Fantasy The Thief and the Knight.

[Blatherskiter]

Niledrisa

Niledrisa would give it to the highfolk - their festivities were a sight to see. The marital celebration took place in a large home, and largely outside. Tables adorned with the most intricate silk cloths were filled with incredible amounts of food, more than those less fortunate could only wish to see in their lifetime. There were tables filled with chairs and guests, maids catering to their needs, whether drinks or otherwise, guards stood at nearly every doorway, some patrolling in and out of the home, and some making rounds around the estate with horses; everything illuminated by the countless lanterns glowing softly, a peculiar contrast against the cold light of the moon.

Up high on the roof of the estate, Niledrisa looked down on the festivities, taking everything in. Now that the vows were made and the official ceremony completed, the guests were beginning to loosen up. It was almost laughable how much trust they poured into their knights. They were right to do so in the pretense that a physical threat loomed over them as guards were trained to protect the innocent (a term used loosely when discussing Highfolk) from imminent danger. There was one threat none of the Highfolk could escape, however, and that was the threat of divine intervention by means of a charming smile and nimble fingers.

The thought made her smirk as she entertained the just irony of stealing from the Highfolk what they’d (rather, their ancestors), had stolen from the Lowfolk. The more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t help thinking it was the perfect example of poetic justice.

Nile took a few minutes to observe one more time the route the guards walked and created a mental image of the layout in her mind. She adjusted the hood of the black cloak hanging on her shoulders before she made her way down the building’s East wall, the one least guarded. It happened to also be the darkest wall with an easy access into the home through the second floor thanks to a luckily opened window. She slipped through the curtains and found herself in a dark, unused bedroom. Instinct dictated it was most likely off-limits for being a private space for the owners of the home.

Taking the freebie for what it was, Niledrisa quickly began searching the bedroom for any potential valuable. Quite possibly the only benefit of having dark elf blood running through her veins was her ability to see relatively clearly in the dark. She wasn’t purely a dark elf, so her vision wasn’t as heightened as it could be, but it certainly gave her the advantage.

There were a few more chambers she needed to loot before leaving, so she had to be quick. The only thing of value she’d found in the bedroom was a silver necklace she promptly slipped into one of the three pouches strapped to her waist. In a few, swift movements she was at the door and pressing her ear against the expensive wood, listening for any movements on the other side.

coded by social | rp w/ Archon

 

[Archon]

Fayndol Saelineus

The haughty celebrations of gregarious aristocrats and pampered nobility seemed to basque the City in a miasma of chaos, formal reverence of spiritual bonding had long since transformed into careless drinking and table-dancing, the marketplace was an erratic mess of glowing light illuminated by by the backdrop of the serene moonlit sky, the tranquility only interrupted in the glittering explosions of red and blue that bathed the sky in festive display. The fireworks, the noise - the hearty drunken song and the slowly addled minds of celebration - the atmosphere, he could tolerate. The nobility, he could not. For even now the esteemed union of Princess Eyrena and the Sea-Lord's heir, Anerion, had brought every bootlicker within 300 miles to the city so that they may ply the ears of better men, sweet voices lavished in poisonous promises, swept away by the tides of arrogance and overestimated self-importance. The Royal Quarter was a viper's nest; a term used loosely, for the company of Viper's would be a preferable exchange.

"Ah, if it isn't Duke Andion's robber Knight!" An unwelcome voice sneered, "Won't you partake, robber Knight?"

Fanydol fixed the man with a hard look. Fire dancing behind the eyes. "I'm on duty, Sir."

The man laughed a mirthless laugh, his lips curving into a mocking grin. "Duty?!" He threw his head back in mock exclamation, the sudden movement causing his wine to leap across the ground. "You're a glorified sentry, boy!" He thrust a finger forward, jabbing forcefully against Fayndol's breatplate. Their eyes met, a silent duel within the mind, the aura between them dangerous and erratic.

The tension was unnerving.

"Father!" A high-pitched voice of a gentle disposition called, "You must meet the Princess, come!" Petite hands grasped the errant Lord's cloak with a forceful tug, "Come now, do not keep Eyrena waiting!" Lady Daeria, handmaiden to the Princess, and unfortunate daughter to the Lord of Bleakstand Fortress, lands bordering the Saelineus' holdings. His presence at Fayndol's station was no accident; the twisted fates conspired to throw further challenges at the Elven Knight. It mattered not. He would endure.

"Of course, of course..." Lord Riazel complied. His eyes ever oppressive; narrow like slits and fierce, a fury there betraying meaning to the youthful guard. Those eyes remained uncomfortable and astute, even as he complied with Lady Daeria, who giddily skipped away, oblivious to the moment that left a burning pit of anxious fear deep within the Bladedancer's stomach. Fayndol twisted on his heels, burying the veiled threats into a deep locket in the mind, to be repressed and discarded; the Nocturne Thief would strike again tonight, there wasn't a doubt in his mind, he had to be ready.

After circuiting the marketplace, he happened upon his best - and only - ally in this dragon's lair of a festival, a fellow Knight and sparring partner. "Draedon!" Fayndol called, the other man's bored eyes glistening with hope at Fayndol's interruption.

"Ah, Fayndol! Did the Gods deliver you to break my boredom?" He inquired with a sneaky grin, tied-silver hair whipping in the wind as he turned.

To his credit, Fayndol played along: "Just that!" He exclaimed almost excitedly, "Lend me your Company."

Draedon nodded, and began walking alongside his ally. Both men walked in the telltale formation of guardsmen, disciplined and stoic - the fact they were travelling the incorrect route for patrol was indiscernible to the drunken eye.

"I've been studying it all week; past break-ins; items lost; the memento left behind; I even made a map for it all." He informed with a hushed voice, "The Thief will strike again tonight - and soon. I know it in my bones!"

Draedon's gaze remained skeptical, but it was clear anything was better than guard duty. "They follow a pattern - high risk and reward - the thief doesn't like smallfry," Fayndol's gaze flicked up to the venerable monument of Lord Galandil Riazel, locked in epic combat with the Great Northern Tiger. "The Riazel Estate."

Draedon halted in his tracks; pale white skin shimmering under the sky's eternal starlight. "The Princess of Alinar is here, what makes you think they'll target a frugal war veteran with a run down manor over the Royal Estate?!"

The Bladedancer clasped his hands together, a sly grin breaching the barrier of normally hard facial features. "Because the Lady Daeria is here," Fayndol drawled for dramatic effect, "she'll have warned the Princess of the danger and the lack of safety within the Royal Estate, offering the services of her powerful father and his elite Guardsmen..."

" - So all the most vital wedding gifts are under guard by Rizael's lot..." Draedon caught on, assuring himself with a confident nod. "Let's go!"

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

The sounds of jeering were distant now, a fleeting cry against the heavy footfall of armoured patrols, battering the ground with polished sabatons of castleforged steel. Strictly speaking, Draedon and Fayndol weren't supposed to be on the Estate Grounds, but as Knights, the rank-and-file could hardly stop them. The safety and security of the festival was their charge; if they thought a threat dwelled within the black-stoned Manor, it was their duty to act. The great wooden doors were pushed askew with a loud croak, the interior mirrored the haunted picture of a necromancer's lair, beaten and decrepit from neglect and the weathering of a thousand lightning storms. Fayndol felt an overwhelming uneasiness settle over him, his hairs tickled by a sixth sense that spurred him into rapid retaliation.

"Quiet." Fayndol whispered as both elves ducked low. Draedon followed close behind, Fayndol's large frame now creeping up towards the second floor, diligent sight scrutinizing the walls for the eyes of deceit. "I think the thief is here..." ​

 

[Blatherskiter]

Niledrisa

It was just her luck for somebody to open the door to the secluded manor. By the sounds of it, there was more than one person, probably two. Nile cursed under her breath and took a few, nimble steps back. She spared a few precious seconds to think, to make a mental plan B in her head because her initial plan was now useless. She refused to leave empty-handed as well. A necklace would not suffice.

With the footsteps - she was certain there were two - closing in on her, Nile turned around and tip-toed back out the window she’d come from. However, instead of climbing up, she carefully climbed down until she could effectively crouch in the unkempt bushes. Her new plan had great potential. She welcomed the challenge. Most times she’d been able to sneak in and out without rousing suspicion. It would be great practice for her stealth.

Quietly, she made her way to the front door and relished in the fact that it had been left open. The Gods, if there were any, were smiling down on her tonight. She made her way inside, sticking to the walls and away from the windows. Those inside were up on the second floor now, she could hear them, so she made haste. She scoured the living area, but found naught. Next, she went through the kitchenette, finding some valuable silverware she was unable to grab because it would make noise.

Deciding to revisit the room later, Nile stumbled on a closed door. There was no light emitting from the cracks, and the slight cold draft coming from the crack just beneath the door led her to believe it was a basement. There was bound to be something of interest down there. Niledrisa weighed her options; the risk of opening the door and making noise was great, but the thought of retreating without anything to show or gain from the experience would undoubtedly keep her up for the nights to come.

In the end, she decided to take her chances and carefully turned the knob of the door. She held her breath as she pulled it toward her, the action slow and deliberate as to minimise any danger of it making noise. Then, she slipped through the small opened she’d created and stepped on the first stair. The soft creak the stair made as her foot rested on it seemed incredibly loud to her ears and sent spikes straight into her heart. The chances of the noise having gone unnoticed were slim to none. The house was dead silent, any sound was more than likely considered unusual.

Niledrisa acted quickly. As softly as she’d opened it, she pulled the door shut and hastily made her way down the stairs, cringing as yet another stair gave out despite how her attempts to land softly. Curse this wretched, beat down house. In the basement there were a myriad of barrels for a reason beyond her comprehension, two chests, and paraphenelia for fighting, fishing, and hunting. Without time to think, Nile opted to squeeze between two barrels in the very corner of the basement, surrounded by other barrels; her lithe frame and dark cloak helped conceal her.

How was she going to get out of this one?

coded by social | rp w/ Archon

 

[Archon]

In the deep cracks and crevices of the crumbling manner, touched by the dredges of time and nature, the Knightly duo propelled on by faith, navigated the neglected stairs with apt stealth. Draedon's blade, drawn seamlessly under the faint reflections of candlelight, bore a threatening towards the door. They locked eyes. Draedon nodded. With a flash of lightning, Fayndol tore the door asunder with a mighty kick, glory-seeking eyes hungrily eating the room; only to be starved by false promise. "She's not here!" Draedon cried silently, the frustration clear in his voice. Fayndol stalked the ground like a focused hunter, crouching on a single knee as expert hands drifted along the carpet.

"Grains of dirt..." Fayndol eyed the open-window suspiciously, rubbing the evidence of the thief's trespass between his fingers. Were they too late?

Just then, an inhuman groan echoed throughout the derelict estate in a carrying echo of long-idol woodwork pressed to challenge against unwanted contact. "Vagrant!" Fayndol hissed, jolting to his feet with a furious gait. "The door! They came in behind us!" Fayndol dashed from the room, whilst understanding dawned on Draedon, who's own shades turned a mixture of red and purple - likely from the emotional tug-of-war between adrenaline and embarassment - whilst Fayndol's resolve was tested, he found only a renewed iron focus. The duo dashed the formerly hushed route of stealth like soldiers storming a fortress. Fayndol's own golden hair whipped about his stoney face like the mane of a regal lion flaunting immeasurable bearing, the orange hue of dim-lantern fire resplendent brilliantly in his noble visage.

Further noise resounding like the pale shrill cry of a ghost disturbed of mournful rest, Fayndol's grip around his own sword now entrenched as the scent of pursuit and victory settled so sweetly he could almost taste the reverence of the Imperial Court. Baring fangs - hot on the blood trail left by the prey - the lion pounced to the Estate's most descendant crevice; the basement murky and covered by the pitch of black and dark miasmas that swirled in an almost unholy fashion. Draedon arrived moments later, panting but brandishing arms; alert and ready. They shared another silent exchange, allied eyes lighting up in response to Fayndol's slow all-encompassing arm waving across the unsearchable scene. The other Knight began his slow creep through the area in relentless search.

Fayndol remained stoic at the entrance. The darkness dueling his sharp eyes. High elves were adept at seeing great distances with unusual clarity; though lacking any affinity for the realm of shadows, unlike their pale-grey cousins.​