Graded [Ryken City] Prologue: Is that sand on your shoulder?(Invite Only)

[Clyvelle]

Goals:
1) Establish Jareth's place in the world
2) Introduce pertinent (pictured) NPCs to Jareth's narrative
3) Make a delivery
4) Create opportunity for Jareth to make first PC friend/acquaintence

Cast:
Jareth Fletcher
Michael

Thread Summary:
Jareth awakens from a recurring sand-filled nightmare. He gets ready and heads over to the shop where he helps his master, Nolan Isthmus, craft eyeglasses for the Ryken populace. Shortly after arriving, a courier knocks on the door and delivers an emergency summons for Master Nolan from the artisan guild. The master comes downstairs shortly thereafter and receives the summons from Jareth. After reading the summons, Nolan announces the shop will be closed for the day due to the nature of the summons. Regardless, he does have one item for Jareth to deliver before the apprentice is free for the day: an elegant set of eyeglasses for a certain regrettable noble lady. Master Nolan sends Jareth away with a few final words of encouragement. While en route to the noblewoman's house, Jareth encounters a trio of antagonists from his youth. After a brief chase, Jareth eludes his pursuers and arrives at the client's estate. A tense encounter with the noblewoman ends in a threat she is fully capable of following through on should Jareth defy her. Thinking the worst is over, Jareth is cornered by his pursuers from earlier after leaving the estate. Abusing him as they see fit, he was spared further harm by a stranger.​

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Jareth awakens with a tossing of sheets and frantic reconnection with reality. Morning often comes early when your dwelling shares walls with the neighbors. On one side, an elderly gentleman grunting, occasionally letting out tremendous flatulence, as he begins his day. On the other side, a small family with children, who have been up for a half hour and already are struck with giggling fits as small children are prone to at that age. Such were regular unrequested wake up calls Jareth experienced.

On mornings like this one, however, the rude awakening comes as a blessing. Jareth, still panting lightly as he begins to realize he has returned to reality, was in the grasp of a terrible vision he is quite often struck with in the night. Everything begins normal enough: he can see familiar structures and scenery around Ryken. Occasionally, his parents even make an appearance, though their faces are always obscured. It always ends the same, however, as one by one the people and even buildings collapse into piles of golden sand around him. Finally, he is then sucked into a vortex that opens up as the ground itself becomes sand. There is never escape…save for his wake up call.

Jareth rubs a hand across his forehead, then combs his fingers through his hair. Low voices could be heard as the parents next door were roused finally by the children. The old man was quiet, probably putting the kettle on for his morning tea. A faint, whining fart whispered through the wall that he was standing near his hearth.

It was about time for Jareth to rise. A hand absently reaches behind him to land on his pillow. A scratchy residue, foreign to the bed but intimately known to Jareth, coated his hand: sand.

“Again…?” Jareth mumbled, as he grabbed the pillow and shook it out on the floor.

Grabbing his glasses from the bedside table, Jareth slipped them on as he shuffled to the door of his bedroom. He had walked this path for years now, so moving about with his eyes still half closed from sleep was only a slight inconvenience. Stubbed toes make for good teachers. Of course, not having the money or care to fully furnish the abode also simplified walking around blind.

Beyond the door was the main chamber of Jareth’s simple two-room home. A hearth with a chimney was centered in the space. In the wall opposite him was a small window next to the front door. On the wall by the door was a coat rack which held Jareth’s tattered cloak and messenger bag he used for his tools. Back along that wall by the hearth was a small table, barely larger than his nightstand with a single chair facing the door. Immediately to Jareth’s right as he exited the bedroom was a short counter with cupboards above and below.

Most of the cupboards were empty, save for the nearest one on top, which he reached into and retrieved his breakfast: half of an already small loaf of bread and an egg he was given yesterday by the elderly gentleman next door. Taking his morsels over to the table, he sat down. Cracking the egg on the table, he dumped the contents onto the end of his bread and tucked in. Jareth had a simple view of food: if he can eat it without gagging, then it would suffice.

By the time Jareth finished breakfast, the sound of the elderly man stepping outside told him it was time for him to be leaving as well. Dusting off his hands, Jareth rose and grabbed his cloak and bag. Opening the door, he stepped out into early morning twilight.

A gratuitous sneeze caused Jareth to turn to the left. Boris, the old man, was sitting in a chair beside his door. His hand quickly returned his pipe to his lips after the sneeze subsided.

“It’s always so dusty in the morning, isn’t it?” he mused as he chuckled merrily.

Jareth offered a hint of a smile and forced a small laugh of his own.

“Oh, thank you, for the egg, Mr. Boris.” Jareth said politely.

“Please, just Boris,” said he with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Any time, young Jareth. Now off you go.”

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Jareth gave a small wave and left. He wasn’t required to be at the shop for another few hours, but milling around the house or making small talk wasn’t enough to distract him. Over the years working under Master Nolan, Jareth found that working on a pair of spectacles was one of the few guaranteed ways to keep his mind from wandering to unwanted places. So, to the shop he went to occupy himself.

Traveling at dawn was ideal for getting through the streets before the rush. It wasn’t so much the crowding that bothered Jareth as the people themselves. He had learned to make himself scarce in order to avoid unnecessary encounters. With the exception of Boris and Nolan, most people who knew of his background avoided him–for fear of him directly or fear of being associated with him. Life is hard for so-called “omen children”, but harder for those that count them as friends.

Besides the ease of travel, there were other perks to early morning walks to the shop. Passing the bakery as the first batch of bread is reaching completion is a special smell that touches a place of nostalgia that goes unnamed within Jareth. There is also the quiet of the early morning. The hum and drum of Ryken in the midday sun causes one to forget that this grand city against the backdrop of morning twilight could pass as majestic. Of course, most of the majesty is seen through skylines and silhouettes of distant gables and varying sizes of castles owned by the upper class.

As a matter of fact, Jareth’s path followed a waterway that separated the poor district from the marketplace where all classes mingled. The mostly dirt roads of the poor district suddenly become cobbled as they move towards the bridge over the waterway into the marketplace, which then has fully decorated mosaic bricks beneath the shoppers’ feet. Jareth always took notice of his footsteps changing sound when he went from dirt paths to cobbled paths to bricked paths. It was like listening to a bucket of water filling up: you can tell how full it is by the sound. Similarly, you knew you had reached the marketplace when the footfalls of the brick path were heard.

Another feature of the marketplace was the acoustics. It was easy to hear footsteps fast approaching, even over the din of midday traffic generally. That was a trick that had helped Jareth evade trouble on a few occasions. Those were matters for later, however, as the eyeglass shop came into view.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Climbing the short set of steps up to the door, Jareth retrieved a key from his bag and unlocked the door. Immediately on the left as he entered was a lantern on a hook. It did not contain oil or a wick, instead casting light from a magic gem within. Jareth opened the lantern and held the gem close to his chest. Master Nolan said that it responded to heat and one’s very lifeforce, so even one not magically inclined, like Jareth, could effectively cause the light to shine. After a few moments a blue light began radiating from the gem within his hand. Returning it to the lantern, Jareth raised the light and inspected the store quickly.

The front room was divided in half by a long glass case that displayed various styles of glasses accommodating some apparently bizarre head shapes. Behind the glass cases Nolan kept a couple mirrors to allow people to inspect their spectacled look. Everything seemed to be in order in the front. Jareth opened a door behind the counter which led to the workshop.

A door behind the counter led to the workshop where Master Nolan and Jareth had their own workstations to either side. The furnace sat in the corner to the right while a door was in the corner to the left which led to the stairs that went up to Master Nolan’s apartment. This door was always locked and regarded by the master as his “true” front door. Jareth glanced around briefly with the lantern before walking over to his station and hanging it overhead and dropping his bag on the floor next to the station.

There were a number of agreements Jareth had to agree to upon becoming Nolan’s apprentice. First and foremost, Nolan paid him whatever he felt like he was worth. It was nonnegotiable. Period. As Jareth proved himself reliable and useful as an assistant, further agreements were established, one being the spare key to the shop Jareth had in his bag. Additionally, Nolan allowed him to use the scraps from their work for his own tinkering. Lastly, Master Nolan did not mind him coming early to the shop, but the moment Jareth made himself a nuisance by doing so, his key and potentially his apprentice status would be revoked.

Jareth was fine with every stipulation Master Nolan gave him. Ever since becoming an apprentice his answer had always been “Yes, master.” How could he refuse the requests of the one that helped him forget? Deny the one who put bread in his cabinet? All Jareth could think about was the glass they worked with. If Master Nolan would continue giving him access to lens crafting, there was nothing more he needed.

In fact, to one side of Jareth’s workstation was his current project: a simple telescope. It was a small tube that fit in one’s hand with lenses on either side that magnified what was being viewed. Due to how they craft their lenses, the view was blurry, and these particular lenses being defective were in poor repair, having cracks and chips in them. Altogether not very useful for its intended purpose, but there was something about it that made Jareth happy. Having assembled it, he was currently working on imprinting a design on the exterior of the tube. His goal was to imitate some of the designs in the decorative bricks of the marketplace grounds. Jareth grabbed some pliers to grip the tube while he used a stylet for engraving the pattern.

It was delicate work that required immense concentration as either hand working too hard could destroy the fragile tube of the scope. It wasn’t until a stern knock came at the door that he realized the sun had fully risen, bathing the workshop in golden light. Master Nolan had not roused yet, and probably wouldn’t for another half hour or so, leaving the answering of the door to Jareth. It was rare to have a visitor so early, but this was probably an unspoken advantage for Master Nolan having his apprentice present and able to answer the door while he slept a bit later.

Jareth rose from his workstation, dusting off his hands, and went to answer the door. Waiting on the stoop was a runner for the artisan guild, easily identified by the crest on his left breast.

“I have an urgent summons for Master Nolan. Is he in?” said the boy promptly.

“Master Nolan is…preoccupied at the moment. I am his apprentice. I’ll see that he gets it.” Jareth offered.

“Thank you, my good fellow. Here is the summons.” said the boy, handing a scarlet envelope to Jareth. “Have a good day.”

Closing the door, Jareth examined the envelope. Decorative gold accentuated the borders of the paper, while a black waxen seal stamped with the artisan guild’s master crest closed it. He had seen only one other like it while working under Master Nolan. Back then, that summons had to do with a foreign merchant company wanting to open several shops in Ryken that would compete with already existing shops. The masters were called in to see if an agreement could be reached.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

“Hand that here, Jareth.” Master Nolan had suddenly appeared from the workshop door.

Standing at about three feet, four inches, the master was definitely an unassuming figure at first glance. Looking closer, you could see the furrow in his brow and a keenness in his eyes that began to paint the picture of why he is a master in his craft.

Nolan quickly snatched the letter from Jareth, his nimble fingers quickly tearing away the envelope and unfurling the letter within. Even at this early hour, his eyes had already dialed into their focused work state, quickly tracing back and forth across the lines of the letter. Somewhere towards the end of the letter his eyes narrowed.

“As If I didn’t have enough to do already.” Nolan huffed, crumpling the summons as he walked back into the workshop. Jareth followed, discerning orders were about to be issued.

Walking over to the furnace, Nolan tossed the summons into the smoldering embers. Without missing a beat, he continued to his own workstation and grabbed a pair of spectacles resting thereon. Pulling a "clean" piece of leather down from a shelf, he placed the spectacles on it and carefully folded the leather up into a protective pouch for transport. Turning around, he handed the pouch to Jareth before moving to the front room again.

“We’ll be closed today. I have this parcel for you to deliver before going about your business.” Nolan said as he withdrew some parchment and began writing. “The recipient is Lady Delarue. She requested discretion so the spectacles don’t leave that leather until you are in her presence. This note is to assure her that I trust you to handle the fitting, and if she isn’t satisfied with any of it, I will be by later today to finalize the transaction.” Finishing the note with a scrawled signature, he folded the parchment and placed it in a new envelope and handed it to Jareth who was staring into space. Once Nolan noticed, he grabbed the young man's arm lightly. “Look at me, boy.” Jareth’s eyes slowly focused on his master’s face. “This meeting has nothing to do with your past. All you have to do is fit those lenses to her wrinkled face and leave. Don’t ruin what you have by letting her provoke you. She isn’t worth it, son.” Jareth slowly nodded. “Very good.” Nolan said, patting Jareth’s arm. “Off you go then. Oh, by the way, please do something with your day off, Jareth. I don’t want to hear you sat at home all day again.”

Jareth fetched his bag and cloak from the workshop. He carefully set the parcel in his bag, using a spare piece of leather from his own station as a buffer between it and his tools. Grabbing the lantern he had brought back with him, Jareth returned it to the hook beside the front door before exiting the establishment.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Daylight has a way of making the city come alive. As Jareth left the stoop, he joined a sparse stream of people as they made their way to the marketplace. Overhead, men and women were opening windows and tossing water buckets out into the street below. Jareth dodged one such cascade as he was approaching an intersection, causing him to bump into a group of young men rounding the corner.

Their leader, a young man sickly from his youth named Osman, was knocked over in the collision. Most of his body being covered in bandages already, it wasn’t a surprise to see him recoil sharply from falling down. Patches of red began seeping into his bandages anew. One eye closed from the pain, while the other eye sought out the source with a vengeful, hate-filled glare. Zeroing in on Jareth, the intensity of the stare grew.

“You!” Osman seethed attempting to stand.

“Gee, Ozzy, you ok?” one of his cohorts, a larger, dumber boy named Ban said while trying to assist Osman, apparently unaware of the sudden change in the latter’s emotional state.

“Hey, apologize to Osman right now!” demanded the other member of the trio, a wiry, excitable male by the name of Trent. “Wait, it’s that guy!”

Jareth began backing away. His eyes were already looking for an escape route. Obviously Osman wasn’t much of a threat, but if Ban managed to grab him or gods-forbid Trent got to him, there would be trouble that he couldn’t afford right now.

“Forget me! GET HIM!” bellowed Osman, swiping the air dangerously close to Ban’s face so that he’d back off.

Unlike Ban, Trent did not need to be told twice. He was already sprinting headlong at Jareth, arms outstretched to grab him. Jareth spun around and ran for his life. Pedestrians cried out in indignation as the pair came barreling through the streets of the marketplace that became more and more crowded as the morning went on.

Trent had one thing going for him: his persistence. Shaking him would be no easy task. Even after taking some sharp turns and ducking behind some moving carts, he was still hot on Jareth’s heels. Losing Trent was imperative before entering the wealthy side of town and making the delivery, but dealing with him would require a deterrent.

Hanging a right down a narrow alley, Jareth began pathing back to the waterway. Gaining some ground by leaping down staircases as he descended the terraces of the marketplace, the waterway came into view. The bank of the waterway was left natural in places, and it was these spots Jareth sought out for one specific purpose: ammunition. Stooping low he snatched a handful of pebbles from the bank just as Trent came barreling down the last set of stairs a few yards behind him.

There was no way Jareth would maintain the lead if he had to run back up a flight of stairs, so it was now or never on the straightaway skirting the edge of the marketplace. His eyes widened as he whirled around, arm cocked back, and homed in on his target. Trent was charging him only now realizing what was coming. The raised arm snapped forward sending the pebble screaming towards Trent’s crazed face. Jareth quickly spun back around, stumbling slightly from the prancing footwork required for the maneuver. Unfortunately, there was no cry of pain from behind him. The attempt had failed. Jareth gritted his teeth, his hand clenching the remaining stones.

Up ahead the waterway made a hard right as it entered the sewers, cutting off their path. Options were either jump the waterway and continue straight or turn right up the stairs leading to the lowest terrace of the marketplace. Jareth knew he could not jump the waterway, but Trent did not. Feinting to the left and acting like he intended to jump the waterway, Jareth cut right at the last moment whipping his handful of rocks in an arc towards Trent. The plan went off perfectly as over Jareth’s shoulder he heard a curse escape Trent’s mouth followed by a splash.

Mounting the stairs, Jareth used the precious time he had won to cut through an alleyway as he made his way to the wealthy district. He had to move cautiously, taking time to peek around corners and avoiding large open areas. It wasn’t until he finally reached the wealthy district that he breathed a little easier and stopped for a much needed rest.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

There was a park that was technically in the wealthy district, but acted as a buffer zone to keep the rabble a good ways off. It was a serene place for a rest, and more importantly, there was a public fountain Jareth could quickly use to try and wash himself up with. The water was nice and cool after the sweat he had worked up avoiding Trent for the better part of an hour. Jareth rinsed off his face, neck, and hands, and slicked back his hair. Reaching into his back, he pulled out the spare leather currently buffering his tools from the eyeglass parcel and wiped himself off with the cleaner corners.

Without removing it from his bag, he peeked inside the folded leather parcel to check on the spectacles. Thankfully they had avoided damage in all the excitement. If he had damaged them, Jareth did not know how he could face Master Nolan. Disappointing him was an unbearable thought.

With a deep breath, Jareth steadied himself and mustered his resolve to see the delivery through. Rising from the fountain, he began making his way to Lady Delarue’s residence. Finding it wasn’t too hard. The Delarue family was well-known in Ryken politics and business, and their main estate acted as an important meeting place for persons of all walks that relied on the Delarue affluence for their affairs. Jareth approached the front gate where two guards were standing watch.

“State your business!” one called out.

“I…I am Master Nolan’s apprentice here with a delivery for Lady Delarue.” Jareth said trying to keep his voice level.

The guard nodded to a third guard stationed inside the gate, who proceeded to walk back to the residence. Meanwhile, Jareth zoned out while staring at one of the guards who stared back with increasing agitation. For the guard the minutes ticked by in a painful montage of unbroken moments locked in a staring contest with this strange young man. Finally, the guard cleared his throat and was about to say something when the third guard returned and tapped the knuckle of his metal gauntlet on the gate. Breathing a sigh of relief, the first guard barked, “Get in there, kid!”

Jareth snapped out of his stupor when the guard spoke. The guards opened the gate, quickly shutting it after Jareth had stepped inside. He was then escorted up to the front door by the guard on the inside of the gate. Before entering the estate, the guard instructed him, “Don’t touch anything. Wipe your feet upon entering. Do not address ANYONE while inside save for her ladyship, and only when she bids you to speak. Do not go anywhere without an escort. If by some cruel fate, you break, damage, or somehow tarnish anything in this house, gods help you because not even a lifetime of slavery would pay it back or quell her ladyship’s anger. Understood, boy?”

Jareth tried to swallow but realized his throat was parched, and so croaked out a dry, “Y-Yessir.”

With that, the guard opened the door and gestured for him to enter. A middle-aged butler was waiting for him on the other side. He pointed to the floor indicating a rug for Jareth to wipe his shoes on which he promptly did with added vigor. Being satisfied, the butler wordlessly turned and began walking away. Jareth was thankful for the escort because the path they took was rather labyrinthine, and he was fairly certain a few of the passages they took were servant halls. After a twisting path through single-person hallways upstairs then back downstairs, they arrived at their destination.

It was a smaller interior room with no windows. Magical stones like they had back at the shop glowed a warm shade of yellow in holsters along the wall. The room was void of any other furniture save for a plush chair and end table on the other side of the space from where he entered. The butler entered after Jareth and closed the door behind them, then he proceeded across the room and exited through another door after motioning for Jareth to stay where he was. He was left alone, but his wait was shorter than it was at the gate.

Eventually, the side door opened once more as the butler re-entered and held the door as a woman entered. Closing the door behind her, the butler followed the woman to the chair where he assisted her while she sat. Once seated, the woman smoothed out her dress briefly before her eyes snapped to Jareth, her expression going from weariness to cold calculation with a not-so-subtle dislike nestled in her glare. She sat like that for several moments just eyeing him. Finally, she spoke.

“Do what you have been sent to do. Be quick about it, boy.” she demanded coldly.

Jareth hesitantly rummaged through his bag and withdrew the leather with her order. Carefully unfolding it, he removed her eyeglasses, inspecting them briefly. These were made in the lorgnette design, a pair of spectacles attached to a wand or handle piece that allowed one to hold them up to one’s face instead of mounting them on the bridge of the nose and over the ears. It was a popular design among the nobles, presumably because the traditional design left depression marks on either side of the nose after extended use. The handheld model allowed people to be more discreet about their need for glasses as seemed to be Lady Delarue’s desire.

As to be expected, Master Nolan’s craftsmanship was flawless. No nicks or scratches in the metal. No scorch marks or discoloration from the heat treatments. The lenses were perfectly polished, though Jareth went ahead and gave them a final wipe on his shirt to be sure. Once he was satisfied, he pulled the note from Master Nolan out and handed it along with the lenses to the butler who approached to take them to Lady Delarue.

She took the eyeglasses and held them up to her face. Switching hands and adjusting how close the lenses were to her eyes, she seemed to find a comfortable method that worked for her. Taking the note, she used the spectacles to read it. A sound of contempt escaped her lips as she handed the letter and eyeglasses to the butler. She once again directed her gaze at Jareth.

“Nolan's work is acceptable as is to be expected, but his skill is not enough to excuse the outrage of sending you in his stead. He knows full well that you are not welcome here, yet takes advantage of this opportunity to shoehorn you where you are not wanted. Your master treads a very dangerous line, boy. There is no hope for you to amount to anything given the curse upon you that you maliciously spread to those around you, but you would do well not to follow your master’s example. While Nolan has the artisan guild to shield him for the time being, you have no such protection. One misstep from you, and I can ruin your situation.
“I see you for what you are: an insidious evil hellbent on corrupting this entire kingdom. What you did to my grandson is proof enough, but do not think me ignorant of what you did to the other children since that night so long ago. One has even disappeared entirely. Be thankful it was not mine or my men would have hunted you down that same night.”

Jareth could do nothing but clench his jaw. What bothered him most is that her accusations were his deepest worries given voice. Maybe all the horrible things that have happened to the abducted children were his fault. Even the adults from the orphanage speculated as much, which is why he was kicked out.

“Take him away, Halston. I have to save my strength for when Nolan stops by later. He’ll be getting an earful as well. Oh, one more thing: part of this agreement was discretion. If word of my needing eyeglasses gets out, I will hold you personally responsible. Now off with you.”

Halston the butler could not escort him fast enough out of the house. Their unnecessarily complex path, Jareth deduced, was to avoid him being seen. He suspected that Lady Delarue’s desire for discretion also extended to having anything to do with Jareth.

When they finally did make it back to the front door, Jareth let himself out before the butler could get the door. The guard from before was waiting for him. A final stroll back to the front gate was all that was left between him and a worry free day spent doing…anything but being here. Jareth couldn’t resist letting out a sigh of relief as he left the property. He couldn’t remember a moment more exhausting than the last half hour had been. Well, maybe one.

His stomach growled, bringing him back to the present. That unexpected jog earlier had expended more energy than he was used to. A premature meal would be required soon. He started heading for the bakery to pick up another loaf of bread.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

The journey back to the marketplace was uneventful. Pushing through the crowded streets got tedious, so Jareth resorted to side alleys and roads less traveled to avoid some of the midday rush. He decided to go down a side road that briefly wound around the perimeter of one of the higher marketplace terraces through a section of warehouses. Enclosed by a guardrail, the view from here overlooked the waterway and the lower districts of Ryken. It was a spectacular sight that took his mind off his troubles.

Without warning, Jareth was suddenly blindsided by a projectile, which struck him in the side of the head. He staggered dangerously close to the railing, managing to catch himself before tottering over, but not before his glasses slipped off his face and down to the next terrace below.

“HaHA! Did you see that?! Right in the head!” Exclaimed a jubilant Trent.

Jareth was bearhugged from behind as Ban hoisted him up off the ground.

“You hurt Ozzy earlier and then you hurt Trent, so now you’re going to pay, mister.” Somehow the stupid, almost innocent, tone of the lumbering oaf’s voice made his threat all the more scary.

“See boys? I knew he’d be by this way.” Osman emerged from the alleyway in which they were hiding, a wicked grin on his face. “My previous encounter with you was indeed cursed. I have a feeling this meeting will be more of a blessing…for me at least. Bring him here Ban.”

Following Osman’s direction, Ban carried Jareth’s now flailing body into the alley they had emerged from. It was shaded from the late morning sun as well as prying eyes.

“You’re first, Trent. Teach him a lesson for those stones earlier.” Osman said as a wicked grin parted his chapped lips.

Trent came nice and close to show Jareth the injuries he had sustained from the pebble barrage he took earlier. His left eye was bruised and swollen. Several welts covered the left side of his face. His nose was red and looked as if it had been haphazardly corrected from a recent break, and one of his teeth was chipped.

“I’m gonna enjoy this, you cursed bastard.” Trent said, cracking his knuckles.

He started with a left feint that caused Jareth to flinch directly into the path of his right hook. Without time to cope with the blow, Trent immediately threw his left hand and slapped Jareth across the face.

“Ah-ah, Trent. Don’t start with the head. We don’t want him getting fuzzy and missing all the fun.” Osman interrupted. “Let’s see what he has in that bag while we’re at it.”

Trent eagerly moved in to grab the bag, but Jareth suddenly sprang into action and kicked upward as hard as he could, catching the tip of Trent’s chin. He let out a gargling scream as a trickle of blood streamed from his mouth. Trent cupped a hand to his mouth and screamed, “Da’ jerk ma’e me bi’e my ‘ongue c'ean off! Ge’ him Ban!”

Ban growled into the back of Jareth’s head. Hoisting Jareth up, Ban slammed him into the ground with impossible strength causing Jareth to black out. He awoke to a new pain in the fingers of his right hand. Ban was currently sitting underneath him, pinning Jareth’s right arm out to the side where a metallic something was currently pinching down onto his ring finger and–SNAP. Now Jareth was screaming. There was so much pain in his right hand he was having trouble telling which fingers were broken and which were about to be.

No, not my hands! Break anything but my hands! Jareth thought desperately through the pain as his eyes welled with tears.

 

[Novama]

Michael the Blue Swordsman​

Michael was back in town after an extended mission on behalf of the guild. He was an acknowledged member of the guild now. The missions would only get more dangerous, but Michael was more interested in the more lucrative possibilities. His outfit and equipment he wore were not cheap to acquire or maintain. That was also without considering on the modifications he did on them personally. Blue wasn't his favorite color, but the equipment shop he got his gear from was running a deal on a bunch of blue equipment they had that day. Since mithril was blue, it was assumed coloring the equipment blue would make it sell better and seem more powerful or magical than it was. It didn't pan out for the merchant, but it allowed Michael to get his first set when he had saved up enough money doing odd jobs.

In full gear, Michael was on his way to the adventurer's guild in Ryken when he heard Jareth's scream from an alley up ahead. Fresh to this world Michael was no hero. He was slow to get involved with anything dangerous. However, he quickly learned this world was not a safe place. There was no avoiding trouble indefinitely and when the trouble finally came, you'd better be strong enough to overcome it. He had ambitions and did not wish to die. So somewhere along the way he got competent, or so he would believe. Adventurer Michael. The blue swordsman Michael. The Michael of now was capable of providing aid and recently even swore to do as much whenever possible. One thing that became apparent along with the trouble in this world was that those that had the best chance of overcoming things were those with friends. The scream reminded him of his oath and the possibilities present in fulfilling it. Michael, Knight of the Order, sprang into action.

"Parkour!" (F grade ability for quickly getting around in dense environments)

He declared as he ran up the paved street. The verbal declaration assisted his mind in focusing on the ability and its various components. Getting his mind in the right place, he was able to activate several of his abilities to trigger the ability. HIs [Appraisal] skill revealed for him the most ideal places to climb or spring off of to keep moving toward the sound of the screams despite obstacle or hazard. The rest of the skills that activated merely let him follow the best path forward, whatever it was. [Wall Bouncing] after running [fast] to a narrow portion of the street where the buildings weren't far apart, he was able to move to the top of the buildings around and traverse quickly over the tiled rooftops, [Jump]ing gaps with ease. Despite the noise he was making while clopping over the rooves like a horse on pavement, he was not likely to draw too much attention to himself due to the angle someone would have to look and listen to know he was coming.

Over the alley with the boys down below, Michael surveyed the situation. His appraisal couldn't reach the boys from where he squatted over the scene. However, it was apparent Jareth was getting ganged up on and was actively getting tortured. Maybe stuff like that happeend in under city, but not in Ryken top side. Michael immediately stopped hiding and made his presence clearly known.

"Stop what you're doing and get off of him!"

Michael shouted, standing at the roofs edge as he glared down at the young men below. The shortswords he had sheathed at his hips were angled enough to be easily seen by the boys below and make it easier for Michael to draw them.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Jareth was unable to see around Ban's hulking frame, but he could feel his digits touching unnaturally. Ban maintained his grip on Jareth's arm until Trent was done breaking all four of his fingers. He stood and came around to where Jareth could see him looking pleased as punch.

"I left your thumb alone so you could shove it up your ass. And when people ask you how you are you can just," he raised an enthusiastic thumbs up.

"He's basically a mute anyway." Osman chimed in. "He won't say anything as usual. Those screams are the most sound I've heard him make in quite awhile. You know, come to think of it, maybe I was wrong about you. I always thought that, out of all the omen children, you were the one who seemed untouched. Now I'm starting to wonder if maybe you were touched. Touched in the head!"

"Stop what you're doing and get off of him!" came a voice from overhead.

The trio of assailants all looked up. Jareth used the distraction to pull his arm free and curl into the fetal position, weeping at the sight of his mangled hand.

"Who's that, Ozzy?" Ban asked dumbly.

"An unwanted interruption." Osman said irritably. "I suppose we were just about to wrap things up here anyway though. C'mon, boys."

Ban planted a massive foot on Jareth as he stood up. Trent gave a small laugh as he pocketed the pliers, taken from Jareth's bag, which he used to break the apprentice's fingers. He gave Jareth a final kick before following after Osman. Jareth was left to wallow in his tears and misery.

 

[Novama]

Michael the Blue Swordsman​

Michael watched the other boys leave. He kept glaring at them until they were out of sight. Michael was too far away to discern it, but this level of abuse may have warranted some criminal titles. Had he known their criminal status, he may have decided they would not be leaving the alleyway. He had yet to kill a humanoid though. It was probably too soon to take such actions without first giving it some thought. The opportunities to do such things would likely come quicker and more frequent due to the nature of his position in the Order and the adventurer's guild.

"Parkour." (F ability for getting around the city easier)

He stated again to himself, let his body wind up before he stepped off the tiled roof. [Appraise] gave him quick readouts of possible paths to where he wished to go, meanwhile, his body reacted: a [wall bounce] here, a [jump] there, and finally an [acrobatic] flip into a landing [fancy fall]. Despite the distance dropped, the sound of his boots hitting the paved alley were light with minor dust disturbance from impact. He straightened to his full height and walked over to Jareth to look him over.

Using [Appraisal D], Michael was able to get a load out of most of Jareth's information from titles to skills. Not seeing anything to suggest he had this treatment coming to him, Michael opted to help out more. He wasn't a doctor, so he couldn't get a readout of the patients injuring, but he assumed the boys' beatings likely broke some bones and/or caused internal bleeding somewhere, so Michael would use the best thing he had on hand. Unsheathing his mithril shortsword, the blue weapon glowed softly and bathed a limited area around the sword in its light. Michael drew his sword to his face where the flat of the blade could rest against his forehead and his words could be spoken directly into the sword's hilt.

"Heal." (C grade healing. cooldown 3 posts on blade)

Michael then extended the blade over the huddled Jareth. He would be bathed in the blue glow of the weapon and an energy would begin to flow into his body. It would feel cool and refreshing. While it wouldn't cure the weariness from his day, Jareth would feel his pains subside as the body, enhanced by magic, rapidly healed itself suddenly. The weirdest sensation was probably when his broken fingers started to audibly pop back into the place to be healed.

When the treatment had been finished, Michael sheathed his blade and spoke,

"I happened to be passing by this time when I heard your cries. I don't know who those guys were or if they will be back, but I might not be around if there is a next time. You should probably report them to the authorities. I could go with you to the guard."

Michael's offer was the best he could come up with as he awkwardly spoke to a huddled Jareth.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Jareth gently cradled the hand with the broken fingers to his chest as he sat up. The pain was like fire inside his bones. Each finger had swelled slightly and was beginning to turn a reddish purple. Jareth could barely look at them. The pain was already making him nauseous, and the sight of the grotesque state of his fingers even more so.

In wanting to look away, Jareth began searching out the one who had intervened. That's when Michael gracefully landed a short ways from him. All Jareth could see was a blurry figure coming towards him. Michael silently looked him over, causing Jareth to protect his hand as he wasn't sure what to expect from this stranger. When the boy suddenly unsheathed his sword, Jareth felt the fear creeping up into his throat once more as he scooched away slightly. It all melted away in the blue light that followed however.

Admittedly, the boys didn't get nearly as rough with Jareth as they could have. His head ached slightly from the rock, but overall they hadn't really hurt him much until Trent broke his fingers. Regardless, the aches dissipated in the blue light from Michael's sword. Jareth's stomach turned from the odd sensation of his fingers suddenly righting themselves and snapping back into place. Even the purplish tinge faded from his fingers as they were restored. The boy sheathed his sword, then spoke in an awkward yet comforting manner.

"I happened to be passing by this time when I heard your cries. I don't know who those guys were or if they will be back, but I might not be around if there is a next time. You should probably report them to the authorities. I could go with you to the guard."

Jareth shook his head.

"N-No! No guard. I...uh, my glasses. I lost my glasses over the railing...." Jareth said pointing out of the alley at the railing. "If you could...could you find them for me...? If not, it's fine. I...I'm actually an eyeglass artisan. I could make another pair. I just can't see very well...."

 

[Novama]

Ability Cooldown: Sword C grade 2 posts remaining
OOC: not to sure what is over the railing, so just kinda going for it.

Michael the Blue Swordsman​

Michael did not move away from Jareth immediately upon the young man's exclamation about his glasses. The glasses seemed to be secondary to Michael's piercing gaze, his expression stern. He was clearly thinking, but Jareth may have felt put off some if he could realize it. Michael finally sighed deeply, releasing any tension he still had from confronting those boys from earlier.

Michael turned to the railing Jareth pointed out to make an effort to reclaim the glasses. He looked up and down the length of the alley before noting the railing in particular. Making a conscious effort to watch where he was going so he didn't step on something he shouldn't, he looked for the glasses.

"I'll be back, I should be able to find your glasses quickly if they are still here to find,"

Michael called over his shoulder and then vaulted himself over the railing. Activating Parkour ability to ensure he could get down safely and not accidentally land on the glasses, he also drew his mithril shortsword again and spoke to it to activate another ability as he fell with style.

"Wide Area Appraisal" (Magic Affinity D, Magic Area of Effect E, Spell Duration E, Appraisal D - Michael has his appraisal eyes enhanced with the power of his enchanted sword. Michael can now see and identify everything within a 30ft radius of himself so long as the object is visible to the human eye. Additional information can be discerned if object or its properties are D grade or less. Lasts up to an hour in rp time.)

Michaels eyes turned into a shimmering blue color as his eyes darted about trying to take in everything around him. The strain on the brain and his eyes was somewhat alleviated by magic, but it was still tricky to get used to it. He had to pay just enough attention to where he was placing his feet and jumping next all while places and things up to 30ft away would flash into his minds eye and sometimes disorient him on where he was in relation to that point. He was hoping the excessive effort would bear fruit and give him practice at using the ability at the same time.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Realizing that the trauma he had just endured had been magically sapped from his body, Jareth slowly stood. The world was blurry without his glasses, so he wouldn't be moving anywhere too fast. Jareth combed his fingers through his hair. To his suprise, it felt like a lot of dust had somehow gotten into his sandy blond mop. He leaned over and agitated his hair with his fingers to knock out the dirt. Satisfied with his hair, he brushed off his clothing next.

"I think it's just dusty all day, Mr. Boris...." Jareth mumbled to himself.

He could see the brown blob that was his bag, so Jareth slowly walked over to it. Crouching down, he brought his face close to the spilled contents. Everything was here save for his pliers. After that encounter, Jareth wasn't sure he'd see that handy tool the same way again. Scooping everything into his bag, he laid the strap on his left shoulder, securing the bag against his right hip.

Michael hadn't returned yet, so Jareth began feeling his way along one side of the alley back out to the street. Jareth nearly tripped over a loose board on the ground but caught himself on a nearby crate. Before emerging from the alley, Jareth squinted his eyes and peered up and down the road. He may not be able to see well, but the silhouettes of Osman and his gang were very familiar to him. Thankfully they were nowhere to be seen--as far as Jareth could see anyway.

Stepping over to the guardrail, Jareth peered down at the lower terrace where Michael had jumped down to moments before. The guy was pretty remarkable having managed such a feat without injury. Jareth was positive he would not be so fortunate if he tried to follow. The sound of people approaching made Jareth paranoid, so he ducked back into the alley while they passed.

 

[Novama]

Ability Cooldown: Sword C grade 1 posts remaining. Sword D grade 1 post remaining.
OOC: just gonna get these spectacles and offer supper

Michael the Blue Swordsman​

Arriving at the lower level with swiftness and ease of motion, Michael only had one oops. During Michael's descent, he found the glasses on the street below and forgot to maintain his focus. Suddenly his mind was in a spiral. Was his hand holding a pole or was it reaching for next leach 6ft away. Were his feet beneath him or was he tumbling through the air to an awning attached to a wall to the side. Michael was able to sort out the sensory overload just in time. Landing on his feet, he didn't quite stick the landing but he avoided stepping on the glasses.

Picking up the glasses, he [Parkoured] back up to Jareth.

"Here's the glasses,"

Michael said, passing the glasses back to Jareth as he vaulted back over the railing. Settling himself, Michael looked around a bit and then decided to offer Jareth and idea since going to the authorities wasn't going to work out, but Michael didn't want to just leave him there by himself,

"Want to grab some food in the market place? I got a big pay day recently for a job, so my treat,"

Michael gestured to the marketplace back below. The market place had cleared out since the winter pageant and it was already time for the spring festivities. The place would be crawling with merchants and shoppers ready to shake off the doldrums of the colder, dreary months.

 

[Clyvelle]

Jareth Fletcher​

Jareth emerged from the alleyway when Michael hopped back over the railing. It seemed his search had been successful as he handed something to Jareth, who received it eagerly. Alas, the eyeglasses were broken. The initial strike from Trent's projectile had broken the left arm that would have gone over the ear. Thankfully the lenses had somehow remained in the frames, but the right one had cracked, presumably from the fall. Jareth sighed. He carefully slid them on his face, carefully balancing them on the bridge of his nose and the remaining arm over his right ear.

"That'll have to do, I guess." Jareth said with a sad smile.

Now that he could see properly, he studied Michael's features. The face was nice enough, though a scowl seemed to be constantly pulling at the ends of the mouth. His body was lean as to be expected from someone who could leap over ledges as he just had. His weapons also added a silent warning to any who would think of messing with him.

He's cool.... thought Jareth.

Michael must have felt extra sorry for him because he offered to buy him a meal. Jareth started to protest, but his stomach interrupted with an enthusiastic growl.

"Y-Yeah...food would actually be really nice. I-I'm Jareth, by the way. What's your name?"

Conclusion
Michael proceeds to treat Jareth to a nice meal that was a welcomed break from the artisan's streak of bread for every meal. They both had their share of awkwardness, but Jareth had at long last found a friend. Osman and company were nowhere to be seen either, so the day ended on a rather pleasant note. Jareth couldn't wait to share these events with Master Nolan and Boris.​

 

[Novama]

Isekai Hell RP Grade
​

An intro fuller and fluffier than any that have come before. It has very elaborately set the stage for the beginning. We'll see where Jareth goes from here.

Aftermath
Some of the boys that were picking on Jareth likely inherited some criminal titles, but abuse is one of the lesser crimes and most easily paid off.

Rewards
Jareth - 25 points (narrating bonus present)

• optional title acquired [Scorned] - Your character is seen as a pariah by the general public. You'll have increased chances of drawing the aggression of those around you. You'll also have increased chances of drawing the aid and support of characters that witness your hardship.

Michael - 17 points -

• optional title acquired [Babysitter] - Finder of lost things. Stopper of fights. Feeder of the hungry. Caregiver to those who can't take proper care of themselves. Character has a certain knack for caring for others when they try. Will be more likely to be approached by needy children and parents.