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<Malach> ::as typical for Marsember spring, the day was miserably hot and humid, but it is now cold and pouring rain. Puddles more than ankle deep decorate the muddy streets and even the most fanatical orc soldiers have sought a dry taproom:: * Darla walks close to the buildings, small shelter from the rain. Despite the near-empty streets, she clutches her pass tightly. As she enters the neighborhood where Malach's apartment is, she slows her stride, looking around as if uncertain of her precise destination. <Malach> ::the block is not quiet... lights are on in several of the small homes and the sounds of laughter and off-key drunken singing come from one particularly bright building. Through the rain-streaked window several of the mercenaries can be seen, boasting and drinking. Several women - mostly courtesans from their mildly bored expressions - are attending as well:: * Darla stares for a few heartbeats, then scurries on before she can be noticed. <Malach> ::as she approaches Malach's appropriated house, another mercenary opens the front door and walks out onto the porch:: Well, keep't in mind, if you get tired of the girl... you ought to *see* the girl that Brendac managed to get. Lucky bastard, wish my straw'd come up... <Darla> ::draws back, startled, her eyes widening:: <Malach> ::from within:: I saw her... ::he laughs:: But I *hate* cryin' women... takes all the fun out of it. Give me a nice, willing lass every time. <Mercenary> Still the gentleman, aincha? You never did have the soul of a soldier... no loot and pillage for *you* ::his voice is deeply sarcastic:: <Malach> ::flatly:: We can take that up over swords, if you'd like, Trawler. Have your second call on me, if you've a mind. <Trawler> ::hastily:: No offense meant, Malach... ::holds up his hands in a placating gesture:: * Darla lingers in the shadows, listening and trying not to be seen, until the other mercenary leaves. <Malach> ::snorts:: Go sleep it off, Trawler... you've had too much wine to stand up straight and piss, much less torment Brendack's girl... * Trawler waves a sketchy farewell and staggers off down the street. Once Malach closes the door, he mutters some very rude words and makes a crude gesture in Malach's general direction. <Darla> ::softly:: Interesting. ::She climbs the steps to knock gingerly on Malach's door:: <Malach> ::from within:: Damn, I didn't mean... ::opens the door:: Oh! Darla, pet! You're wet clear through, come in... <Darla> ::gives a last look down the street in Trawler's direction, then slips past Malach inside:: Who was that? He didn't seem to like you much... <Malach> Trawler? Oh, he's one of the Dragoons... ::he rolls his eyes:: <Darla> ::blinks vacantly:: Dragons? I thought the orcs'd killed all the Dragons... <Malach> ::shakes his head:: Dragoon... heavy cavalry, pet. He's still mad that I saved his ass a few years back. Dragoons and infantry don't get on so well. Keeps trying to find a cheap way to get out of owing me... I don't aim to let him, though. <Darla> Oh... ::she looks as though about half his explanation went over her head, but shrugs and peels off her wet shawl:: * Malach looks at the dripping waif and fetches a thick towel from one closet. "Here, pet... gods, I *hate* this swamp. Give me a nice flat plain any day and twice at endweek." * Darla takes the towel gratefully and roughly scrubs it over her arms. "Aw, rain ain't so bad... It's when it gets muggy and hot and *won't* rain that everything's awful." * Malach goes to another cabinet and pulls out a flask. "Here... have a bit of this. It's not quite furniture polish, but it ought to take the chill off. If y'still want to go have a peek at your sis, you'll need it." <Darla> ::nods quickly and takes the flask:: Oh, yes, if- if we can. After that... ::she shudders and tips the flask to her lips, miming a somewhat larger swallow than she actually takes:: <Malach> Let me see if I c'n find you a better coat... ::he rummages around in his closet for a while before coming out with a long woolen man's riding coat:: You'll look a bit silly, but better than being wet. ::he gets out a similar coat for himself:: * Darla is frankly amazed at the level of wealth required for a man to own more than one coat. She wraps the garment around herself tightly. * Malach takes Darla's hand and leads her through the streets towards the drydocks. Under his breath, he cautions her about what to expect and how to act. <Malach> Now, pet, when we get there, I don't want you to say a word... not a peep, unless someone asks you a direct question. Can you lie? <Darla> Some, I guess... <Malach> ::sternly:: Call yourself something else, if someone asks... don't you give 'em your real name, pet. Not many'll question me ::somewhat embarrassed:: I got that sort of reputation... but just in case... I don't want anyone comin' after you. <Darla> ::bites her lip:: I'll... I'll be Leena. That's what my Da' used to call me, sometimes, so I won't forget it. <Malach> ::the wide gates to the dock area are guarded by almost a dozen orcs and men. One salutes as they approach:: Captain Malach, sir. Password, sir? * Darla clings to Malach's arm, her eyes wide and a little frightened. <Malach> ::returning the salute:: Private... it's 'bristle.' This is Leena, she's an herb woman. Some of the women are coming down with a cough. She's to see a few of them, to make a treatment. <Private> ::looking at Darla carefully:: She's unarmed? <Malach> ::disdainfully:: She's with *me*. Don't tell me you think I can't handle a mere woman? <Private> ::paling slightly:: Not at all, sir, never. ::he waves them through:: * Darla looks up at Malach as they pass through, about to ask a question, then recalls his instructions and closes her mouth quickly, chewing on her lip. <Malach> ::under his breath when they're past earshot:: Idiot... C'mon... this way. * Malach leads her around the side of the drydock to a port-side door between three small warehouses that stand just against the eastern wall. He squeezes Darla's arm. "You might get a bit of a grope here, pet. Don't pay it no mind." <Malach> ::the two guards who stand watch over the port-side door are both shabby and not particularly watchful:: Evening, Kent... ::Malach presses a small leather purse into the man's hand:: <Darla> ::bites her lip and looks at him entreatingly, then clings a little closer to his arm, obviously hoping his fearsome reputation will provide her some protection.:: <Kent> ::leering at the girl with obvious desire:: Pretty little thing you got there, Malach. <Malach> ::glowering:: Oh, shut your face, Kent, and open the door. I'm not in the mood for you tonight, it's too damn rainy. * Darla looks around, both nervous and curious, but scrupulously keeps her mouth shut. * Kent mutters under his breath but unbars the door. As the two pass in, he pinches the girl's backside. * Darla squeaks and takes a couple of quick steps away from Kent. <Malach> ::sighs as the door closes:: Asshole... Sorry, pet. He ain't so very trustworthy that I'd want to make an issue of it. Got a bad gambling problem, he does. ::leads her through the dimly lit building which holds cradles for ships that need hull-work:: <Darla> ::looks around nervously and whispers:: He just startled me, is all... * Malach leads her to the far side of the room where one battered and obviously unseaworthy ship is still resting in its cradle. "Can you climb, pet?" He indicates a rope ladder that hangs down the side of the ship. * Darla looks up the ladder dubiously. "I... I guess I can try..." <Malach> Up you get, then... I'll be right behind you... * Darla mounts the ladder and climbs slowly. She slips a few times, her wet hands and feet slipping on the unstable rope and nearly tumbling her back into Malach until she seems to get the hang of how to balance. <Malach> Careful, pet... ::the deck of the ship is in considerably better shape than the hull and seems to have been used recently for a card game:: * Darla eyes the abandoned deck of cards warily. "The orcs don't come up here, do they?" <Malach> ::shakes his head:: Nah, they don't care for heights so much... ::from below the decks comes the soft sounds of a couple sharing a private moment:: This is ours... for a bit of this'n that. <Darla> ::looks startled, then blushes and nods:: * Malach leads her to the forecastle where he pushes a plank across to a barely visible window. "This is the tricky bit, pet. I'd crawl, if I were you. There's a bit of a drop to the roof outside the window, but you shouldn't hurt yourself. I'll be right behind you." <Darla> ::looks at the plank and crawls out a little ways. Looking down, she swallows hard, her voice quavering.:: I-is this really the only way? <Malach> S'far as I know, pet... <Darla> ::shivers, then takes a deep breath:: Ma... ::slowly, shaking, she crawls across the plant, her knuckles white as she grips the board:: * Malach walks easily behind her, balancing instinctively. * Darla reaches the end of the plank and looks out and down onto the roof. She whimpers softly. "Oh, gods... Malach..." <Malach> ::the ledge below the window is only about six feet wide and reachable by a short drop of four feet:: <Malach> ::below her, in the open area, are hundreds of people crowded under barely adequate rain shelters. Lumpy pallets lay partially sodden all over the area and the smell of the latrine ditches and rotting food wafts gently on the breeze:: * Darla closes her eyes tightly and crawls awkwardly over the end of the plank, hanging onto it tightly until her feet touch the ledge. She squashes herself back against the wall and inches sideways a bit to make room for Malach. * Malach jumps down with grace, landing next to her. * Malach takes her hand. "This way, she's just under us, so we'll have to go to t'other side." <Darla> ::follows, hugging the wall as tight as she can:: * Malach leads her around the rooftop of the building to the wall. The wall is almost ten feet thick and made from tarred wood. "Just a bit further... keep down here..." He crouches down to scurry along the top of the wall to the next building. * Darla follows stealthily. <Malach> ::from the roof of the other building, they can see clearly into another shelter. Small groups are clustered there and seem to be where the majority of the families with children are staying. It does not take Darla long to spot Loria. She is talking earnestly to Tarri in a hushed voice, holding one of the twins in her lap. Every few minutes, she raises one hand to her mouth to smother a wracking cough:: * Darla crawls to the very edge of the roof, nervousness forgotten as her eyes fix on Loria. "She's sick." <Malach> ::nods:: It's been goin' around some... damn orcs won't quarantine the sick, t'keep it from spreading. Some of us've caught it, too... I been making sure she gets something warm t'drink once a day, but... being out in the open like this... <Darla> ::shivers:: What if she gets too sick to care for the babies? ::tears fill her eyes, and she wipes them away impatiently, looking at the captives hungrily:: You- You told the guard at the gate I was a herbwoman... I *know* a herbwoman. I could send her. She could say I was her 'prentice, and she's come back with the medicine... <Malach> ::below, Loria starts coughing hard. Tarri digs in her pocket and pulls out a stained cloth and hands it to Loria. Weakly, Loria coughs into the cloth, and hands it back when the spasm passes. A fresh dark stain is visible on the cloth in the dim light:: <Malach> ::nods:: Aye, maybe you should... ::he looks at her:: C'n you remember symptoms? <Darla> ::in whispered Alani:: {Bright Lady, n'shava...} ::swallows and nods briefly to Malach, her eyes deliberately travelling over the rest of the hostages before returning to Loria:: <Malach> ::Tarri attempts to press a battered cup of water into Loria's hand. The two appear to rehash an argument about whose water it is, but at last Tarri prevails and Loria drinks:: <Malach> ::in a low voice:: There's the wet cough, and some people get it bad enough that they're coughin' blood. And later, a fever and chills. Sleeplessness, followed by hours of weakness. Some complain of pains in their wrists and ankles. ::he sighs:: I hate this, pet, I really do. It ain't no way to make war. * Darla closes her eyes in silent prayer. When they open again, she does not attempt to stop the tears that run down her face to be lost in the rain. <Malach> ::Tarri pulls a blanket from one pallet and drapes it around Loria's shoulders and helps her to lay down. She lays the twins down and Loria turns on her side to shelter them as best she can from the occasional drafts of rain that are blown into the overhang:: <Darla> ::weakly:: What are they going to do if someone dies of it? Dead hostages aren't any good to the orcs, and it'll just make people madder... <Malach> I don't rightly know, pet. I don't think anyone expected them to get sick... <Darla> Well, that's just *stupid*! ::she's crying harder now:: Out there, with no real shelter and not enough food and... ::she breaks off, sobbing helplessly:: * Malach takes the girl into his arms. "Shhhh, pet." He comforts her as best he can, rocking her as she cries. <Darla> ::stifles her sobs quickly, pushing Malach away to crawl back to the roof's edge:: Wh-what about the other women? The ones who got beat, and the- the others? It's too much. They never did anything! It's too much! * Malach moves back with her, not touching her and sits with his back against the wall, looking up into the dark clouds. "I know, pet. It's the coward's way to make war. There's no honor in it. Most of... most of my unit feels the same." <Darla> ::accusingly:: You still do it. ::cringes and glances quickly at him as her brain catches up with her mouth:: * Malach winces and looks away, a hectic blotch of color decorating his cheeks. <Darla> ::whispering fearfully:: I'm sorry, m'lord. Don't- I just... <Malach> ::whirls on her, his eyes sparkling with sudden anger:: Don't call me that. I ain't your owner. ::he sighs, then subsides:: You ain't nothing but right, pet. <Darla> ::cringes back from his anger, wrapping her arms around herself protectively:: I- I just wish I could *do* something... <Malach> ::not looking at her:: You ain't the only one, pet. I never been in a war like this before. <Darla> ::relaxes slightly, looking at Malach for a long moment:: I... I know why *I* can't do anything much... Why can't you? You could just take your unit and leave, couldn't you? If you didn't like the way they were doing things? <Malach> ::shakes his head:: It's not that simple, pet... we're not just here for pay. Sembia paid Big Red to leave 'em alone. We're part of that pay. ::he looks at her earnestly:: Sembia's the richest country in the world. If we pull out... <Darla> But... if he wants to rule the world, won't he come back, anyway? Some day? <Malach> Sembia's been promised sovereignty - to be able to rule themselves - ::he adds this hastily, as if thinking Darla might not know the word:: <Darla> ::eyes him doubtfully:: They're trusting a *dragon*? ::she makes a wry face:: Or maybe they're just hoping someone else will kill him before he has time to come back to Sembia. <Malach> ::reaches for her hand:: I didn't make those decisions, pet. I don't know... * Darla lets Malach take her hand, but she looks back out at the hostages, her eyes locking on Loria again. "Isn't there any way I could just *talk* to her? Just for a little while?" * Malach chews the inside of his cheek. "I... " He sighs. "I could get her. But I'd... pet, she'd have to think I was... you know, borrowing her for..." He leaves it hanging. <Darla> Her? Or the guards? <Malach> ::shakes his head:: She'd have to believe it. They'd notice, if she didn't act right... <Darla> ::watches Loria longingly for a long moment, then reluctantly shakes her head.:: She's too sick. Maybe... Maybe next time, after the herbwoman comes. ::bites her lip, then looks over at Malach:: I thought... I thought you weren't allowed to... ::waves a hand helplessly toward the hostages:: <Malach> ::in a quiet voice:: I drew a straw, too. ::he looks down at the hostages with a strange pain in his eyes:: <Darla> ::looks at Malach in sudden horror and disbelief:: You... <Malach> ::slowly:: I don't 'spect you to believe me, pet. I'm not stupid. I talk big, with some of t'other units... it's just talk. I... hell, I know you ain't with me 'cause you like my company. But... I couldn't do that to someone. It makes me sick. Kill a man in battle, yes. Take his woman while she's crying? I can't. <Darla> ::after a long pause, softly:: I think I do believe you, Malach. <Malach> Thank you, pet. ::he looks at one girl, no more than sixteen, who is crying in the arms of an older woman:: This is all wrong, pet, but I don't know how to help. Damn orcs only outnumber us fifty to one... <Darla> ::watching him intently:: Which "us"? <Malach> ::sighs:: I ain't the only one who feels like this... we been talkin' about it some. ::takes a deep breath:: I got maybe two hundred men I could count on to follow me, if I asked. <Malach> ::continues:: There might be more. It's dangerous to talk 'bout it. <Darla> ::softly:: There is a whole city-full of willing volunteers, out there. Every man who has a wife or daughter or sister in this place. Every person who has been beaten brutally for a trivial crime. It... It could be done. <Malach> ::nods slowly:: Maybe... maybe... but ever-so dangerous... we'd lose people. That Woundwort, he's a bastardly good general. His orcs think he's near a god... <Darla> ::nods to an elderly woman who is coughing weakly:: We are losing people anyway. Would you... talk to someone on the outside? If I could arrange a meeting? <Malach> ::looks at her shrewdly:: You're smarter than you act, pet... <Darla> ::meets his gaze nervously:: How many mercenaries do *you* know who'd keep a woman around if she was smart? <Malach> ::calmly:: You think I don't know you're a spy? Women been doin' it since there was war. <Darla> ::grins briefly:: So you're smarter than you act, too. <Malach> Best for t'both of us to act the idiot. Safer that way... ::looks at her seriously:: You can trust me. I ain't the enemy. I want to help. I want this to be over and to take my men home safe. I'll help you, if you try and help me. <Darla> ::nods slowly:: I believe you. I will do what I can, but... I am not a decision maker. Just an information-gatherer. When I saw you on the beach, truly, all I hoped was that you might let slip something, maybe help my kin... ::nods toward Loria, then looks back at him:: I can try to arrange that meeting, if you are willing to work with us. <Malach> ::nods:: All right, pet. We should go, now. Watch'll change in another hour or less. ::he touches her cheek with something like reluctance:: * Darla puts her hand over his. She hesitates briefly, then leans forward to kiss him briefly. "Thank you." * Malach looks pleased, then stands and offers her a hand. "C'mon, let's get out of here." * Darla nods and takes his hand to follow. <Malach> ::they manage to gain the exit without incident. Malach informs the gate guards that another woman will be coming by in the next few days with a pass to administer a cure for the cough that plagues some of the hostages:: <Darla> ::out of earshot of the gate guards:: Is she gonna have to go through... all that? The climbing and everything? My herbwoman is kind of old... <Malach> ::shakes his head:: Nah. I got friends in high places ::he winks at her:: We'll get her a legit pass to go in. <Darla> ::looks relieved:: Oh, good... * Malach takes her back to his house. "I packed another basket for you, pe- " He looks at her for a long moment. "Darla." * Darla gives him a genuine smile. "Thank you. Food is getting pretty scarce out there..." <Malach> ::indicates the basket:: There's a few other odds and ends in there. Can you... can you see that they get to people who need 'em? <Darla> ::raises her eyebrows and looks at the basket, then nods:: I will. <Malach> ::inside the basket, in addition to a good sized smoked ham, some oranges, and a loaf of bread, are almost a dozen food chits:: <Malach> ::sits down at the table and scratches his chin:: I got a guilty conscience... I know, it ain't much to make up for all I done. <Darla> ::touches his shoulder:: Every bit helps. * Malach pats her hand absently. "Go on home, Darla. I'll get you that pass for your herb woman tomorrow. Come back in two days to get it." <Darla> I will, I hope, bring word of a meeting for you, then, as well. ::She picks up the basket and then kisses his cheek before heading out the door:: * Malach watches her go, then picks up the discarded brandy flask and drains it in a single, long swallow. * Darla waits until she is nearly halfway home before ducking into a dark alley to drop the spells that maintain her appearance. <Shadowy Figure> ::the streets are still mostly deserted, as the rain has not let up in the slightest:: * Kevil keeps to the shadows and avoids the orcish patrols despite the pass in his pocket. He sighs in relief as he nears his building. * Shadowy Figure steps out from under the stairs as Kevil approaches. * Kevil stumbles to a halt, a sick look coming over his features. "I have a pass..." He doesn't sound like he expects it to do him much good. <Angel> You're a hard man to find when you decide to get lost, Talarin. ::he stops for a moment, then eyes Kevil even closer:: Do I even *want* to know why you're wearing a dress? <Kevil> ::stares, then sags in relief:: Bastian. Bright Lady, was it really necessary to terrify me like that? ::he sighs, then steps into the shadows from which Angel emerged.:: The dress is... an aid to my illusion. I fear I will owe my unwitting hostess a new wardrobe. <Angel> ::gives Kevil his characteristic half-smile:: Blame it on my mood. Go change and come for a walk with me? Bienca's comments about my dubious taste aside, I don't believe I want to be seen with you when you look like *that*. <Kevil> ::laughs softly:: All right. I was just wishing I knew how to find you, anyhow... ::he dashes up the stairs to Tarri's flat and slips inside quietly:: * Angel waits under the awning, fingering the hilt of his belt knife. * Kevil emerges a few moments later, a faint smile hovering on his lips. He cocks his head at Angel. "Better?" <Angel> ::looks up:: Definitely... <Kevil> ::grins and descends the stairs on cat-quiet feet:: Good. Let us walk, then, and speak of matters of import. * Angel nods shortly and starts through shadowy streets towards the islands. He seems to have knowledge of orcish patrols, as he manages to lead them around several. * Kevil follows in silence, trusting Angel to know when it is safe to talk. <Angel> ::knocks a quick pattern on the door of a posh whore house and is admitted by a woman with a low-cut blouse and a chipped front tooth:: Room's ready for you, sir. ::she eyes Kevil with interest as she leads them back:: Are y' sure you're not here for *pleasure* as well? <Kevil> ::does not bother to suppress a grin:: <Angel> ::narrows his eyes:: Quite sure. ::his voice is extremely frosty:: <Angel> ::the girl shrugs, a motion that nearly causes her to fall out of her blouse:: Ah, well... ::she opens a door:: Here y' are. <Angel> ::the room contains a rather squashy looking bed with sagging springs, a table, and two decrepit seeming chairs:: * Kevil gives the girl a smile and a wink before he enters the room and sits carefully in one of the chairs. <Angel> ::looks around once:: We're reasonably safe here. Even the orcs aren't stupid enough to try and close the brothels. <Kevil> ::snorts:: They have been entirely *too* smart about far too much of this. And entirely too stupid about other things. * Angel sits in the chair and puts his boots on the table. "That's the truth. Gods, what a fuckup." <Kevil> I know. ::he scowls:: They've got my wife and daughters in there. ::sighs:: They do not have Jewel, do they? <Angel> ::shudders, his eyes flat with anger:: No. She is... ::he takes a deep breath:: She is attempting to seduce the mercenaries' leader. <Kevil> ::blinks:: *What*? <Angel> ::a bit forcefully, as if still attempting to convince himself:: We didn't have anyone else. He's not interested in the whores and we *need* information. <Kevil> ::grimaces:: That sounds familiar. <Angel> ::in a hollow voice:: She thinks she... might be able to use her psionics to get information, without having to actually... ::he looks at Kevil briefly, a hint of weakness, of anguish, flickering in his eyes:: I don't. <Kevil> ::Sympathy shows in his eyes as he nods:: I would not have guessed you for that much of a pragmatist... I will pray she is right. <Angel> I'm not... ::he gets to his feet and paces angrily:: I'm fucking desperate, is what I am. <Kevil> I may have a sympathetic contact on the inside. * Angel spins on one boot heel to eye him closely. "Do you?" <Kevil> ::shrugs:: I hope so, or else I will be dead within two days. <Kevil> I meant to try to bribe him with gold and gems, but I disguised myself with an illusion... ::he smiles wryly:: A man forgets, sometimes, that his sisters look like no more than women to other men, d'va? <Angel> ::as if changing the subject:: I stopped at your house yesterday. I wasn't sure I'd find you alive at all. There was a bloodstain on the carpet. <Kevil> ::grimaces:: I was not even home when they came in. Loria was entertaining guests. They nearly brained the one man, and took the women and children. <Angel> Hard-headed, then... ::he paces some more:: Some of ours are in there, too. <Kevil> ::hesitantly:: Were any of them involved in this latest travesty of justice? <Angel> ::bleakly:: Tavia... she's better known to the guild as Ink, one of our better forgers and counterfeiters. <Kevil> ::winces:: I am sorry. <Angel> I admit I'm at a loss, Talarin. We don't have enough information. <Kevil> Neither do we. But perhaps, if we could pool our resources... ::he looks away from Angel:: I know the girl they want. I know where she was, that they are so eager to find her. <Angel> ::raises an eyebrow:: And... you're not turning her over to get your wife back? <Kevil> ::his jaw works:: I have thought about it, believe me... But, ultimately, the girl's death would buy us nothing, and Loria's freedom - as much as I wish it - would aid few. ::he closes his eyes and sighs:: Besides, I do not know if they would allow her to bring our daughters out with her, and without her, they will die. <Angel> ::nods:: What did she see, then, that they are so eager for her to die? <Kevil> ::looks back at Angel, pain reflected in his eyes:: She was in the tower of the Mage Academy. It is not cleared and emptied. The orcs have occupied it. The girl overheard chanting, and voices - mine among them. They have some way of scrying upon us, but she was not able to discover what it was. <Angel> ::looks distinctly worried:: Shit. Shit... ::he touches a slight bulge under his shirt:: <Kevil> ::nods:: I know... But still, they have not seen or heard *every*thing, or I would already be dead, d'va? ::he draws a breath:: I have some skill at stealth, but they have increased their guards. I dare not investigate. But if you have a good thief, with a quick wit... <Angel> ::flatly:: You know I do... ::he considers something, then pulls out a flat disc on a gold chain from under his shirt:: Here. I'll get the boys to make me another one. <Kevil> ::eyes the disc:: What is it? <Angel> When Jewel first came to me, she worked for a mage who felt it was in her best interests that he watch over her magically. ::half-smiles:: He did not trust me. I have that affect on some people. I can't imagine why. ::shakes the medallion:: It prevents scrying. All of us who can afford them, have them now. * Kevil takes the medallion, and some of the tension drains out of him. "That... is a relief." He looks at it closely, then looks back at Angel. "But I could not know that you had a good thief of quick wit... We have not spoken in months - for all I knew, you and yours had died in the first invasion. Or, more like, fled before they succeeded in sealing the city." <Angel> I'd like to see the orc that could take Bienca from us... and we will no more abandon our people than you will yours. <Kevil> ::nods, fingering the medallion:: I hate to ask favors from the Guild, especially dangerous ones, but... Could you send her into the Mage Academy? I do not know if what the girl overheard is the sum of what they fear - and it might be that she could determine the way they are choosing their scrying subjects. If we can close their eyes and stop their ears, they would be far easier to fight. <Angel> ::gives Kevil a tight grin:: We are all asking favors where we'd rather not. Dawn goes to treat with Headmaster Bluestar. <Angel> ::shrugs:: But I believe there is no other way. If we stand apart for this, we will all die. <Kevil> ::raises an eyebrow:: Dawn... He is one of your seconds, yes? Short, blonde, in dire need of a shave? <Kevil> I thought he was... not comfortable with psionics? <Angel> He isn't. But he is also the only one we have that stands a chance of being able to teleport inside. <Angel> ::with a bleak smile:: Consider it revenge, if you must. It was his suggestion that has placed my wife in the arms of another man. <Kevil> ::makes a face:: My sympathies to him, then. I doubt Master Bluestar will be gentle with anyone who manages to breach the... whatever it is that he has shielding the school. <Kevil> ::half-smiles:: That does not seem your style. I would have thought you to carve your own revenge out of a man, did you find it necessary. <Angel> ::snorts:: I can't kill him, much as I'd like to right about now. I need him too damn much. <Angel> After... however... ::he looks bleak:: My wife will probably talk me out of it. There is little I would not do, if she wants it. <Kevil> Va. ::shrugs:: I would not dare to interfere in Guild business... But if he talked you into the idea in the first place, you must know that he suggested the idea with the Guild's best interest at heart, hard as it must be for you both personally. <Angel> ::gives Kevil a rather angry glare, then shrugs and sighs:: More than likely. We're running blind... the only other person who could pull this off would be Sylvie, and I can't ask it of her. <Kevil> ::nods slowly:: You are a stronger man than I. If someone suggested to me that Loria do such a thing, I... ::he shivers and shakes his head:: <Angel> ::flatly:: He won't live to remember it fondly. When we finally make a move, I will personally slit his throat. <Kevil> ::nods:: Keep your knives sharp. If I am not dead in two days, we may have as many as two hundred allies among the mercenaries, men so disgusted with the behavior of the orcs that they are ready to abandon their units. <Angel> ::calmly:: Don't get killed, Talarin. It's bad for your health. Trust me, I know. ::for just an instant, his eyes are haunted:: <Kevil> ::shrugs, though the tension in his neck and face betray his casualness:: It is too late. We will learn soon enough if I judged the man badly. If I do *not* go, then we will certainly have no help. <Angel> ::nods:: We are both in equally difficult positions, I believe. <Kevil> So it seems... ::he sighs:: Is there some way I might assist you or your people? <Angel> ::shrugs:: I don't know. I thought to... to both open communications and to keep a promise I made to your wife's goddess. We will get them out. <Kevil> ::nods and half-smiles:: We should see more of each other. Come again in a couple of days, and I hope we will be able to exchange some good news. Or at least some interesting information, d'va? <Angel> ::nods:: And, to tell the truth, I was hoping you would distract me. My blade hand itches. <Kevil> ::grins weakly:: Well, as I yet remain unflayed, I shall assume I have not entirely failed. <Angel> Her Extreme Holy Grumpiness wouldn't let me kill you, Talarin... ::he grins, this time with more sincerity:: Besides, I like you. One of the few honest men with whom I can hold honest conversation. <Kevil> ::laughs at Angel's description of Nacheyla:: I am pleased to have met your exacting standards. You have been a good friend to us. <Angel> Come, let me see you safely home. ::he stops to squat near the bed and pulls out a rolled up sheet of paper:: Some of the beggars have provided me a list and map of the orc patrols. I made a copy for you, in case it would be of use. <Kevil> ::accepts the paper with a faint grin:: You will own my soul soon, if I do not find some way to repay all these favors... ::he offers Angel his hand:: Hold fast, my friend. Perhaps if we are lucky, we will find the weakness we have been seeking before your wife is required to submit to too much indignity, d'va? <Angel> ::darkly:: I hope so... * Angel nods once to the chipped-tooth whore who watches them go with naked longing on her face. |
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