never meant to exist. Even more claimed that this paradise of snow was still there, but sleeping, awaiting a reawakening... either way, this strange man who had been descending from the mountains was concerning. Powerful magic such as that needed to be reported to the King, so they could be certain it would not be a risk to order- and to eliminate the threat if it was posed as such.
"I shall write to the King. He will need to be informed immediately...but I shall take it upon myself to make the first move, in our best interest. Thank you Vance, you are dismissed." Gray snapped his fingers, and as the naga slithered away from him, to his side came a winged man, with soft pink hair and feathers that matched the hue. The young man smiled, and Gray looked at him, before humming softly, "Icarus. Do spread the word...I seek warriors and hunters, to track and capture a man for me. Payment is of no concern and will be plenty...and bring the interested to me, understood?"
The harpy halfbreed offered a pleased smile to his master, bowing at the waist, "Certainly, my Lord. I shall return soon."
From the feif, the message spread quickly, of Lord Gray's offer to bounty hunter and bandits, militia men and other nobles alike. Those interested were quick to present themselves at his manor; and quickly the Lord's tastes were made clear, when many were turned away from the task. The Lord rubbed his temples as he sat in his study, Icarus rubbing his shoulders, "Come now love, just a few more, yes?"
"They're all clearly too incompetent, Icarus...I may just have to send you with the next lot." He sighed, "Let the new few in. Hurry. That message will reach the King shortly, and if Vance's sight was true, then that man is already down the mountain...the further he gets, the harder it will be to find him."
Icarus sighed softly, walking to the door of the study and opening it up, where the next few had been waiting, "You can come in now. Be on your best behavior please, any more heathens and Lord Gray might just hurt someone..." The last phrase, coming from the rather pretty mans mouth, was certainly not inviting.
Perhaps a weeks travel away, a man sat in a quiet tavern, gazing out the windows and keeping to himself. He was an odd looking fellow, but he was well behaved and so the tavernkeeper had let him stay and served him- sometimes the stranger would begin to accumulate ice, and he would always apologize and step outside to thaw himself before returning to the same seat he had sat in.
But today, he had yet to need to step out- he was too focused to let his mind wander, though it didn't look so. He had found some boards posted, and after asking around, had sent out a few different messages to a few different men- mostly bandits and mercenaries, not the most tasteful but certainly good enough for the task at hand. This man was Kazimir, though that was all he could remember of himself, which was the problem at hand. Certainly one wouldn't go to bandits and killers to find his memories, but in this case he wanted to return to that strange room he had emerged from, the vast cavern of columns and stalagmites might be his only clue to his identity. And of course, with what he perceived as ominous roars being heard in the distance, the man felt it best to assemble some kind of protection. Besides, traveling with others was certainly more pleasant- the descent from the mountain was lonely and silent.
Kazimir sipped on his chilled tea, glancing at the ice that had begun to collect around the rim of the cup, before his attention was swept up to the rush of wind that accompanied the opening of the tavern door.
The location was less than desireable. Having to meet at a tavern located at the base of a frigid mountain, it wasn't the best weather for the man. But the job was enough of a motivation to keep going. Before becoming part of a mercenary group, he had been close friends with a number of magic users and had roamed around, helping people in need. An incident that occurred 3 years ago had split up the group. They are still friends, but they aren't able to do dangerous work. All except Faerithel. He's the only one who made it out with minimal injury.
Now he works as a mercenary, getting paid to do work from escorts to kill missions. Now he was being offered a mission by someone who he knew nothing about. This was the first job he'd been offered in months so he needed the money and wasn't going to pass up such a job.
The door to the tavern opened up revealing a figure wearing a long fur winter coat and a scarf. He immediately moved away from the door and took a seat at a table not far from his current employer. His demeanor indicated a no-nonsense attitude and that he was here for a singular purpose and that would be all.
He did his best to hide his eyes since they were almost a dead giveaway that he wasn't quite human. His eyes resembled a sunset with his pupils representing the sun. He hated how he stood out because of this and he just wanted to get away from the tavern as quickly as possible.
Now he works as a mercenary, getting paid to do work from escorts to kill missions. Now he was being offered a mission by someone who he knew nothing about. This was the first job he'd been offered in months so he needed the money and wasn't going to pass up such a job.
The door to the tavern opened up revealing a figure wearing a long fur winter coat and a scarf. He immediately moved away from the door and took a seat at a table not far from his current employer. His demeanor indicated a no-nonsense attitude and that he was here for a singular purpose and that would be all.
He did his best to hide his eyes since they were almost a dead giveaway that he wasn't quite human. His eyes resembled a sunset with his pupils representing the sun. He hated how he stood out because of this and he just wanted to get away from the tavern as quickly as possible.
Of that last group awaiting Lord Hawthorne's audience, four more bandits loitered. When the door opened their eyes snapped up to take in the winged man.
"Oh! Thi Lored, he relly doe hev an ingel," one of the gathered ruffians breathed, awe apparent on his (very lumpy) face. He turned a grin on his associates and, when one of them scoffed, turned nearly the same color pink as the harpy's hair.
"Well go on, Yam. Compliment his feathers, too. Y'big flatterer." That somewhat muffled voice came from the tallest of them - the lower half of his face hidden by a carved mask, whose snarling form reminded both of a wolf and a muzzle. All of them bore scars, on their patchwork armor and themselves, save him. From his white mane to his dust-caked boots, only his lamellar showed signs of battle, by its history of repairs. Its scales had been replaced so many times, there was no way to know whether it had originally been leather or steel, and the cord threaded through them varied in color and weight.
When allowed, the masked one strode into the room, flanked by the others. He turned his wild eyes on Hawthorne and gave a showy bow complete with cheerful greeting. "Good morning, m'lord! Our Boss sends his regards."
The other three were entirely less confident. "Yam" readjusted his worn chestplate, much like one would adjust a cravat and overcoat, and the other two fidgeted with belt clasps and waterskins. Still, the trio followed with awkward bows of their own. Boss had said to behave, after all, so they would all behave.
The four of them would only straighten when cleared to do so. Then each eyed their surroundings with a sharp wariness typically reserved for rats, feral dogs, and crows.
"Oh! Thi Lored, he relly doe hev an ingel," one of the gathered ruffians breathed, awe apparent on his (very lumpy) face. He turned a grin on his associates and, when one of them scoffed, turned nearly the same color pink as the harpy's hair.
"Well go on, Yam. Compliment his feathers, too. Y'big flatterer." That somewhat muffled voice came from the tallest of them - the lower half of his face hidden by a carved mask, whose snarling form reminded both of a wolf and a muzzle. All of them bore scars, on their patchwork armor and themselves, save him. From his white mane to his dust-caked boots, only his lamellar showed signs of battle, by its history of repairs. Its scales had been replaced so many times, there was no way to know whether it had originally been leather or steel, and the cord threaded through them varied in color and weight.
When allowed, the masked one strode into the room, flanked by the others. He turned his wild eyes on Hawthorne and gave a showy bow complete with cheerful greeting. "Good morning, m'lord! Our Boss sends his regards."
The other three were entirely less confident. "Yam" readjusted his worn chestplate, much like one would adjust a cravat and overcoat, and the other two fidgeted with belt clasps and waterskins. Still, the trio followed with awkward bows of their own. Boss had said to behave, after all, so they would all behave.
The four of them would only straighten when cleared to do so. Then each eyed their surroundings with a sharp wariness typically reserved for rats, feral dogs, and crows.
Wevendyr wasn't late to the meeting with Lord Hawthorne. He had simply chosen to spend his time pacing around the area outside the manor, taking in the sights and sounds of the great outdoors. It wasn't his fault that time passed by quicker than he thought he would, and he soon found himself just barely running down the hallways to where the study was located. In his haste, he did not see the four bandits entering the room before him, nor did he hear the harpy's voice over the sound of the panting dog tailing after him.
Speaking of, it also wasn't his fault that his obnoxiously needy companion had kept wanting to play tug-of-war. The snow-white husky bounded in circles around the priest's feet, her tail wagging and her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she looked up at him. "Patience, Freya," Wevendyr chuckled as he ran his fingers through the animal's fur, "we'll get you back outside in no time. I promise."
Turning the corner, Wevendyr raised an eyebrow at the sight of the recently opened doors leading to the study. Was that an invitation for him to enter, then? He hadn't quite gotten the hang of how these courts worked, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to simply walk in. He paused to dust off his robes for the third time that day; one must always look their best before presenting themselves to a potential employer, especially if they were nobility. Once he was ready, the two stepped in through the doorway side-by-side. Wevendyr opened his mouth, a smooth greeting ready to fall from his lips, but it died as soon as he caught sight of the quartet already standing before Lord Hawthorne.
"Oh, my," Wevendyr said aloud to no one in particular—talking to his dog, perhaps, though it wasn't as if she could understand him. Her disinterested sniffing of the floor made that quite clear. "It seems the good lord is somewhat preoccupied right now..."
His gaze swept across the occupants of the room, quickly taking in the appearances of each of what he assumed were the other bounty hunters. Suffice to say, he was not impressed with what he saw (though the one with the canine mask did seem intriguing...). A dark thought crossed Wevendyr's mind, opening up a pit in the usually-confident man's stomach. Surely he wasn't going to be assigned to travel with these... colorful individuals? No, no, of course not. Get it together, Wevendyr, there's no way he would be desperate enough to force such drastically different people to work together. Oh, but what if he was? Perhaps if he chose his words carefully, he could subtly convince him it would be a bad idea.
After some thought, Wevendyr cleared his throat and began, "Well then, Lord Hawthorne, as a professional tracker and clairvoyant, I see no good reason why my business should have anything to do with these ruffians, for lack of a better word." He smiled wryly in spite of his disdainful words, clasping his hands neatly behind his back. "Shall I return another time, my lord? I am perfectly fine with waiting a bit longer."
Despite all appearances, Haven did not enjoy mercenary work. It wasn't that he couldn't handle being bossed around, or even that his usual clientele tended to be the more unsavory types. It was just that it reminded him too much of all the years he spent wandering alone in the wilderness, doing odd jobs for whoever he happened to come across, with no one to back him up when times got rough. Which... was kind of what he was doing now, but at least he had the memories of better times to keep him warm.
Unfortunately, mercenary-ing (was that even a word? whatever, he was making it one) was all that Haven was really suited for. It wasn't as if having a face that not even his mother could love opened up many job opportunities. Plus, he was tall, strong, and intimidating, which made him perfect for acting as paid muscle. When he was given the offer to serve as hired help for some godsforsaken guy in some godsforsaken tavern in the middle of nowhere, he really had no choice but to begrudgingly take it.
Haven tugged absently at the mantle of fur around his shoulders as he stood at the entrance of the tavern before him, his journey finally having come to an end. At least for now. He hadn't actually worn much to protect him from the frigid air; being born of a frozen land not too far away, resistance to the cold was kind of in his blood. With a slow, rumbling creak, he opened the door and stepped inside.
In only a matter of a few seconds, Haven was able to pick out what he figured was most likely the man who had employed him. After all, there weren't that many people in the tavern who wore a crown of pretty crystals on their head. As he made his way over to the table, paying no mind to whoever might've been gawking at him, he wondered if that thing meant something or if it was just there for show.
Haven stopped short beside a chair and glanced over at the man sitting across from his employer, noting that he seemed to be making an effort to hide his eyes. Was he shy, or what? Haven snorted to himself, wondering if whoever this was was even up for the task ahead of them. He certainly wasn't going to be carrying dead weight around if he could help it. Crossing his arms, he turned his attention back to the man with the pretty crown, a slight frown creasing his mouth.
"Hi," he said curtly. "You hired help?"
Speaking of, it also wasn't his fault that his obnoxiously needy companion had kept wanting to play tug-of-war. The snow-white husky bounded in circles around the priest's feet, her tail wagging and her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she looked up at him. "Patience, Freya," Wevendyr chuckled as he ran his fingers through the animal's fur, "we'll get you back outside in no time. I promise."
Turning the corner, Wevendyr raised an eyebrow at the sight of the recently opened doors leading to the study. Was that an invitation for him to enter, then? He hadn't quite gotten the hang of how these courts worked, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to simply walk in. He paused to dust off his robes for the third time that day; one must always look their best before presenting themselves to a potential employer, especially if they were nobility. Once he was ready, the two stepped in through the doorway side-by-side. Wevendyr opened his mouth, a smooth greeting ready to fall from his lips, but it died as soon as he caught sight of the quartet already standing before Lord Hawthorne.
"Oh, my," Wevendyr said aloud to no one in particular—talking to his dog, perhaps, though it wasn't as if she could understand him. Her disinterested sniffing of the floor made that quite clear. "It seems the good lord is somewhat preoccupied right now..."
His gaze swept across the occupants of the room, quickly taking in the appearances of each of what he assumed were the other bounty hunters. Suffice to say, he was not impressed with what he saw (though the one with the canine mask did seem intriguing...). A dark thought crossed Wevendyr's mind, opening up a pit in the usually-confident man's stomach. Surely he wasn't going to be assigned to travel with these... colorful individuals? No, no, of course not. Get it together, Wevendyr, there's no way he would be desperate enough to force such drastically different people to work together. Oh, but what if he was? Perhaps if he chose his words carefully, he could subtly convince him it would be a bad idea.
After some thought, Wevendyr cleared his throat and began, "Well then, Lord Hawthorne, as a professional tracker and clairvoyant, I see no good reason why my business should have anything to do with these ruffians, for lack of a better word." He smiled wryly in spite of his disdainful words, clasping his hands neatly behind his back. "Shall I return another time, my lord? I am perfectly fine with waiting a bit longer."
Despite all appearances, Haven did not enjoy mercenary work. It wasn't that he couldn't handle being bossed around, or even that his usual clientele tended to be the more unsavory types. It was just that it reminded him too much of all the years he spent wandering alone in the wilderness, doing odd jobs for whoever he happened to come across, with no one to back him up when times got rough. Which... was kind of what he was doing now, but at least he had the memories of better times to keep him warm.
Unfortunately, mercenary-ing (was that even a word? whatever, he was making it one) was all that Haven was really suited for. It wasn't as if having a face that not even his mother could love opened up many job opportunities. Plus, he was tall, strong, and intimidating, which made him perfect for acting as paid muscle. When he was given the offer to serve as hired help for some godsforsaken guy in some godsforsaken tavern in the middle of nowhere, he really had no choice but to begrudgingly take it.
Haven tugged absently at the mantle of fur around his shoulders as he stood at the entrance of the tavern before him, his journey finally having come to an end. At least for now. He hadn't actually worn much to protect him from the frigid air; being born of a frozen land not too far away, resistance to the cold was kind of in his blood. With a slow, rumbling creak, he opened the door and stepped inside.
In only a matter of a few seconds, Haven was able to pick out what he figured was most likely the man who had employed him. After all, there weren't that many people in the tavern who wore a crown of pretty crystals on their head. As he made his way over to the table, paying no mind to whoever might've been gawking at him, he wondered if that thing meant something or if it was just there for show.
Haven stopped short beside a chair and glanced over at the man sitting across from his employer, noting that he seemed to be making an effort to hide his eyes. Was he shy, or what? Haven snorted to himself, wondering if whoever this was was even up for the task ahead of them. He certainly wasn't going to be carrying dead weight around if he could help it. Crossing his arms, he turned his attention back to the man with the pretty crown, a slight frown creasing his mouth.
"Hi," he said curtly. "You hired help?"
"I would lodge a formal complaint about the size of the hearth, but honestly what's to be done? It's not as if a larger one that could actually produce a decent amount of heat could just be plopped into place as one would set up a table and chairs. That would be a large project and no doubt the owner of this fine establishment has much more important things to do than construction in this Gods forsaken cold." said a man sitting bundled up as close to the fire as possible, huddled inside several layers of wrappings and a large lavender cloak. He was speaking with a few stragglers who likewise came to the fire for comfort.
The man had been talking for hours, telling stories and gossiping with anyone who sat near the fire. As he spun his tales and drank his mead his eyes would keep a check of his surroundings, especially anyone who entered and the man who had been sitting alone sipping his drink. See this man was an observant man, but the things he observed weren't always just the mundane. He had heard on the wind and seen in the clouds that he should travel up to this area though for what reason he had no clue. Perhaps this was a new opportunity to study and he would happen upon a store of tomes to sift through? Maybe it was a sense of adventure welling up in his gut, or possibly a stomach ache, but he felt this was the place to be to further his own agenda.
What is his agenda you ask?
"That's none of your business," he spoke to one of the stragglers around the hearth who had asked why he was so bundled up. "Aside from the obvious answer of 'it's cold in here' I have no grand answer for you. Which pains me I might add, I do so love having answers to things." The man smiled under the heavy cloth wrap around most of his face, he did love knowing things. Again his eyes shot over to the strange man at the table who seemed to be attracting other attention, but he stayed put for now. His goal was simply to observe the tavern and see what fate had in store from him, after all this strange man wasn't necessarily the thing that fate had bid him wander here to find.
The man had been talking for hours, telling stories and gossiping with anyone who sat near the fire. As he spun his tales and drank his mead his eyes would keep a check of his surroundings, especially anyone who entered and the man who had been sitting alone sipping his drink. See this man was an observant man, but the things he observed weren't always just the mundane. He had heard on the wind and seen in the clouds that he should travel up to this area though for what reason he had no clue. Perhaps this was a new opportunity to study and he would happen upon a store of tomes to sift through? Maybe it was a sense of adventure welling up in his gut, or possibly a stomach ache, but he felt this was the place to be to further his own agenda.
What is his agenda you ask?
"That's none of your business," he spoke to one of the stragglers around the hearth who had asked why he was so bundled up. "Aside from the obvious answer of 'it's cold in here' I have no grand answer for you. Which pains me I might add, I do so love having answers to things." The man smiled under the heavy cloth wrap around most of his face, he did love knowing things. Again his eyes shot over to the strange man at the table who seemed to be attracting other attention, but he stayed put for now. His goal was simply to observe the tavern and see what fate had in store from him, after all this strange man wasn't necessarily the thing that fate had bid him wander here to find.
Despite the unsavory gathering of men at the door, Icarus had maintained his pleasant smile- and in fact, at Yam's compliment he offered a pleased smile, his wings fluffing up a bit. That is, until the masked one cut in. This time, the fluffing of his hair and wings hardly seemed pleased, and the smile vanished from his expression, lips pulling into a tight frown, "Come in." He said coldly, turning on his heel and retreating to Lord Gray's side.
At the sight of them all, Gray let out a heavy sight, pressing his fingers to his temples as their greeting was made, "...I'm sure he does. I question why your boss sends his men when you lot are much better at raiding villages and destroying my transports..." His expression was heavily displeased already, and somehow even his dead eye conveyed his irritation with the bunch.
And yet, nothing those four had seen in his face could compare to the downright disgust when Wevendyr entered, with that hound at his feet. Icarus's wings and hair fluffed up, the half-harpy letting out a low hiss, but was silenced with another glare from the lord. Gray cleared his throat, eyeing Wevendyr for a moment and letting him speak as well, before his deep rumble of a voice finally responded, "Well....if you are such a talented and professional clairvoyant, perhaps you should have seen your own lateness and left a little sooner to get here on time, rather than embarassing yourself in front of these ruffians."
He didn't stay staring him down long though- Gray looked to the whole lot, and one by one began to send people from the room, usually with reasons accompanying them. 'Too old' 'No women, out of my sight' 'Oh no, not you. Icarus, escort him to the dungeons.' 'I told you no once before, go before you end up in the dungeons too,' and by the end of it, not only did he look considerably less stressed, but Wevendyr and the small company of bandits that accompanied the masked one were left standing in the room. He waited until his winged servant returned, before folding his hands on the desk in front of him, "Congratulations, you lot. You shall travel-" his eyes moved to Wevendyr, "together, to find this man.
Across the desk, he slid a piece of parchment- a drawing, particularly well done, depicting the man Vance had seen descending from the mountains, with long hair and crystals on his head as well as trailing behind his path, "We're quite unsure just what kind of threat he poses to King and country....but let it be known he's from a very, very old kingdom, and there's little known about the magic they possessed or its limitations. I want him captured alive- the King will decide what will be done with such a man, and if even one finger is missing from his body I will make certain you are all executed for treason." He was glaring particularly hard this time, at the four bandits, "Not like that isn't something you're all used to."
Kazimir had spent some of his time listening to Mortimer's stories- this was often the cause for him losing his mind in thought and having to step outside, and probably why it got a little too chilly in the tavern sometimes. Losing his memories was certainly unpleasant, but these stories he heard were something to occupy his mind with, and made great placeholders for the things he would hope to recall some day soon.
The doors swept open, and with the gust of cold wind the new traveler entered- Kazimir instant offered a pleased smile, though it was unclear if it was at this traveler or at the cool wind that he found comfort in. While the others were likely to be chilled by this wind, he certainly had no complaints, and would much rather enjoy the frigid ice than a burning heat. Yet the strange man had come to realize he certainly was not like most other humans, and so he would keep his unpopular opinion to himself.
When Faerithel came to seat himself, Kazimir offered a hand to shake, "I suppose you're one of those men I hired- I'm very grateful for you taking this job, now we're just waiting on...." The door opened again, inviting another gust of wind and this time, another smile from Kazimir, "him."
When Haven approached, he offered his hand as well, unphased by the mans appearance, "Yes, thank you sir. Allow me to introduce myself to you two, I am Kazimir...." he paused, feeling as if there was some kind of title he was obligated to add there, some kind of...oh, whatever he had recalled had left his mind, and he laughed slightly, "And well, that's about all I know. I'm afraid when I woke, I was unable to recall anything...I barely managed to free myself from all that ice, let alone make it down here in one piece..." He gestured for Haven to take a seat, "Would either of you like something to drink or eat? The tavernkeep here is a very kind man, if forgiving. He's certainly tolerated me staying here."
At the sight of them all, Gray let out a heavy sight, pressing his fingers to his temples as their greeting was made, "...I'm sure he does. I question why your boss sends his men when you lot are much better at raiding villages and destroying my transports..." His expression was heavily displeased already, and somehow even his dead eye conveyed his irritation with the bunch.
And yet, nothing those four had seen in his face could compare to the downright disgust when Wevendyr entered, with that hound at his feet. Icarus's wings and hair fluffed up, the half-harpy letting out a low hiss, but was silenced with another glare from the lord. Gray cleared his throat, eyeing Wevendyr for a moment and letting him speak as well, before his deep rumble of a voice finally responded, "Well....if you are such a talented and professional clairvoyant, perhaps you should have seen your own lateness and left a little sooner to get here on time, rather than embarassing yourself in front of these ruffians."
He didn't stay staring him down long though- Gray looked to the whole lot, and one by one began to send people from the room, usually with reasons accompanying them. 'Too old' 'No women, out of my sight' 'Oh no, not you. Icarus, escort him to the dungeons.' 'I told you no once before, go before you end up in the dungeons too,' and by the end of it, not only did he look considerably less stressed, but Wevendyr and the small company of bandits that accompanied the masked one were left standing in the room. He waited until his winged servant returned, before folding his hands on the desk in front of him, "Congratulations, you lot. You shall travel-" his eyes moved to Wevendyr, "together, to find this man.
Across the desk, he slid a piece of parchment- a drawing, particularly well done, depicting the man Vance had seen descending from the mountains, with long hair and crystals on his head as well as trailing behind his path, "We're quite unsure just what kind of threat he poses to King and country....but let it be known he's from a very, very old kingdom, and there's little known about the magic they possessed or its limitations. I want him captured alive- the King will decide what will be done with such a man, and if even one finger is missing from his body I will make certain you are all executed for treason." He was glaring particularly hard this time, at the four bandits, "Not like that isn't something you're all used to."
Kazimir had spent some of his time listening to Mortimer's stories- this was often the cause for him losing his mind in thought and having to step outside, and probably why it got a little too chilly in the tavern sometimes. Losing his memories was certainly unpleasant, but these stories he heard were something to occupy his mind with, and made great placeholders for the things he would hope to recall some day soon.
The doors swept open, and with the gust of cold wind the new traveler entered- Kazimir instant offered a pleased smile, though it was unclear if it was at this traveler or at the cool wind that he found comfort in. While the others were likely to be chilled by this wind, he certainly had no complaints, and would much rather enjoy the frigid ice than a burning heat. Yet the strange man had come to realize he certainly was not like most other humans, and so he would keep his unpopular opinion to himself.
When Faerithel came to seat himself, Kazimir offered a hand to shake, "I suppose you're one of those men I hired- I'm very grateful for you taking this job, now we're just waiting on...." The door opened again, inviting another gust of wind and this time, another smile from Kazimir, "him."
When Haven approached, he offered his hand as well, unphased by the mans appearance, "Yes, thank you sir. Allow me to introduce myself to you two, I am Kazimir...." he paused, feeling as if there was some kind of title he was obligated to add there, some kind of...oh, whatever he had recalled had left his mind, and he laughed slightly, "And well, that's about all I know. I'm afraid when I woke, I was unable to recall anything...I barely managed to free myself from all that ice, let alone make it down here in one piece..." He gestured for Haven to take a seat, "Would either of you like something to drink or eat? The tavernkeep here is a very kind man, if forgiving. He's certainly tolerated me staying here."
Faerithel returned the handshake quickly and firmly. He looked directly at Kazimir, revealing his sunset eyes properly.
"If you are willing to pay, the bartender has access to a fine wine that you can't find in many other places. It has been many years since I have had the chance to sample it." Faerithel said, glancing at Haven.
"I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that he hired more than one person." He said, looking over at Haven.
Lost his memories huh? Well I guess I could assist him with that later on.
"If you are willing to pay, the bartender has access to a fine wine that you can't find in many other places. It has been many years since I have had the chance to sample it." Faerithel said, glancing at Haven.
"I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that he hired more than one person." He said, looking over at Haven.
Lost his memories huh? Well I guess I could assist him with that later on.
As to the question of their Boss's motives, the lead ruffian got a twinkle in his eye. "Those might be our favorites, but they're just two of our many talents, m'lord." The two at either side - one an archer, the other a bearing a greatsword - shared a nerves-fueled grimace. Their boss moved in mysterious ways, but this whole endeavor had them on edge. A fact they wisely kept to themselves. They knew better than to openly question the man with the Grinning Mongrel in earshot.
The ruffians quieted, looking on throughout the culling with puzzlement. Before long, only they and one other remained. Well, they, the other, and the dog.
The swordsman studied them a moment. Then glanced towards Duran (who had finally moved from making a high-pitched "I wanna play" whine to sulking about the unfairness of not being allowed to do so). Then picked at the puffy scarring around his bad eye.
He shook his head.
"Lucky us..."
"Hey, now - no reason t' be rude. It's always good to have a good, hard-working professional on our side." Distracted from sulking, Duran emphasized the 'good' and 'hard-working' the most, beady, gray eyes full of mirth. "We'll just have to put up with her companion in the meantime."
The muffled laugh that followed was akin to a bark and the followers three relaxed, just a little.
When Lord Hawthorne produced the drawing, quick eyes would dart back his way. The masked one collected the parchment, taking a closer look, then passed it along to his men. The ruffians nodded, indicating their continued attention even as they seemed preoccupied. When it made it to the archer, his eyes lingered on that crown before he was jostled by Yam, eager for his turn to memorize their target's features. This drew a small huff from the archer and quiet scold before he handed it over.
It having made the rounds, Yam would offer the sketch and a lopsided grin to Wevendyr. "Ti catch thi man aliyev, I hope yi are a good a yi sey. Yi hev ti be it, ti keep op with us."
The ruffians quieted, looking on throughout the culling with puzzlement. Before long, only they and one other remained. Well, they, the other, and the dog.
The swordsman studied them a moment. Then glanced towards Duran (who had finally moved from making a high-pitched "I wanna play" whine to sulking about the unfairness of not being allowed to do so). Then picked at the puffy scarring around his bad eye.
He shook his head.
"Lucky us..."
"Hey, now - no reason t' be rude. It's always good to have a good, hard-working professional on our side." Distracted from sulking, Duran emphasized the 'good' and 'hard-working' the most, beady, gray eyes full of mirth. "We'll just have to put up with her companion in the meantime."
The muffled laugh that followed was akin to a bark and the followers three relaxed, just a little.
When Lord Hawthorne produced the drawing, quick eyes would dart back his way. The masked one collected the parchment, taking a closer look, then passed it along to his men. The ruffians nodded, indicating their continued attention even as they seemed preoccupied. When it made it to the archer, his eyes lingered on that crown before he was jostled by Yam, eager for his turn to memorize their target's features. This drew a small huff from the archer and quiet scold before he handed it over.
It having made the rounds, Yam would offer the sketch and a lopsided grin to Wevendyr. "Ti catch thi man aliyev, I hope yi are a good a yi sey. Yi hev ti be it, ti keep op with us."
Despite Lord Hawthorne's words, Wevendyr's confidence did not waver, though it did become more muted. "There's such a thing as being 'fashionably late', you know," he quietly huffed in indignation as he watched people pour out of the room in droves. Much to his dismay, it really was going to be him and those four ruffians on this mission. What the Lord saw in them, he had no idea.
Wevendyr furrowed his brow at Duran's remark and seemed ready to retort, but he stopped himself from doing so. Now was not the time to be snarking, as much as he wanted it to be. Instead, he settled for showing off a pleasant, if not strained smile as he nonchalantly nudged Freya behind him with his leg, eliciting a whine from her. Clearly, that traitorous mutt was actually looking forward to meeting the rest of the little troupe. Still, he accepted the sketch from Yam, giving him his own sickeningly sweet smile. "I'm not quite sure what you just said, but I'm going to assume you were doubting my ability. Don't do that."
He began to murmur to himself as he turned the parchment over in his hands. "Hmm, yes. Quite an elaborate sketch you've made... I could do better, though. On the quality of the art, I mean, not the accuracy." His eyes narrowed as he studied the drawing for a few moments, committing it to memory. The man depicted looked almost... familiar, though Wevendyr could not say why. He supposed not knowing was the beauty of it all.
Once he was done, he passed the piece of parchment back to the bandit and returned his attention to Lord Hawthorne. "You have my word that not a single hair shall be harmed on your quarry. And I sincerely hope that my new companions do not get in the way of that promise." He shot a pointed look at the other four before continuing, "Ah, but I've one question, my lord. A very small, but important one. You see, that crown of jewels on the head of the man you are seeking..." Wevendyr paused, and his fox-like eyes practically glittered with greed. "May I take it from him? It would look far lovelier on me!"
Haven blinked in surprise at the hand being offered to him, somewhat unsettled by the gesture. It was unusual for someone to be okay with touching him on first meeting. Most people avoided doing so, for fear of catching a disease, or a curse, or whatever superstitious nonsense was in fashion these days. After much hesitance, Haven reached out and gave Kazimir an awkward, but nonetheless firm handshake. "Call me Haven."
In response to his employer's next words, Haven snorted, "Sounds like your problem, not mine. I'm not exactly an expert on amnesia. You probably just fell on some ice and hit your head." While he couldn't deny that the situation piqued his curiosity, he wasn't being paid to ask questions. Besides, he hardly knew anything about the land they were in, though he was sure he would be able to traverse it as well as his homeland.
He turned to Faerithel, jumping slightly at the sight of his fiery eyes, but quickly recovering. Probably rude to ask about it. "I might be experienced, but I can't do everything myself. Having another pair of hands would be helpful." He pursed his lips in thought. "I hope you know how to fight. And if not, you'd better be good at cooking or hauling cargo."
Haven opened his mouth to decline the offer of food, only for his rumbling stomach to do the speaking for him. After a moment's consideration, he abruptly took a seat between Faerithel and Kazimir. "Yeah, alright. Sure." Briefly glancing at his surroundings, he added, "They don't happen to serve seal meat 'round here, do they? I'll go for fish and whiskey if not."
Wevendyr furrowed his brow at Duran's remark and seemed ready to retort, but he stopped himself from doing so. Now was not the time to be snarking, as much as he wanted it to be. Instead, he settled for showing off a pleasant, if not strained smile as he nonchalantly nudged Freya behind him with his leg, eliciting a whine from her. Clearly, that traitorous mutt was actually looking forward to meeting the rest of the little troupe. Still, he accepted the sketch from Yam, giving him his own sickeningly sweet smile. "I'm not quite sure what you just said, but I'm going to assume you were doubting my ability. Don't do that."
He began to murmur to himself as he turned the parchment over in his hands. "Hmm, yes. Quite an elaborate sketch you've made... I could do better, though. On the quality of the art, I mean, not the accuracy." His eyes narrowed as he studied the drawing for a few moments, committing it to memory. The man depicted looked almost... familiar, though Wevendyr could not say why. He supposed not knowing was the beauty of it all.
Once he was done, he passed the piece of parchment back to the bandit and returned his attention to Lord Hawthorne. "You have my word that not a single hair shall be harmed on your quarry. And I sincerely hope that my new companions do not get in the way of that promise." He shot a pointed look at the other four before continuing, "Ah, but I've one question, my lord. A very small, but important one. You see, that crown of jewels on the head of the man you are seeking..." Wevendyr paused, and his fox-like eyes practically glittered with greed. "May I take it from him? It would look far lovelier on me!"
Haven blinked in surprise at the hand being offered to him, somewhat unsettled by the gesture. It was unusual for someone to be okay with touching him on first meeting. Most people avoided doing so, for fear of catching a disease, or a curse, or whatever superstitious nonsense was in fashion these days. After much hesitance, Haven reached out and gave Kazimir an awkward, but nonetheless firm handshake. "Call me Haven."
In response to his employer's next words, Haven snorted, "Sounds like your problem, not mine. I'm not exactly an expert on amnesia. You probably just fell on some ice and hit your head." While he couldn't deny that the situation piqued his curiosity, he wasn't being paid to ask questions. Besides, he hardly knew anything about the land they were in, though he was sure he would be able to traverse it as well as his homeland.
He turned to Faerithel, jumping slightly at the sight of his fiery eyes, but quickly recovering. Probably rude to ask about it. "I might be experienced, but I can't do everything myself. Having another pair of hands would be helpful." He pursed his lips in thought. "I hope you know how to fight. And if not, you'd better be good at cooking or hauling cargo."
Haven opened his mouth to decline the offer of food, only for his rumbling stomach to do the speaking for him. After a moment's consideration, he abruptly took a seat between Faerithel and Kazimir. "Yeah, alright. Sure." Briefly glancing at his surroundings, he added, "They don't happen to serve seal meat 'round here, do they? I'll go for fish and whiskey if not."
Lord Gray had a pleased smile on his lips, despite the gathered bunch. Though the thugs were...well, thugs, and not to be trusted one bit, he would hope this Knight here would be enough to keep them in toe.
"I'm afraid the arts are not a subject you'll find often discussed in this household. The quality of the art--"
"is lovely." Icarus cut in, sending a pointed glare at Wevendyr, "My father taught me when I was a child, back in the east. He was a warrior, not an artist, but every man should know at least one art besides for that of combat. I suggest you watch your tongue, I may be but a servant--"
"Icarus, please. Silence yourself." The half-harpy could not disguise the anger on his face, but he only folded his wings close to his back and picked at his sharp nails. Lord Gray paused for a moment, and Wevendyr had gotten the man to laugh- it was a rumbling noise, and it seemed to calm Icarus down, "I must remember, no matter how you look, you're another man for hire. Greed lies in your heart just as it does that bunch, good. As long as the man is unharmed, the crown is yours, good sir.
Now. If you don't already have one, you shall be fitted with a horse from my stables. Take one of your pick, they are the finest of their breed, and as long as you don't kill them in your travels, they are yours to keep after the work is done. I ask that you leave my two Arabians alone- they're special creatures, and I hardly doubt my stable boy will even let you near them given your appearances." That comment seemed to be more directed at Duran and his bunch, "And I will be sending my servant Icarus with you."
The harpy sputtered, his face flushing with anger and his wings suddenly spreading out- he knocked a pedestal displaying an ornate helmet down, the thing hitting the ground with a great clatter, but Gray simply stared, "My Lord! You know my place is here-- I haven't left the manor since I was young, I refuse to leave while such a man is out there. If you are in need of protection, Gray--"
"I stand by my words." He stood, "Pick up my helm and fix the pedestal. Come to my chambers to gather your things before you leave, Icarus." The dark skinned man walked forward, offering a hand to Duran and then Wevendyr, "The house of Hawthorne and the King thank you men. May God be with you on your journey." The smile was gone from his face, and again the old Knight was all business, his dead eye gazing vacantly at the bunch in front of him.
Kazimir's hands were terribly cold, that was first to note- despite his smile and the fact he was very clearly alive, the man felt as cold as marble...or a corpse. And now that it was mentioned...that smile of his felt odd too. Like it didn't reach his eyes, or his voice. He pulled his hand back to himself, folding it along the table, waving one of the tavern wenches over and relaying their desires- including tea for himself, "Just hot enough to steep, don't bother yourself too much."
He waited until the woman left before he continued, "I'm not too keen on recovering my memories, truthfully. I feel that they will return to me in due time...my only concern now is the castle I came from. It was no slip that did this to me sir. I woke practically embedded in the ice, it had frozen around me, and frankly I'm quite positive that I may find what I was looking for further up there...though what it is I'm looking for, I don't know.
Some men speak of feeling things in their bones, ancient premonitions and 'gut feelings'. That room felt like the place I should be...and yet I left it. Given whatever was up in those mountains, I had no urge to return alone, and so I've called upon you two. I hope you're willing to accompany me up those mountains...local men had no interest in doing so after I relayed my story, something about what had once been up there." He had not once shifted from his position, but when the woman came by with their food and drinks he turned and thanked her, sliding her a few gold coins- she seemed stunned at them, trying to mention that it was certainly more than the cost of the food, but Kazimir would have none of it, closing his hands around her own before sending her off. To him, money was of no concern...meaning he must've had plenty of it.
"I'm afraid the arts are not a subject you'll find often discussed in this household. The quality of the art--"
"is lovely." Icarus cut in, sending a pointed glare at Wevendyr, "My father taught me when I was a child, back in the east. He was a warrior, not an artist, but every man should know at least one art besides for that of combat. I suggest you watch your tongue, I may be but a servant--"
"Icarus, please. Silence yourself." The half-harpy could not disguise the anger on his face, but he only folded his wings close to his back and picked at his sharp nails. Lord Gray paused for a moment, and Wevendyr had gotten the man to laugh- it was a rumbling noise, and it seemed to calm Icarus down, "I must remember, no matter how you look, you're another man for hire. Greed lies in your heart just as it does that bunch, good. As long as the man is unharmed, the crown is yours, good sir.
Now. If you don't already have one, you shall be fitted with a horse from my stables. Take one of your pick, they are the finest of their breed, and as long as you don't kill them in your travels, they are yours to keep after the work is done. I ask that you leave my two Arabians alone- they're special creatures, and I hardly doubt my stable boy will even let you near them given your appearances." That comment seemed to be more directed at Duran and his bunch, "And I will be sending my servant Icarus with you."
The harpy sputtered, his face flushing with anger and his wings suddenly spreading out- he knocked a pedestal displaying an ornate helmet down, the thing hitting the ground with a great clatter, but Gray simply stared, "My Lord! You know my place is here-- I haven't left the manor since I was young, I refuse to leave while such a man is out there. If you are in need of protection, Gray--"
"I stand by my words." He stood, "Pick up my helm and fix the pedestal. Come to my chambers to gather your things before you leave, Icarus." The dark skinned man walked forward, offering a hand to Duran and then Wevendyr, "The house of Hawthorne and the King thank you men. May God be with you on your journey." The smile was gone from his face, and again the old Knight was all business, his dead eye gazing vacantly at the bunch in front of him.
Kazimir's hands were terribly cold, that was first to note- despite his smile and the fact he was very clearly alive, the man felt as cold as marble...or a corpse. And now that it was mentioned...that smile of his felt odd too. Like it didn't reach his eyes, or his voice. He pulled his hand back to himself, folding it along the table, waving one of the tavern wenches over and relaying their desires- including tea for himself, "Just hot enough to steep, don't bother yourself too much."
He waited until the woman left before he continued, "I'm not too keen on recovering my memories, truthfully. I feel that they will return to me in due time...my only concern now is the castle I came from. It was no slip that did this to me sir. I woke practically embedded in the ice, it had frozen around me, and frankly I'm quite positive that I may find what I was looking for further up there...though what it is I'm looking for, I don't know.
Some men speak of feeling things in their bones, ancient premonitions and 'gut feelings'. That room felt like the place I should be...and yet I left it. Given whatever was up in those mountains, I had no urge to return alone, and so I've called upon you two. I hope you're willing to accompany me up those mountains...local men had no interest in doing so after I relayed my story, something about what had once been up there." He had not once shifted from his position, but when the woman came by with their food and drinks he turned and thanked her, sliding her a few gold coins- she seemed stunned at them, trying to mention that it was certainly more than the cost of the food, but Kazimir would have none of it, closing his hands around her own before sending her off. To him, money was of no concern...meaning he must've had plenty of it.
Yam's smile never faltered, though his eyes seemed a tad brighter after Wevendyr's words. While Wevendyr remarked on the sketch, the archer patted his lumpy friend's shoulder and the swordsman gave them both a light shove. Seemed they were pleased with the outcome of that exchange, taking turns miming Wevendyr's body language and making attempts at that oh-so-sweet smile. Quiet "don't do that"s could be heard from each as they mimicked the nuances of his inflection like a flock of ravens.
Icarus's outburst, however, drew their attention back towards him, where it remained until Lord Hawthorne further addressed Wevendyr.
Lucky man. He'd get to wear a fancy crown for his souvenir of the trip... a development that drew some mild curiosity from Yam, and possibly the ghost of admiration from the swordsman. The archer's gaze, however, remained inscrutable and it wasn't long before his eyes drifted towards the door. Lost in thought, he teased at the strap of a hip pouch, adjusting and readjusting its placement at his side.
Talk of horses saw Yam and the swordsman perk up, clearly pleased by the offer and elbowing their quiet companion. Their leader, at whom they shot gleeful looks, was the only one particularly nonplussed. Duran narrowed his eyes at the trio then shrugged, murmuring something about mules and good eating that earned a horrified look from the swordsman and a snicker from the others.
The second outburst and clattering helm snapped their attention back to Icarus, and their moods remained sober into the sealing of the deal. Duran gave the offered hand a good shake. If it was the wrong gesture there, Duran mucked it up, but he certainly didn't care. Etiquette could hardly be said to be his strong suit.
Mischief reentered his eyes as he turned away. He tilted his chin up, directing the trio towards the hall. "Alright, you - get out there and pick yourselves a good pony for the trip. We been indoors long enough."
The trio would whoop and jostle eachother in their haste to leave, Yam gesturing excitedly all the while. Then Duran would slip into step behind them, pausing only long enough at the door to wave goodbye to the dog. Their voices - mostly Yam's, with the swordsman getting a word or two in edgewise and the occasional muffled laughter punctuating - echoed back into the room long after they were gone.
Icarus's outburst, however, drew their attention back towards him, where it remained until Lord Hawthorne further addressed Wevendyr.
Lucky man. He'd get to wear a fancy crown for his souvenir of the trip... a development that drew some mild curiosity from Yam, and possibly the ghost of admiration from the swordsman. The archer's gaze, however, remained inscrutable and it wasn't long before his eyes drifted towards the door. Lost in thought, he teased at the strap of a hip pouch, adjusting and readjusting its placement at his side.
Talk of horses saw Yam and the swordsman perk up, clearly pleased by the offer and elbowing their quiet companion. Their leader, at whom they shot gleeful looks, was the only one particularly nonplussed. Duran narrowed his eyes at the trio then shrugged, murmuring something about mules and good eating that earned a horrified look from the swordsman and a snicker from the others.
The second outburst and clattering helm snapped their attention back to Icarus, and their moods remained sober into the sealing of the deal. Duran gave the offered hand a good shake. If it was the wrong gesture there, Duran mucked it up, but he certainly didn't care. Etiquette could hardly be said to be his strong suit.
Mischief reentered his eyes as he turned away. He tilted his chin up, directing the trio towards the hall. "Alright, you - get out there and pick yourselves a good pony for the trip. We been indoors long enough."
The trio would whoop and jostle eachother in their haste to leave, Yam gesturing excitedly all the while. Then Duran would slip into step behind them, pausing only long enough at the door to wave goodbye to the dog. Their voices - mostly Yam's, with the swordsman getting a word or two in edgewise and the occasional muffled laughter punctuating - echoed back into the room long after they were gone.
"I see. And what do you expect to find up the mountain? Perils of the unknown are often greater than any threat. What do you know about the area you woke up in?" Faerithel seemed very skeptical of the whole thing. His skepticism was well backed, many years of travelling, getting tricked, and robbed have taught him to be skeptical of anything. He's turned down many jobs due to them being suspicious. He's developed a standard for the jobs he accepts. This one only barely landed in the standard but even then he was skeptical. He wanted to know more so that he may make a proper judgement on it.
He sipped from his wine, savoring the subtle and varied flavor of the wine. It was familiar but still new. The wine was something that he enjoyed greatly; a rare thing for him. Faerithel was completely prepared to walk away from this job if he had to. But he was willing to listen.
He sipped from his wine, savoring the subtle and varied flavor of the wine. It was familiar but still new. The wine was something that he enjoyed greatly; a rare thing for him. Faerithel was completely prepared to walk away from this job if he had to. But he was willing to listen.
If Wevendyr heard the bandits' mockery of him, he did not show it, ignoring them as he kept his attention on Lord Hawthorne and Icarus. A smirk worked its way onto his face at the former's confirmation that Wevendyr would be able to keep the crown. Not only would his services net him a good sum of gold and a tale to tell, but he was also going to look stunning by the end of this venture. Well, more than he usually did, at least in his not-so-humble opinion of himself.
His pleased expression fell, however, when Lord Hawthorne stated his intention to send the half-harpy who had chastised him earlier to travel with them. "That feathered f-" Wevendyr cut himself off before he could complete the word 'fiend'. Instead, he cleared his throat and continued in an overly saccharine tone of voice, clasping his hands together, "Friend? Oh, but I'd love to have him accompany us! Your Lordship's faithful servant will make an excellent addition to our party!" Under his breath, he grumbled, "It isn't as if I already have to deal with a bunch of hooligans as well as this stupid dog."
Said 'stupid dog' had pricked both her tail and ears into a defensive stance upon hearing the clattering sound, her blue eyes fixed warily on the bird-like man who had caused it. She relaxed as her master knelt down beside her, offering her a scratch behind the ears and beckoning her to follow with "Come, Freya. We have a steed to pick out and a new land to explore."
Wevendyr stood and gave the Lord a firm handshake - with the hand opposite of the one he used to touch the animal with, of course. He wasn't sure what it was with nobles and their aversion to dogs, but he supposed it was something he'd just have to get used to. "A pleasure, Lord Hawthorne," he said, meeting the man in the eyes. Then, dryly, he added, "I will keep your god's offer of watching over me in mind, though I have my own to attend to."
Flashing him a quick and final grin, the priest turned and made way for the exit, his steps light and airy as his hound nipped at his heels. "Mind you don't touch the Arabians!" he called out after the bandits as he left, "I don't want to get fired before we even begin."
As soon as his order arrived, Haven wasted no time in tearing off a portion of meat and devouring it like a starving wolf, pausing only to speak after he had swallowed. "You got down here just fine, didn't you? Shouldn't be too much of a problem to go back up. Ascending the mountain will be difficult, of course, but you look like you're used to the cold."
He kept quiet during Faerithel's questioning, focusing on his own plate of food and how quickly he could eat it all without choking on something. Still, despite appearing uninterested in the details, he listened. The last amnesiac he'd met was an ax-crazy lunatic, and while he was thankful for Kazimir's more grounded demeanor (well, mostly; all this talk of premonitions and being encased in ice left Haven wondering if he was just the slightest bit mad), he still had to figure out his client's exact motivations. There were some things that he just would not do, no matter the circumstances.
The glint of the gold coins that Kazimir handed over to their server caught Haven's attention, prompting him to speak again once she had left. "Did you just pay for all of us? I'm perfectly capable of affording my own food, you know..." He stopped himself, remembering just exactly why he was sitting at this table with a couple of strangers, and begun again, "Listen, you pay me as well as you did that wench, and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean."
His pleased expression fell, however, when Lord Hawthorne stated his intention to send the half-harpy who had chastised him earlier to travel with them. "That feathered f-" Wevendyr cut himself off before he could complete the word 'fiend'. Instead, he cleared his throat and continued in an overly saccharine tone of voice, clasping his hands together, "Friend? Oh, but I'd love to have him accompany us! Your Lordship's faithful servant will make an excellent addition to our party!" Under his breath, he grumbled, "It isn't as if I already have to deal with a bunch of hooligans as well as this stupid dog."
Said 'stupid dog' had pricked both her tail and ears into a defensive stance upon hearing the clattering sound, her blue eyes fixed warily on the bird-like man who had caused it. She relaxed as her master knelt down beside her, offering her a scratch behind the ears and beckoning her to follow with "Come, Freya. We have a steed to pick out and a new land to explore."
Wevendyr stood and gave the Lord a firm handshake - with the hand opposite of the one he used to touch the animal with, of course. He wasn't sure what it was with nobles and their aversion to dogs, but he supposed it was something he'd just have to get used to. "A pleasure, Lord Hawthorne," he said, meeting the man in the eyes. Then, dryly, he added, "I will keep your god's offer of watching over me in mind, though I have my own to attend to."
Flashing him a quick and final grin, the priest turned and made way for the exit, his steps light and airy as his hound nipped at his heels. "Mind you don't touch the Arabians!" he called out after the bandits as he left, "I don't want to get fired before we even begin."
As soon as his order arrived, Haven wasted no time in tearing off a portion of meat and devouring it like a starving wolf, pausing only to speak after he had swallowed. "You got down here just fine, didn't you? Shouldn't be too much of a problem to go back up. Ascending the mountain will be difficult, of course, but you look like you're used to the cold."
He kept quiet during Faerithel's questioning, focusing on his own plate of food and how quickly he could eat it all without choking on something. Still, despite appearing uninterested in the details, he listened. The last amnesiac he'd met was an ax-crazy lunatic, and while he was thankful for Kazimir's more grounded demeanor (well, mostly; all this talk of premonitions and being encased in ice left Haven wondering if he was just the slightest bit mad), he still had to figure out his client's exact motivations. There were some things that he just would not do, no matter the circumstances.
The glint of the gold coins that Kazimir handed over to their server caught Haven's attention, prompting him to speak again once she had left. "Did you just pay for all of us? I'm perfectly capable of affording my own food, you know..." He stopped himself, remembering just exactly why he was sitting at this table with a couple of strangers, and begun again, "Listen, you pay me as well as you did that wench, and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean."
((OOC - are we continuing with this RP or should we consider it dormant/discontinued??))
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