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Post by Brandwyn on Jan 13, 2010 21:08:53 GMT -5
The Messenger fingered his two new gold pieces in his pouch as he entered the Inn at Montsombre du ville, the tiny village near the Chateau Montsombre in Gallica. He hoped that the woman he was looking for would get the message and come to meet him. He had travelled though La Rivage, stopping in every tavern, inn and gentleman’s club and any other place he could think of that might have patrons that had seen the woman he had been paid to find.
He had finally stumbled into a man that recalled a group matching the description The Messenger had given of her and her possible three companions; ‘A tall woman with auburn hair and hazel-green eyes, very pretty and very cold. She hardly speaks and she is lean and muscular with the air of a seasoned warrior about her. She could be travelling with a slightly older man, also a warrior, tough and intimidating, and a young boy near 17 who communicates with hand gestures and never speaks and moves as silently as a shadow and possibly an old blind man with a missing hand.’
The Messenger had the litany memorized by now, but it had finally paid off. A fellow remember seeing the quartet once a while back near the Chateau Montsombre. So The Messenger had set off for the Chateau. He was told she wasn’t there but some servants had remembered her by her description, so he left a message for the woman, named Theresa, that he had a message for her from one Master Ian MacGreggor, Royal Scout of Araluen and that The Messenger would be staying at the Inn in the village nearby since he had orders to place the letter into her hands directly.
The Messenger paid for a small room for the next two nights and then sat down at a small table near the back wall that sported only one other chair. The table and two chairs were set between two short walls that formed a booth and some modicum of privacy. He pulled out the letter while he waited for his dinner, admiring the seal of the Royal Scouts stamped in colored wax on the outside of the envelope and the beautifully flowing handwriting with the words, “Dearest Theresa” written on the front. ‘She must be some woman, to have made this much impression on a Royal Scout of Araluen that he would send a message and spend so much money to track her down,’ thought The Messenger. ‘I can hardly wait to meet her.’ He stuffed the envelope away in the inside pocket in the front of his vest when he saw the server making his way across the room with a tray of food and mug of ale. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long for her to make an appearance.
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Post by Brandwyn on Jan 15, 2010 19:42:50 GMT -5
The Messenger finished up his meal and decided to see what interesting things he could find in the small village. He wiped his unmemorable face with a napkin and stood up, adjusting the tunic on his lanky, lean frame, his pale blue eyes blended in with his pale skin as he swept the common room of the Inn for one last attempt to find her here. There was no one fitting her description in sight. He shook his head for a moment, his long light brown hair flowing around his shoulders as he headed out the door and made his way down the street looking in the shop windows.
He kept his eye on the other people milling about on the streets running errands or just hanging out in the early evening. There was a slight chill to the air, but winter had not really set in yet, so his tunic was warm enough for now. He passed a bakery and a seamstress shop and then a tanner’s shop who enticed him inside for a few minutes. He thought perhaps he would purchase something later, before he left the village but for now he wanted to see what was available. He rubbed the two gold pieces again as he headed farther down the street, looking in windows and occasionally stepping into a shop for a few minutes.
He noticed the streets were becoming emptier as more people closed up their shops and made their way home for the evening. Some of the store owners lived in apartments above or behind their shops, but not all. Some traveled into town from surrounding cottages on the outskirts of the village.
The Messenger watched the people with interest as he walked down the street, looking for the woman. He stopped in front of a shop displaying knives and swords and admired the blades for a few minutes, knowing he didn’t have enough money to purchase a sword, even though he would love to own one. His own belt dagger was a pitiful weapon and he couldn’t do much more than defend himself with it anyway, never having been trained to fight. He carried messages; he wasn’t supposed to have to fight. He sighed; he did love to look at the weapons though and imagined himself as a knight on a big black warhorse. All the ladies would notice him then…
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Jan 15, 2010 20:27:08 GMT -5
Theresa stopped at the edge of town, her face blank of the anger that was boiling in her heart. She'd been trained at the age of fourteen to be a killing machine and she knew better than to let her feelings awash her control. Still, the anger boiled and revenge pulled her forward, propelling her to finish the job. Eyes empty, she stepped out of the shadows and made her way forth, acutely aware of the cold steel pressed against her forearm. She wore a simple dress she'd recentally stolen from a clothesline, her previous set of clothes stained with enough blood for her to bathe in.
It'd been three days since she'd killed Malleus, but the time nor the name meant nothing to her. She was lost within the hellhole of her own mind; that forbidden memory having resurfaced for the second time. The first, Malleus had witnessed her slaughtering and the only thing that he could do was stick to the shadows and try to keep the others alive. They'd finally managed to subdue her, ganging up on her ten to one, but even then, she'd taken out more than half before falling to her knees. The second, this time, Malleus hadn't stood a chance.
From there, she'd retraced her steps, heading to the barn where she'd spent a week in torture. The memories had flooded her, forced her into a ball as they swamped every thought and being of her. Someone had tapped her shoulder, spoken low words of comfort to her, but she hadn't heard them. She'd reacted, snapping the person's neck before slipping into the house.
There'd been three of them: a mother, father, and their daughter. The exact number, the right number. They had sneers on their faces, had glorified in beating her, yelled insults at her as she ran, but she'd found them now. They weren't sneering any longer. They weren't doing anything anymore. She'd cleaned the knives she'd grabbed from the kitchen, wiping off their blood before strapping them to her body. She left the corpses where they lay, and slipped out of the house, not a bruise from them upon her body. They lay only within her mind, within that memory she'd tried so desperately to supress.
She stalked the night, making her way from house to house, killing those that had a hand in her week of torture and the hunt for her afterwards. She'd managed to escape the barking dogs, but instead of running as fast as she could in the other direction, she'd rounded back, killing those responsible for not just her pain, but her team's deaths. By the night's end, seven more had died at her blade and she suffered not even a deep scratch. They'd fought back that first time, but her mind simply skipped over that small fact and led her down the path of what once was. She'd have her revenge.
With morn of the third day, she'd remembered the messenger that had sold her out and so she'd made her way to the next village over. She stopped at the edge of town, revenge boiling in her heart, before stepping forth. She'd find the messenger and then move on to the final man, the man behind all the wrapped pain and deaths. She'd find him and inact her revenge. She hadn't got to the last time the memory had resurfaced; someone else had done it for her the first time. She swore she'd have the pleasure of it herself this time.
Theresa found him within an hour, matching his description to that in her memory. Pale skin, pale eyes, pale hair, forgetable face, lanky frame. A man she'd once called friend. The bastard had sold them out; he'd pay for that. She fell into step behind him, trailing him from a good ways back as he moved from shop to shop. She waited outside when he entered, but when he made his way over to the weapons, she sought to make her move.
There was a recentally 'abandoned' shop up ahead. The same place where he'd sold them out, where he had fed her false information that led them all into a trap. The shop hadn't been abandoned when she'd first checked it out this morning, but it was now as her mind sought to make all the puzzles fit. The prevous owner's body lay in a pull of blood in the house upstairs, thus, making it empty.
She made her presence known as he stopped to study the weapons, but didn't walk up to him. Instead, she simply caught his eye and stepped around to the back of the shop. She entered through the back door, left it open so he'd know which one it was, and waited. Despite her want to torture him like they'd tortured her, to give him pain like he'd given them, she wanted Mikhail more. She'd give him a painful death, but wouldn't stay to watch.
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Post by Brandwyn on Jan 17, 2010 12:05:13 GMT -5
The Messenger heard a step near him and looked up to meet the eyes of a beautiful woman with blood spatters on her face. She matched the description Master Ian had given him and he smiled tentatively at her.
She went into a shop and he followed her after looking around to see if they were being watched. He saw two priests dressed in white robes at the far end of the street, but they didn’t seem to be paying him any attention. He stepped into the abandoned shop and approached her warily. She had a wild look in her eye, he noted. He swallowed nervously.
“Lady Theresa?” he asked as he reached into his vest for the envelope. “I have a message for you, from Master Ian MacGreggor.” He began to draw the envelope out of the inner pocket…
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Jan 17, 2010 13:52:51 GMT -5
OOC: Brandwyn had given me permission to control her character during the attack.
Theresa. He used her name, confirming his identity. She'd never seen him before, but he'd fit the description given to her by a trusted source; an ex-trusted source. This time though, she wasn't going to listen to his lies. She wasn't going to let him talk about anything but what she wanted to hear. Mikhail Liason would pay for setting them up; Malcolm, the man before her, would die for playing a hand in it, but before he went, he'd tell her where Liason had run too.
She took a single step toward him, intent on getting that information, but then he reached into an inner pocket, triggering her into an instinctive reaction. She lunged foward, grabbing hold of his hand and jerking it out and away from his body, even as she turned into his 'embrace' - her back facing him and their bodies a mere inch apart. She kept her grip on his wrist and twisted in an attempt to force him to drop whatever he was holding, ramming her elbow into his face as she did so, then moving it to wrap around his neck. Her heel striked hard at the front of his ankle, forcing him to lean on her and giving her the leverage she needed to flip him off her side. He started out in an almost front-flip maneuvor, but with a quick twist of her body, she sent him in a single, vertical turn halfway through it, ending with him landing hard on his rear. A sounding crack issued throughout the back of the store, for Theresa hadn't released her grip on his arm, forcing it into an unhealthy position against her unweilding hip as the rest of his body had propelled foward.
He was forced to stay in a sitting position because of it and she immediately moved to straddle him, knife in hand. With eyes as cold as ice, she stared into his own and sent the blade up through his chin and into his brain. She twisted it as soon as the hilt connected with his skin and held it there for a few seconds before releasing it and moving off him. She used his shirt to wipe the blood of her hands as he fell backwards for lack of support, and scanned first the door and windows and then the floor.
Their 'meeting' had lasted a little over a minute and it didn't seem like there'd been any witnesses, but still, best to be safe than sorry. She headed toward the door from which she'd entered, stopping only to grab the letter and leaving the knife behind.
She made her way to the Inn at Montsombre du ville, booked a room for the night, and immediately went up stairs. She shut the door firmly behind her, locked it, and positioned a chair underneath the doorknob, then moved to check her viewings from out the window. It wasn't too far of a drop, especially if one knew how to break their fall, and there was always the option of jumping the few feet into the branches of a 'nearby' tree. She kept the window shut so no one could jump from the tree into here and only then, did she position herself in a corner and opened the letter to read.
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Post by Brandwyn on Jan 17, 2010 14:38:58 GMT -5
Dear Theresa,
I know we didn’t have much of a chance to get to know each other, but I was disappointed that we were unable to say goodbye and have been very concerned about your well-being since we parted.
I also have not been able to get you out of my mind since I met you. Your beautiful eyes haunt me as does the soft warmth of your delicate skin. I can think of nothing else but how you are and where you are.
I hope that you got away from the Aslavians and that this message finds you in good health.
I do not know what to say to you, since we hardly had any time at all together. All I know is that I hope our paths will cross again. Unfortunately my duties lead me to take Brandwyn back to Araluen with all speed before she is injured again. The war rages across these lands and it is no fit place for a young girl like her, or a beautiful woman such as you.
I do not know if you share any of these feelings toward me that I find myself dwelling on, but I hope that you do. I cannot explain it, I have never had such an attraction to anyone before and I am lousy at explaining things of this nature. I certainly hope you do not find me a fool and this letter a farce. I care for you Theresa. I care what happens to you, even though we just met and you were so sick.
I guess I just want to tell you that you are always welcome at my cottage in the fief of Meric in Araluen. Please feel free to call at any time and if you are ever in need of help, please do not hesitate to call on me. I will do whatever it is in my power to do to help you.
Until we meet again, please take care of yourself and perhaps think of me now and again.
With all my heart,
Ian MacGreggor Araluen Scout
P.S. I am sorry I did not tell you my profession at the time. I had the Lady Brandwyn’s safety to consider. Please forgive me for omitting this important part of my life. Ian
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Jan 17, 2010 14:53:08 GMT -5
Theresa frowned at the name signed in sincerity, something pulling at the edges of her mind. It teased her, slipping in her grasp before darting away, pulling her slightly out of her memory before shoving her back inside. Angry at its playing, she crumbled the letter up in her hand, meaning to launch it in a corner, but stopped before she did. For some unknown reason, she stuck it in one of her pockets and stretched out on the bed.
Dawn would be coming soon and with it, new blood would spill the land. Liason would pay for his trechery; she'd make sure of it. Her eyes closed in meditation - resting her body, but aware enough of her surroundings to move at the slightest sign of a threat.
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