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Active [Western Ryke Near the Fae See - The Silk Road, Part 1]


Wu’Faan Liewuun
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Equipped Titles: Fae, Elf
Mentions: Renny Renny revior revior CrackCauldron CrackCauldron RavenSong RavenSong

Faan smiled at Lucianus as he was the first to volunteer. “That’s perfectly alright, I’d like to get to know you better as well, Lucianus.” A tiny bit of her canines showed as she pressed her tongue against her teeth. Ooh, you wicked flirt. she scolded herself. Faan wasn’t sure if she was reading the same subtext in the tall man’s demeanor, but she certainly hoped so. While she was a little disappointed that Lucianus didn’t want the job, she realized that was likely for the best. After all, how could she hire just one of his entourage? Also, her own personal feelings would have immediately muddled any employer-employee relationship.
Faan enjoyed the bespectacled man’s trip down memory lane. The snippets of adventures, theater, performance, and travel stitched together a comfortable quilt of good feelings. She detected not a hint of complicity in the man’s thoughts, and she was careful not to delve into anything he seemed reluctant to show. She had the impression that Lucianus held some resentment toward family and so she steered their shared thoughts away from such matters.

Thank you for sharing, Lucianus. Faan’s words were as clear in his mind as if she had spoken them. A bit about myself, then. Faan thought, and then broadcast a few memories of her own; tidying up around her sun-dappled forest homestead, gardening, animal husbandry, and long quiet hours cutting, sewing, and fitting fabric on her well-worn dress form. There were images of her hands carefully folding and packing the pieces she was selling into her travelling trunk and closing the lid with a sense of excitement to be leaving home.

Faan was practiced in filtering her thoughts, so the images and feelings were clear and simple. Still, though she selected her most human of memories, Lucianus would feel an alienness to them; a sense of gravity of years--decades and more--rolling peacefully but inexorably by. Even the simplest memory would hold the sense of a changeable world swirling around the observer with creatures and people coming and going as their ephemeral lives were spent, while she remained unchanging and unaging. There was a weight and a melancholy underpinning it all--until there wasn’t--until Faan’s fingers left the back of his hand, where they had rested, and she closed their connection. Just before she did so, one last memory slipped through; so fast and subtle that it would only be perceptible as a buried subconscious image--Faan was a talented and practiced telepath after all, and she was not beyond impishly placing suggestions (especially with a few drinks in her). Perhaps Lucianus might half-remember or dream it later; the elfmaid, fresh from bathing, looking over her shoulder at a mirror with a wide-eyed expression halfway between shock and delight.
What that man would see now, as he opened his eyes, was Faan gazing at him with perhaps just a hint of mischief in her gentle smile. “Thank you, Lucianus. I’m sure we will make delightful company for each other.” She patted his hand--without telepathic connection this time--and gently shooed him away so she could conduct her other interviews.

Next up was the armored knight, who first protested that she could not lie, and then warned Faan that her memories might be disturbing. “Dame Joanne, I’m honored by anything you choose to share.” Faan reassured her.
The knight had not lied; her memories were violent, disturbing, and filled with anguish and despair. Faan found herself gripping Joanne’s shoulder tightly at times as she filtered the powerful images and emotions streaming through their telepathic link. The woman had seen suffering that she was powerless to ease, felt anger she was helpless to vent, and faced foes she could not defeat. The elfmaid felt a knot of empathy twist in her chest even as she noted the vow and the quest with which the knight was still charged.

Faan was impressed with Joanne’s healing and martial skills, and more so with her strong sense of duty and honor. The seamstress very much wanted to hire the knight, though her own quest was trivial in comparison to Joanne’s. Can you work for me on this journey without conflict with your vows? Faan wondered, aloud. She believed so, and if Joanne likewise felt this to be the case, Faan wanted the powerful warrior in her employ if she could afford her.

Faan shared her own thoughts and memories with Joanne. Like those she had broadcast to Lucianus, they were bucolic scenes of domestic life in the depths of the forest--of creating clothes between the duties of the homestead, and of long lonely years spent without seeing another soul. Perhaps intentional, perhaps not, Joanne would have the sense that Faan wanted to share more with the knight; that the elfmaid was holding back a flood of empathy behind a dam of self-control. It did not feel disingenuous, but rather like the respectful caution of a subject of the queen in the presence of a warrior of allegiance to that same monarch.
Breaking the connection between them, Faan made a point to walk with Joanne back to her seat at their common table and spend a little time with her. The empath wanted to make sure her influence and the dredging up of painful recent memories had not too greatly unsettled the knight. She could, if asked, influence Joanne’s mood and soften the pain of the memories with her telepathy. Faan did not offer as much; she really only wanted to keep mundane company with the knight just a little longer. “Dame Joanne, what you shared with me was painful and personal. I am truly honored. Thank you.” She said simply, and would relay any want of the woman for food or drink to their server before proceeding to the next encounter.

Faan grinned and even giggled at Conner’s scatterbrained start to their encounter. Please, Mister Erland, relax. He would hear her thoughts cutting through the dismay at his cluttered stream of consciousness. I can sort whatever I need. She reassured him, reveling in his memories of finding lost pets and sawing away at his fiddle as revelers stomped a lively jig in some unnamed village tavern. Such memories were a welcome relief from the weighty experience with the knight.
Like the others, Faan was pleased that she detected no obvious signs of duplicity. Every person carried the seeds of good and evil, but those who cultivated evil while pretending good had a hard time hiding it from empaths like Faan. The elfmaid had ordered herself another drink when she’d sat a little while with Joanne, and now she sipped at what little remained while she connected with Conner. The elfmaid even found her toe tapping in time with the remembered tunes. Her heart lifted as lost pets were reunited with their owners and threatening monsters were dispatched with a sword that sang just as adroitly when fiddling as it did when flaying fiends.

Conner felt fun; a kind of carefree weightless spirit that Faan so wanted to share, join with, and adventure alongside. Forgetting herself a little, she leaned back laughing at one delightful memory. This man’s world seemed one of music, laughter, and derring-do that

had once been

there

too.

Faan froze, the laughter stilled in her throat. A thought, a single thought came--unbidden--and blew into the shared connection between elfmaid and man, like an icy draft into a sun-warmed room. Music fell silent, light dimmed to darkness, and the great pale airless disc of the moon was the image that supplanted all others in their shared consciousness.

Faan’s fingers lifted from Conner’s shoulder and that desolate alien landscape vanished. Before the man could open his eyes to look at Faan, the stricken expression fled from her face.
It was a smiling elfmaid that welcomed Conner back to reality, her bi-colored gaze darting to the side only for an instant. “Conner! What a life you lead!” Faan laughed, and the sound wasn’t hollow in the least. “It more than suffices! I see you’re well-qualified; whether we work together or not, I hope our little adventure will be as enjoyable as those you shared with me! Thank you.”

Faan took a deep breath and then a deeper draught, draining her glass, as she looked expectantly at the bandaged construct that took Conner’s place. “Mister Garret, before we begin, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Faan whispered, conspiratorially. “My other escort, of whom I spoke but you’ve yet to meet, is also a construct; I made him, myself. I hope you can meet him on the morrow.” She suggested, and then touched the golem that held a soul.

It was strange, to connect telepathically to a soul within a lifeless vessel. Robespierre, Faan’s guardian, was a soulless automaton--much different from Cass. The bandaged gunslinger’s thoughts and feelings seemed muted to Faan--perhaps by alcohol, perhaps by something else. The man felt hollow, his thoughts echoey--like ghosts haunting the halls of an abandoned mansion. Haunted seemed the right turn of phrase for Cass, for the memory he shared might have come from another world--from another life, certainly. The elfmaid had not expected to share in something that seemed so deeply bound to the construct’s core. Though the memory was blanketed with unconcern, Faan thought she detected remorse and pain swaddled in layers many times thicker than the construct’s bandages. What she did not feel was duplicity. Nor did she feel that he was concerned she might deceive him; the gunslinger seemed to completely disregard his own life, and the elfmaid did not think her own pastoral memories or reassurances appropriate to share.

Instead, Faan leaned forward, her eyes still open as she looked at the construct. Is there aught that I might do for him? She wondered. She had already decided that she would not hire Mister Garret, though she welcomed him as a travel companion. Instead, she wondered if she ought to try to unwrap his bandages of denial and wash away the salve of alcohol with which he swaddled his memories. What, then, would I find? Would anything remain of the man? The elfmaid thought it best not to try, knowing so little about Cass. What came across the telepathic connection between them, then, would be only vague concern and a sense that Faan wanted to help him, if she could.
The elfmaid watched Cass stagger off after she thanked him. Like she had with the others, she indicated to the server that she would cover his food and drink for the night, though it seemed likely he would order only the latter.

Speaking of which, Faan’s three (four?) drinks were catching up to her--as well as the mental strain of so many rounds of [telepathy F]. She returned to the shared table and took her seat, listening to--and making her own small talk for a little while longer. If Lucianus’s troupe was willing, Faan would make introductions to all of them--though she would not offer any more telepathic connections tonight.

Afterward, the elfmaid asked for a moment of Joanne’s time. She had come to a decision in the interim, and extended an offer of employment to the knight. “Dame Joanne, if it pleases you, I would like to hire you as my escort and guardian at least as far as Celenmar, on the shore of the continental lake.” She offered. “I am told the journey will take about a week’s time.” Faan detailed her further travel to Aslan--the capital of the Grand Duchy--but as the intermediary legs of her journey were--as yet--uncertain, she suggested they leave it an open question as to whether they would continue to travel together past Celenmar.

The elfmaid was delighted when Joanne accepted her offer. That delight was tempered only slightly by having to decline to hire Conner, which she did in a subsequent private conversation. “Conner, I am sorry. I am retaining Joanne as my escort.” She informed the swordsman bard. “If I were a rich merchant carrying the goods to justify it, I would hire you both, and I hope you will choose to journey with us, even if you won’t be able to enjoy me bossing you around.” She winked at him. [color] “I mean, I can still be bossy, if you like--you just won’t be getting paid to listen to my complaints.”[/color] She offered, before they returned to the rest of the group.

The evening had deepened close to midnight and the tavern was quieting and emptied except for their rather-large party. The fire was burning low in the hearth and the tavern wench had gone home--only the innkeeper remained, dozing behind the bar when not summoned for some task.

“Friends, I fear I must call it a night, for I travel on the morrow.” A tired Faan announced, at last. “I hope that I can call you all companions when I set out, for I wish this isn’t our final parting. If you would journey with me, meet me at the sawmill tomorrow; the lumber wagon departs two hours after sunrise. My, and Joanne’s luggage will be on it, and we will be walking beside it.” With that, the elfmaid wished them all a good night and retired to her room.

Faan’s Room With a inn full of friends in this familiar town, Faan felt no need to set a guard, and she was too tired to speak to her mindless automaton--as she sometimes did to organize her own thoughts and recap the day. Instead, she opened her bedroll upon the straw tick and then went facedown on top of it. It was not particularly elvish or ladylike, but the empath was wholly spent by the day’s activities, the stress of telepathy, and perhaps a little over-indulgence in drink.

You will need to be more careful from now on. was the last thought that crossed her mind before she fell into the trance that passed for sleep among her kind.

The Following Morning at the Sawmill Faan’s trunk and her travel bag were loaded atop the stacks of rough-sawn lumber on the large wagon. A pair of oxen were hitched and their driver was just climbing aboard, having finished preparations.

The elfmaid was conversing with Ivan, Hunt’s End’s oldest guardsman while she awaited her companions and the wagon’s departure. She would warmly greet any who came along.

Eventually, the wagon set off and Faan accompanied it, walking beside the slow-turning wheels. It cost a handful of coins to have your luggage hauled by the wagon, and a few more to ride. Payment could be rendered to the sawmill foreman, or to the driver, himself (though one might suspect not all the coins rendered to the driver necessarily made it to his employer).

Faan had paid for her and Joanne’s cargo and seats, but the Elfmaid was resolved to walk most of the way. The wagon set a slow and steady pace down the well-worn trail that led into the woods, and it was easy for any to trot ahead or catch up to the caravan. Riding on the rough wagon was a boring jostling affair best reserved for those who had no choice.

The wagon rolled through the midwinter-sun-dappled clearings around Hunt’s End and then into the cool quiet dimness of the old forest road that wound its way through the stately trunks of the ancient climax forest.
 
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After sitting down a few moments, and being offered the food. Joanne gladly accepted. Having only just awakened to normality after a long and arduous journey, the knight crusader ate her fill. Part of her wondered where Faan was from, her humble beginnings seemed like such a a wonderful life to leave behind. Perhaps, her kind were simply more about seeing and observing the world rather than staying put in a comfortable place. She could only speculate.

The night began to grow old, and the attendees started to retire for their homes. Some staggered, to which Joanne helped to the door. When she returned to her seat Faan would arrive shortly after with a proposal. Joanne would bow her head a bit, her hands softly entwined together. "I'd be honored to serve, lady Faan." It was a surprise to Joanne, considering the obligations she revealed about herself. However, to the knight this was more than a proposal or a job offering it was a sign from her goddess Dala. Calenmar seemed to be where her diety asked of her to go.

When Faan would then retire, she wished the elf a restful sleep. Joanne herself would have a hard time getting any sort of rest. Especially having only recently woken, but before long, the sound of the owls soothed her mind and found herself closing her eyes.

She would wake and prepare swiftly the following day, washed her face in the small basin and set out to meet with her now employer. As she walked, she fiddled a bit with her veil as she put any stray strands through the band which held it on her head. She didn't have much else besides her sword and a small knapsack which was arranged for her by the locals when she arrived. Perhaps it was her title, or the terrible state she arrived in; she was grateful to the locals of Hunts End nonetheless.

As Joanne came closer to the saw mill, she'd greet Faan and Ivan, thanking the old knight for his help. "I'll keep you and this town in my prayers sir Ivan." A brief bow of respect before setting off. Unable to help looking back at the town that gave her shelter she wondered what perils lay before her.

Like Faan, Joanne was also on foot, the familiar clinks and clanks of her repaired iron armor every step contrasted the oxens hooves upon the forested path. The crusader would glance at the driver a bit then at the others who came from the night before. It was strange traveling alongside with others, but the crusader, for once was relieved. "I haven't been to Calenmar, and I've only heard stories in Ruaan about how places along the lake has boomed because of the discovery of precious ores." Somehow, her mind was always on duty. Precious ores usually attracted dragons, and if that was so perhaps Calenmar wouldn't be a bad place to begin her search.
 

Irihi Irihi RavenSong RavenSong

Connor woke up atop his bed within the room that he was renting. Groaning, he gave his body a good stretch as he sweeped his eyes over the room, slightly illuminated by the faint sunlight seeping in through the cracks in the closed windows facing outside. His equipment was kept close, with his sheathed katana particularly being right by the bedside and within arms reach. Connor thought it was a good habit to have, especially when one travels a lot. Even more so when his livelihood actually depended on his equipment and bringing them wherever he goes to.

Moving quickly, he started preparations to leave, though it largely consisted of just putting on his gear. Most of the actual work was already done the night before, as he had plans going on a new trip today. With his belongings gathered and room tidied up, he opened the door and started moving out.



It took a bit of time, but Connor eventually reaches the meeting point that Faan decided on for the journey. He bid his farewells to the folk at the inn, and had to ask around to confirm his directions navigating the town. There was still some time to spare before departure, and he saw Faan all ready, talking to a guardsman, and Joanne who has already arrived before him. The knight was technically the one appointed with the role of escort for this journey. Faan did not have enough resources to also officially employ Connor, but he has to admit a knight in armor does fit in better. He announces his arrival shouting a “Hey!” with a big wave.

“As I said, I’ll still be tagging along of course.”

Connor bows his head, smiling at the group that has gathered. With people as intriguing as this, he felt like this was going to be a very interesting journey. What he was somewhat hoping for, really.

“Glad to accompany you all on the trip.”

Eventually, the wagon and accompanying group would begin its slow journey down the road and out beyond the borders of Hunt’s End. Amid the sounds of the lumbering wagon and their footsteps, he begins humming softly to himself, and Joanne speaks up, sharing her thoughts on their destination.

“I haven’t been to Celenmar myself either. I do want to see it for myself."
Connor chuckles as he recalls something mentioned just the day before. "I do remember that there's some more extraordinary rumors about it.”
 
Lucianus

Location: Hunt's End
Mentions: Irihi Irihi RavenSong RavenSong Renny Renny

First to greet Lucianus in the morning was a chilly winter breeze brushing by his cheeks. As if in response to the cold touch, Lucianus playfully blew a puff of air which turn into a white cloud upon contact with the cold. Nearby, his entourage could be seen already ready and waiting, him being the last one to get prepared for the journey ahead.

"Best get a move on already, else the friends you just made last night might just leave without you," one of his friends teased.

"Oh please, I caught a glimpse of Miss Faan just a moment ago. She shouldn't have gone far," Lucianus retorted while lazily stretching his body. Inadvertently, a yawn escaped his lungs as he did so.

"Still sleepy? Were you too excited to sleep last night?"

"That's one way to put it..."

"Hm? Pardon?"

"Never you mind! Now let's catch up before Miss Faan leaves us behind."

***

Joining the wagon, Lucianus went around greeting those that he would be traveling with. Though most of them might be strangers, as far as Lucianus was concerned, so long as they were journeying together, they were companions. However, when his eyes eventually landed on Faan, he reflexively averted his gaze. Although he was able to speak so openly with her the day prior, on this morning he found it difficult to face her.

The cause was the strange dream he had last night. Strangely, unlike most dreams he had, this one did not fade into the fog of his mind. Even right this moment, the image was still clear in his head: The elfmaid, Faan, seated before a mirror. She must have been fresh out of a bath as he distinctively remember her fine, silver hair, not fully dry, her moisturized skin, and... and... there was the the look in her eyes, somewhat shocked, somewhat delighted. Why such a look? What was she looking at? Who was she looking at?

In a bit of a daze, Lucianus walked along the wagon as it set off, not paying much attention to the conversation happening around him. It took a while before he was able to pluck his head from the clouds.
 
Cass Garret


Turns out constructs can have hang-overs, who'd a thunk it.

The Automative man dry-heaved the contents of his barren stomach onto the floor of his hotel room, not even spared the headache when he awoke- on the floor(of course). Quite evidently having slipped out of his all too comfortable rented bed in time. Vague memories of the night before already reappearing themselves in his mind gradually, adding a groan in between all the empty convulsions of his prone body.

He had been a violent drunk, an religious drunk and even the elusive 'friendly drunk' but a sad drunk- that was by far the worst. It was unacceptable for him of all people to doubt. Doubt led to regret, regret leads to pity, pity into death and death to death. But that something he'd have to remedy later...perhaps with more drink. At the very least it seemed the only victim of the night being this once lovely room and Faan's coin purse after they'd all departed to sleep.

Cass eventfully got up, with a constant head thump but nonetheless he was up. The chill of the early morning air freely whistling through him as well his hung overclothes and wrappings. The latter left there over the night in front of a open window to 'dry'. Still those clothes would have to do for now if Cass wanted to arrive to the time set forth. Fortunately he packed light: the clothes on his back, boots, boot knife, bandages, a holster thrown on a coat hook, purse retrieved from its throne of empty bottles and his gun. Found nestled beneath his pillow then after a preliminary check was put back into his holster. He was ready. Then he stumbled through the door, only a little bit in a rush.


'How am I the only one who got blasted last night?'
Cass thought to himself while he walked behind the lumber wagon(like hell he'd pay to waste a good walk), nearer to the back than he'd like. The middle was usually the best spots in caravans.

Everyone from Faan to Lucinaus's whole entourage seemed unaffected from last night, leaving Cass's thumping head the exception. Barely able to scan the familiar' figures who were to be his companions. All recognizable from last night and in greater shape than he. Though the construct bore no facial expressions that spoke of his migraine, his marked silence interrupted by absent murmurs and winces at any loud noise certainly gave it away(not to mention his clothes though they were always rugged anyway).

One face he did fail to spot yet was that automation Faan mentioned hushedly yesterday. One of two things he'd learnt of. The other being telepathy, the whole thing a perversely personal experience that the less he'd pay attention to the better for his sanity. He didn't wanna think about the implications of her offered help- he didn't wanna doubt...god he really was a sad drunk now.

There was a conversation Cass overheard in the foreground, small talk, between the employed esteemed bodyguard Joanne and Connor. Clemency shown between the two past competitors. He'd like to join in, but honestly the prospect of hearing his own voice boom in his ears kept him silent for now like the other lad. The latter content to cloud watch through the morning while the former just chose to use the word ponder instead.

With gun to hip, Cass walked in step with the other members of the caravan into the forest. The sights penned into his mind as it wond-pondered.
 
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Wu’Faan Liewuun
Equipped Titles: Fae, Elf
Mentions: Renny Renny revior revior CrackCauldron CrackCauldron RavenSong RavenSong


Faan waved to Joanne as she approached, glad to see that her escort seemed to have come on time and prepared. The elfmaid smiled as Ivan objected to the title Joanne used.

“Ach, no Dame Joanne, I never reached so high a station.” The old guardsman bowed creakily to the knight, before winking at Faan. ”Though I suppose there’s always tomorrow. Mayhaps I’ll be Sir Ivan when yew return, lass.”

“I don’t doubt it, Ivan. Goodbye.” Faan said her farewells to the Hunt’s End guard, and then walked a while beside Joanne, thinking her own thoughts while the knight opined about lakeside commerce.

“I was brought into the world in another place, but I do not remember anywhere but these forests.” Faan said. “I’m excited to see Calenmar.” She said, then--a little sheepishly--admitted: “Truth be told, I’m excited to see Ashoc--or even just the edge of the forest!”

“I’m also happy to have you along, Conner.” Faan replied to the performer and swordsman. The prospect of hearing a tale of the lakeside city intrigued her, and she bent her steps to walk beside the man for a bit. ”Ooh, what rumors? Do tell!” She encouraged him to share what he knew.

As they walked, Faan noticed that Lucianus had greeted everyone in turn when he and his troupe had joined their little caravan. Everyone, that was, except her. Faan was in a fine and playful mood--especially when it came to the lanky bespectacled man. She was just about to try a joking question about why he was avoiding her, when she remembered just what sort of image she had impulsively placed in his subconscious the previous evening. I can’t believe I did that! Faan had to consciously stop herself from covering her face at the memory. She could feel heat coming into her cheeks and knew that she was blushing--probably right up to the tips of her ears. Suddenly, she found herself studiously avoiding Lucianus in the same manner as he was dodging her.

Faan noticed Cass had joined their party, and was glad of it. The construct seemed to have a little extra stagger in his steps this morning, and she wondered if he, too, was regretting any actions from the previous night. He’d certainly drank his share of the coin she’d afforded to her interviewees. Faan didn’t begrudge him the libations--she was hardly one to talk, considering what she’d done when she was a sheet or two to the wind.

To cover her embarrassment, after listening to Joanne and Conner, she walked with Cass a little, trying to engage him with small talk to take her mind off the previous night. “Good morning, Mister Garret. I’m glad to see you along with us.” Faan kept her tone low and quiet, just in case constructs were like creatures of flesh-and-blood when it came to the aftereffects of overindulging in drink. “I have mentioned I have a…” Faan trailed off as her thought was interrupted by what lay ahead.

Highwaymens’ Roadblock A large tree trunk blocked the wagon trail. The tree was clearly felled and not a deadfall, as its trunk bore signs of axe blows and sawn limbs and the ground beneath it showed that it had been dragged to form a barrier across the wagon trail. Thick brush covers one side of the wagon trail, while the other drops into a gully. Both sides are impassible to wheeled vehicles and the lumber wagon cannot proceed unless the tree is removed or an alternate path is cut through the brush.

A bearded man of medium height and build sat upon the felled log. He was clearly armed with short sword and dagger, and--from his appearance--it would not be surprising if he carried additional weapons. The man appeared to be pretending to relax, studiously paying no heed to the approaching caravan until they were quite close and the driver of the lumber wagon pulled his ox team to a halt. ”Well ‘ello there me lovelies!” The man pretended to just now notice the caravan. ”This log makes a keen seat to take in the morning air; but bad luck fer yew--my recliner seems ta be in yer way. He grinned and stood atop the tree trunk. “Never fear though; I’m joined on my morning constitutional by me mates.” He pursed his lips and let out a shrill whistle. At this signal, three more armed highwaymen stepped out of the forest to stand behind the log and the first.

“While I am loath to give up me seat, I kin see yer rich merchants on important business, an I’d hate ta have ye held up on my account.” He grinned without humor. Though his tone was light, the way he emphasized his words held a clear threat. “If’n ye’d spare us a small donation, we kin help shift this log wot has blocked yer path. I think a hundred gold outta dew the trick.”

”Yer outta luck, friend. Ain’t carryin’ coin, nor anything uv worth ta yew, an we kin shift the log ourselves, thankee kindly.”
The lumber wagon driver, the defacto caravan leader, replied.

”Have a care; they sees our number and still think they might try their hand at robbin’ us.” He spoke his warning to the party in a quieter voice, but one that could still be overheard by the highwayman. The four men didn’t seem much of a match for the caravan--especially with Joanne, the walking tank, escorting them. Perhaps they were just trying to intimidate the party into accepting their extortion, or maybe there were more robbers hidden in the brush.

“Well now, that’s a bit rude; assumin’ I’m willin’ ta give up this fine sunny seat fer free. The leader of the highwaymen snorted. “Why, I’ve got three archers in the brambles there, all waitin’ fer their turn at a nap upon et.” He said, waving to the brush and claiming to have ranged support hiding in the forest. “If ye can’t pay in coin, then how about ye pay in treasure…” He pointed to the trunk--Faan’s luggage--sitting atop the pile of fresh-sawn lumber. “I’ll have that chest then, an whatever’s inside. An if ye still don’t like them terms, ye kin pay in flesh--an leave us the elfmaid.” He leered at Faan, placing a hand meaningfully upon the pommel of his sword. ”Otherwise, I’m thinkin’ there might be blood what needs spillin’.”

Faan shrank back a little, but did not immediately flee to Joanne’s side. She had been warned about situations like these; and the need to project strength and confidence. Perhaps a show of force would convince the robbers to leave them alone. ”There’s nothing in there of any worth to you.” She said when the highwayman demanded her trunk of wares. “Nothing we have is worth you dying, trying to take it from us.” Faan said, loudly, trying to make her voice sound steely, though it might have held a quaver of uncertainty.

Though she paled at his words, suggesting that he’d make her a captive, her jaw tightened with resolve, and she dug into the satchel slung over her shoulder, pulling out a somewhat threadbare redingote. This she shook out and then dropped. Instead of falling to the ground, the redingote began to float in midair.

The coat was made of enchanted threads woven by the Weaver Witch, stitched and sewn together by her daughter, forming a fabric golem. Faan typically used hat, gloves, pants, and boots to conceal the unnerving sight of an enchanted floating coat. At present, she did not feel the urge to set anyone so at ease. “Robespierre! Defend us. The elfmaid gave the automaton a clear order in a tight voice as she glared at the highwayman.

Robespierre, the [Fabric Golem (?)] glided over to the wagon and retrieved, from among Faan’s wares, a [Rusty Rapier (F)] . Saluting its owner with the somewhat-decrepit weapon, it moved between the party and the robbers.
 
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The crusader knight would smile faintly at the bard Connor, "Pray tell, you wouldn't happen to know any songs about dragon slayers would you?" Spending most of her life in a monastery, cloistered away from the world she always wanted to speak to the travelers that would pass by. However, due to her duties as clergy, it was forbidden for a servant of the gods to initiate conversation with charismatic and enchanting company.

Before long, she would simply follow along and take in the scenery. The lush green trees shining beams of light through the canopy as the moisture of the earth evaporated. Nature was very much alive in such wild places.

As if to violently offend her serene thoughts the caravan would approach a fallen tree, the crown destroyed during the impact upon the ground. As the ruffian leader made his threats, Joanne placed her helm upon her head and sank her sword onto the ground in front of where she stood. She looked straight at the man, then towards his small forming band of robbers.

Joanne could tell a fight was imminent, and with that the sending of souls back to Miralis. The knight prayed under her breath for this to resolve itself through peaceful means, but when the threat of paying with Faan was proposed Joanne stepped forward. "You'd dare rob a member of the church of Dala?" The chainmail on her cuffs clanking against the hilt of her ground driven sword as she placed her hands upon it. "Let us pass, for it is the will of Dala."

  • Inquisitors Inquiry - Educated - Interrogation F - Insight F - Focus F - Religion F - Forces a target character to speak nothing but the truth or cooperate with the user to reveal potentially valuable information; plain cooperation. - F grade - 0 Cooldown
 
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Connor laughed as Faan encouraged him to talk more of what he knew about the city by the continental lake. “Eager to hear more? Haha, alright then. I’ll say it again that I don’t know what exactly is true, however.” He was in great spirits as he endeavored to entertain. As he’d hoped, this was a great way to stave off boredom while travelling.

“Dragon slayers? Songs of that nature does pop up frequently, people do love it. Hm, I’d love to play right now, but walking like this makes it difficult to mess with instruments… Aha! How about I practice just singing instead? Let’s see…”

And so Connor continues as the caravan trundled along the forest road, trying to fill the relative silence with his singing.

At some point, the wagon stops, owing to the fact that a massive felled tree was blocking the road ahead of the caravan. It was clearly no accident that it was positioned perfectly, as a group of armed men approached. They clearly weren’t here for a friendly chat as the men started threatening them for money. Highwaymen, of course…

Connor went into alert as the others started negotiating with the robbers ahead of them. It did not seem promising, the highwaymen were not budging at all, and they apparently had others ready and in hiding. Faan pulls out some sort of coat, which then promptly started to move on its own. Connor tried to see if he could pinpoint where they would be, but he lacked the confidence he’d be able to spot them in the dwindling time they had left before the situation grows out of control. He chose to step forward as well, busy keeping a close eye on the armed men and the brush around them, making his own weapon by his side visible.
 
Reconnaissance Unit I

Unit-01.png

Titles: [Construct], [Offworlder], [Businessman]
Languages: "Common", "%Analog%" - #2a60e8
RP Goal - Acquire Asset Mine Ryke F
Point Booster - Attentive Student E
Irihi Irihi Renny Renny revior revior CrackCauldron CrackCauldron RavenSong RavenSong


From one of the sides of the surrounding forest, a few ways before reaching the thick brush, a rumbling metallic sound could be heard. The sound of gears turning, treads rolling against the earthy ground. In tandem, the crushing of leaves, twigs and even larger branches followed suit, the materials not being able to withstand the sheer massive weight of the ‘metal box’. It moved at a rather fast pace, possibly challenging concepts of what speed something nearing 7ft of towering height should move. Behind its path it left a trail, subtlety not being its strong suit. The mechanical object arrived just in time, in the rather difficult situation, to be able to capture what was going on through its sound capturing apparatus.

Those who looked at its way could see a display near its torso. It shimmered with a faint blue light, every so often. The image, or painting as some of the natives might end up confusing it with, was crystal clear and extremely sharp. A man, human, in his mid-forties was shown. He was dressed quite sharply, in a suit, neatly combed hair and a mustache groomed to perfection. The image would change occasionally, not as smoothly as one would expect, but it was clear that the man in it was moving, maybe even alive and breathing!

And so, the man in the picture appeared to be surveilling the whole situation, through the display or some other manner it was uncertain still. He arched a single eyebrow, with an expression of slight interest present on his face.

“Ah yes, highwaymen, robbers, thieves. A place such as this would have no shortage of vagabonds, it was rather silly of me to expect any different.” Those words left a speaker, positioned right below the display, of a circular shape. There was a slight muffling to it, but still perfectly understandable. The voice itself was composed, formal, businessman-like.

The image of the man showed that his attention had turned somewhere else. “Leave a batch of military-grade securitrons ready for deployment whenever we can get the link stabilized, for future plans. That place seems to have no shortage of problems that need a more direct solution, and we can’t let our assets vulnerable.” To whom or what he was speaking to was anyone’s guess, but it was clear it was not aimed to those present in the extortion attempt.

The painting of the man shifted, towards the ongoing situation once more. It was then that the mechanical being lifted one of its arms, aiming directly at the bearded man. The arm, in its ending, had a visible exit and the fingers retracted into the ‘wrist’, moving out of exiting path. “Any proper businessman ought to gauge the of the risk and return of an investment. And, from what I can see, the value of this ‘venture’ is dwindling with each passing moment.” There was a sound of something shifting in the inside of the extended arm. “I would even say that this ‘asset’ became toxic. Are you certain that this acquisition is sound for both you and your partners?” The man’s face changed to one of amusement as he waited, yet the mechanoid’s aim was already set.

1 - Roll over to the scene
2 - Take aim at the bearded man
3 - Sprinkled some Persuasion F [Educated] during the talk
 
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Lucianus

Location: On the road
Mentions: Irihi Irihi RavenSong RavenSong Renny Renny CrackCauldron CrackCauldron Maxxob Maxxob

It looked to be a fine for traveling, the weather mild and companions plenty. With a knight such as Joanne along with them, Lucianus found himself not having to be at the front for once. And with two other (seemingly) capable combatants Conner and Garrett, the trip might just be a relaxed one. Lack of sleep aside, Lucianus was in a good mood. Sadly, good things rarely last as an obstruction was soon encountered on their merry way.

There he sat, the bearded man who seemed to enjoy theatrics as much as he does goods ill-gotten. Were he not trying to rob them, Lucianus thought that perhaps they might just get along swell. Still, for a highwayman, he sure was compromising, demanding first money, then treasure, and finally, lovely Miss Faan. He'd gain all three if he would just attack them, no? Perhaps he's trying to avoid conflict, lessening his profits in exchange for lowering the risk of losses. Or perhaps he's simply bluffing about his forces and has no sure way of securing victory.

"He said three archers. You see anything?" Lucianus whispered as he leaned close to one of his companions, the one with bearing a unique sense (Sixth Sense [Aura Perception] F).

Meanwhile, he himself began looking around, trying to see if he could spot anything useful to the rest of his compatriots on this road.

  • Analysis - Academia E, History F, Insight F, Investigation F, Perception F, - Lucianus makes an attempt to read a person, object, or situation using the knowledge at his disposal, gaining insight (which may be true or false) at the narrator's discretion - Grade E - 1 Post Cooldown
But in the midst of trying to gain some bearing on the situation, an unexpected development occurred. Emerging from the bushes was a construct that Lucianus had not seen the likes of before. Neither humanoid nor bestial in form, this one was a tall block of metal on threads ( Maxxob Maxxob ).

"Whoa! Is that one of their archers!?" Lucianus cried. "They're not playing around!"

For a moment there, Lucianus was in a bit of a panic. They say one should not judge a book by its cover, but the cover of this book seemed to be made of a thick layer of metal and there might be two more to boot. Warriors they have on this side, but Lucianus found it hard to imagine a fight with minimal losses. But once more, the wheel of fortune turned the situation on its head, or perhaps it had never turned at all. In spectacular betrayal, the newcomer turned his hostility towards the bandits instead.

"Huh? Or maybe not..."

Confused but feeling less threatened in this strange place he had found himself in, Lucianus decided that he best resume watching their surroundings and not delve too deeply into this strange turn of events, regardless of his many curiosities about this strange newcomer.
 

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