Dimly lit corners were in short supply at the Punt Den, since the vast majority of its standard clientele were of the type to frequent such corners as a matter of course. One of the Den's walls was divided into several alcoves, however, for just this purpose, and as luck would have it one of them was free for Emiliana to occupy. An ale was procured with ease.
As was often the case, Darug was to find that people would fall over themselves in their haste to serve him. In no time at all the orc was presented with a pint of simple but strong ale and a platter upon which sat a bloody haunch that had recently belonged to some animal or other. With his table mates deferentially ignoring him, he was able to observe a man of below average height and a scarred face making his way over to Emiliana, his left foot dragging slightly. Harmony would recognise this man as Remmel.
Hart - or anyone of Hart's description - was not visible to Emiliana, although the man who was approaching her had a scar running across his face. He did not seat himself at her alcove, instead standing over her for a few flickers, obstructing the dim light that filtered in and paying as much attention to the flesh showcased by her daring neckline as would be expected of a young man of his age. "You don't look much like most of the regular customers of this place," he stated without preamble. "So are you a high society girl fallen upon hard times, or a street kid fallen upon good ones?"
The Punt Den ~ Chyril 22nd ET/GT
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Guest
Emiliana nursed her ale, but seemed eager enough with it due to her small fingers laced around the tankard that was sitting on the table infront of her. Her hazel eyes wandered to and fro, settling first on Harmony to watch her as she made her way through the establishment (who are you looking for?) and then they drifted over to Darug's entrance. He grabbed a seat with a random table of pub-goers and no doubt was busily ruining their evening with his presence, a thought that caused a small smile to pull at the corners of her lips which she quickly hid with a well timed gulp of her beverage, not quickly enough for Remmel to have missed it, however, as he made his way over to her nice, quiet little nook.
His leering was understandable. Emiliana wasn't surprised by it. Even though she was a halfie there had been no shortage of men who wanted her - and especially wanted to marry her when her father was searching for a suitable husband... well, that was until they got to know her better. It seemed as though most men soured their opinions of her once they learned more about her. That didn't surprise her either. Emi enjoyed having thorns.
As it was, this man was scarred and shuffled along at a slow enough pace to prove that it wasn't just too much alcohol, it was a severe injury that caused it. There was a distinct difficulty for the achadhiel to describe what exactly she felt for this short, injured and disfigured member of the Den's clientel. At first was the obvious disgust at his open appreciation on her form and then the slow realization that he wasn't in the best shape followed by a gentle mothering feeling of concern. Don't let that fool you, no doubt he's dangerous more than you can imagine. Look at Finley. She no longer questioned the lethal properties of the small, shabby men of World's Mouth and she certainly had no intention of getting into any more trouble this evening than was necessary.
"Neither," she quipped playfully looking at Remmel with her bright eyes that held what little light there was in the alcove. "Just a girl looking for some fun. Want to buy me a drink?" One of her well manicured hands motioned toward the seat opposite of her. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable." He may not have been Hart himself, nor could he be directly tied to the man she was sent to mark, but there was the overwhelming chance he'd know exactly who he was when or if he entered, for, Remmel seemed to fall into the category of regular, much like Hart had been described to her. "Dortenese Whiskey if you're thinking about it." Emi winked with a smirk.
His leering was understandable. Emiliana wasn't surprised by it. Even though she was a halfie there had been no shortage of men who wanted her - and especially wanted to marry her when her father was searching for a suitable husband... well, that was until they got to know her better. It seemed as though most men soured their opinions of her once they learned more about her. That didn't surprise her either. Emi enjoyed having thorns.
As it was, this man was scarred and shuffled along at a slow enough pace to prove that it wasn't just too much alcohol, it was a severe injury that caused it. There was a distinct difficulty for the achadhiel to describe what exactly she felt for this short, injured and disfigured member of the Den's clientel. At first was the obvious disgust at his open appreciation on her form and then the slow realization that he wasn't in the best shape followed by a gentle mothering feeling of concern. Don't let that fool you, no doubt he's dangerous more than you can imagine. Look at Finley. She no longer questioned the lethal properties of the small, shabby men of World's Mouth and she certainly had no intention of getting into any more trouble this evening than was necessary.
"Neither," she quipped playfully looking at Remmel with her bright eyes that held what little light there was in the alcove. "Just a girl looking for some fun. Want to buy me a drink?" One of her well manicured hands motioned toward the seat opposite of her. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable." He may not have been Hart himself, nor could he be directly tied to the man she was sent to mark, but there was the overwhelming chance he'd know exactly who he was when or if he entered, for, Remmel seemed to fall into the category of regular, much like Hart had been described to her. "Dortenese Whiskey if you're thinking about it." Emi winked with a smirk.
"Of course," Remmel replied with a broad smile that showed no sign of being inhibited by the injury to his face. He lowered himself onto the seat opposite her, putting slightly too much weight onto his good foot as he did so, and motioned for a waitress. "Maria! Two whiskies." The girl, a willowy woman whose face bore a slightly haunted look, hurried over to the bar to comply. Her expression was likely no coincidence. Waitressing at the Punt Den was an atrocious job even by Mouthie standards.
Now that the man was closer, it was clear to Emiliana that he was not in any way shabby in appearance. His grey-brown coat and breeches may have been inconspicuous, but they were neatly worn and clean, almost respectable in their way. He was polite and well-spoken, too, and once he'd sat down he even managed to keep his eyes from darting down to her cleavage too frequently. Only his injuries marked him out as the sort of man commonly found at the Punt Den.
"Looking for fun, signorina? Well, it seems to me that... dropping into the roughest part of the city, dressed like you are, and mixing your drinks..." He gestured to her ale mug. "You have a good chance of finding rather more fun than you were bargaining for." He leant forward in his seat, crossing his arms on the table to reveal the bulge of not inconsiderable muscles beneath the sleeves of his coat. "It's a good thing I found you first."
Now that the man was closer, it was clear to Emiliana that he was not in any way shabby in appearance. His grey-brown coat and breeches may have been inconspicuous, but they were neatly worn and clean, almost respectable in their way. He was polite and well-spoken, too, and once he'd sat down he even managed to keep his eyes from darting down to her cleavage too frequently. Only his injuries marked him out as the sort of man commonly found at the Punt Den.
"Looking for fun, signorina? Well, it seems to me that... dropping into the roughest part of the city, dressed like you are, and mixing your drinks..." He gestured to her ale mug. "You have a good chance of finding rather more fun than you were bargaining for." He leant forward in his seat, crossing his arms on the table to reveal the bulge of not inconsiderable muscles beneath the sleeves of his coat. "It's a good thing I found you first."
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
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It surprised Emiliana that the man before her, still un-named, was so well tailored, and she noticed it with some appreciation as he sat down before her and quickly ordered her the drink she'd suggested. "As I'm sure you can see, Stranger, I've barely begun this one, so I doubt it'll be much difficulty in mixing," she looked down at the ale and swirled it in the tankard. "It's not much good any way, I've definately had better. Being the daughter of a brewer seems to have that advantage, but also ruins one on drinking anything but the best." Here she paused playfully, "Hence the Dortnese Whiskey. If I'm to drink, I'd rather it be worth it."
Casually she toyed with the fan that had only just flickers before left her fingers. Her nails picked at the lace with disinterest only to be followed by her alert eyes glancing back up to the man in brownish-gray where she defiantly made clear eye contact, seemingly unaware of his facial injuries. "But I'm sure you noticed that I've only had a few sips, as you must have seen me as soon as I came in, non?"
He was well built, and that much was apparent as he leant forward on the table, his form fitting into his clothing but suggesting definition beneath the smooth exterior. This figure was perhaps an enforcer a term she'd come to know thanks to Nico. "Finding me first, is it that you'd like to keep me safe - or just make sure none of the rest of the lot get their grubby hands on me before you?"
Emiliana's eyes wandered from his face down to his very hands for so much could be learned from them. A person's hands spoke volumes more than the rest of them, for no matter how cleaned up one might be in fashion, a worker's hands were impossible to hide. Indeed, Emi's own hands spoke of her rich and pampered life, and how it was slowly being torn down as she lowered herself into the underworld of the Mouth. There were subtle callouses, those of practicing sword play, perhaps only detectable by a lovers' touch across her palm, but there none-the-less and only becoming stronger as she practiced with the weapon, the very weapon that hung at her side, perhaps out of place on a woman of her apparent stature, but Signore Alvero had insisted, and she was hardly going to do otherwise. "So what is your name then, Stranger?"
Casually she toyed with the fan that had only just flickers before left her fingers. Her nails picked at the lace with disinterest only to be followed by her alert eyes glancing back up to the man in brownish-gray where she defiantly made clear eye contact, seemingly unaware of his facial injuries. "But I'm sure you noticed that I've only had a few sips, as you must have seen me as soon as I came in, non?"
He was well built, and that much was apparent as he leant forward on the table, his form fitting into his clothing but suggesting definition beneath the smooth exterior. This figure was perhaps an enforcer a term she'd come to know thanks to Nico. "Finding me first, is it that you'd like to keep me safe - or just make sure none of the rest of the lot get their grubby hands on me before you?"
Emiliana's eyes wandered from his face down to his very hands for so much could be learned from them. A person's hands spoke volumes more than the rest of them, for no matter how cleaned up one might be in fashion, a worker's hands were impossible to hide. Indeed, Emi's own hands spoke of her rich and pampered life, and how it was slowly being torn down as she lowered herself into the underworld of the Mouth. There were subtle callouses, those of practicing sword play, perhaps only detectable by a lovers' touch across her palm, but there none-the-less and only becoming stronger as she practiced with the weapon, the very weapon that hung at her side, perhaps out of place on a woman of her apparent stature, but Signore Alvero had insisted, and she was hardly going to do otherwise. "So what is your name then, Stranger?"
OOC: Slightly and unimportantly edited do to a slight mishap on my part.
IC:Mezatino, slightly grimaced at the adhiel's poor linguistic skills. At least he's trying. Plus this only makes it all the more difficult for him to snitch on me should fortune shit upon us. "The job is of the shady kind. You know, where people such as ourselves go bump in the night, while others go about their business without the knowledge that they have been pilfered and oh so subtly ransacked." Mezatino smiled at the lucratively blunt way he was placing it before this unknown being.
Sipping at his ale, and puffing at his pipe, he leaned back in his chair balancing on its back two legs perilously. Surveying the newcomers of this den's most atrocious and silencing air. The orc looked savage, like he'd just eaten a the fresh flesh of some poor man's child. Mezatino would have loved to meet this viscous being, and see if he could tell Mezatino where he could find another orc tattooist, to touch up his body ink. Oh that smile! Oh those beautifully yellowed teeth! How I would love to run some kind of enforcing with that brute at my side! No telling what kind of gamut of muck we could run!
And then there was her. The gorgeous and lustrious Emiliana Medicci. How perfectly she carried herself and acted the noblelady she was supposed to be, even if she did carry herself with a blade of measurable length. He even noticed her glance his way with the thoughtful inquiry as to whether or not she should say or do something. This brought such a smirk to Mezatino's face as to light up his emerald eyes! If I get the chance, I will definitely be exchanging banter with you mi'lady.
Finally settling back to what was at hand he looked straight into the achadhiel's eyes. Leaning forward, with his knife back in hand and laying upon the table in a showing but non threatening manner, he whispered to his cohort. "So what do you say? Are up to looting someone who may very well be innocent, and has done not but help others and pay lip service to a deity of benevolence? Are you willing to do what is asked?"
IC:Mezatino, slightly grimaced at the adhiel's poor linguistic skills. At least he's trying. Plus this only makes it all the more difficult for him to snitch on me should fortune shit upon us. "The job is of the shady kind. You know, where people such as ourselves go bump in the night, while others go about their business without the knowledge that they have been pilfered and oh so subtly ransacked." Mezatino smiled at the lucratively blunt way he was placing it before this unknown being.
Sipping at his ale, and puffing at his pipe, he leaned back in his chair balancing on its back two legs perilously. Surveying the newcomers of this den's most atrocious and silencing air. The orc looked savage, like he'd just eaten a the fresh flesh of some poor man's child. Mezatino would have loved to meet this viscous being, and see if he could tell Mezatino where he could find another orc tattooist, to touch up his body ink. Oh that smile! Oh those beautifully yellowed teeth! How I would love to run some kind of enforcing with that brute at my side! No telling what kind of gamut of muck we could run!
And then there was her. The gorgeous and lustrious Emiliana Medicci. How perfectly she carried herself and acted the noblelady she was supposed to be, even if she did carry herself with a blade of measurable length. He even noticed her glance his way with the thoughtful inquiry as to whether or not she should say or do something. This brought such a smirk to Mezatino's face as to light up his emerald eyes! If I get the chance, I will definitely be exchanging banter with you mi'lady.
Finally settling back to what was at hand he looked straight into the achadhiel's eyes. Leaning forward, with his knife back in hand and laying upon the table in a showing but non threatening manner, he whispered to his cohort. "So what do you say? Are up to looting someone who may very well be innocent, and has done not but help others and pay lip service to a deity of benevolence? Are you willing to do what is asked?"
Last edited by Mezatino on Mon Jun 18, 2007 2:36 am, edited 2 times in total.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
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Hastarl Ras'diath
- Simaldi hand
- Posts: 100
- Joined: Thu Sep 07, 2006 8:07 pm
- Location: Rogue d'Ancourt
The straightforwardness of the young man surprised Hastarl, and he waited a while just to understand what he had actually been told. At this point words wasn't his strong side, but he did understand the meaning of it, he thought. He looked at the knife while thinking. I'm not very fond of the thought of following orders, but this is an opportunity that can't be wasted. This the kind of excitement he liked, but was in lack of.
Hastarl looked straight into the young mans eyes. "Ai'm in. Yu can caunt on mii," he whispered back, well aware of the fact that they were likely to be observed , like he had observed this man in front of him only a while ago. The adhiel sent his companion an asking look, waiting for him to make the move, according to the details.
Hastarl looked straight into the young mans eyes. "Ai'm in. Yu can caunt on mii," he whispered back, well aware of the fact that they were likely to be observed , like he had observed this man in front of him only a while ago. The adhiel sent his companion an asking look, waiting for him to make the move, according to the details.
(OOC: The time is now Gravetide.)
"Can't it be both?" the young man countered Emiliana's question. "Yes, I wanted to keep you safe... and I also wanted to make sure I got to you first. And maybe more." He smiled inscrutably.
The drinks arrived at that point. The haggard waitress placed a tiny metal cup on the table for Emiliana, and a dark ale opposite it for the man with the limp, who slid a couple of banner into her hand. "I'm Remmel," he introduced himself, returning his attention to the achadhiel. "And you..." He trailed off as he noticed the door open.
The first man through it was of a similar height to Remmel and clad in red-brown leathers, bound tightly around a sinewy frame. A variety of blades were strapped to his belt. His black hair was cropped close to his scalp, and the skin of his face and neck was peppered with pockmarks. His gaze darted around the room, falling briefly on Hastarl and Mezatino, then on Darug at his table, then passing via Harmony to Remmel and Emiliana in their dully lit alcove. His eyes rested on each for only a fraction of a flicker, then he was followed through the door by a man who drew attention much more readily.
Hieronymous Hart was an impressively tall man, and broad of shoulder, cutting an imposing figure in his patched calf-length dark brown leather coat. Even for those who had never seen him, there was no doubt that he was a man of considerable importance in the area, for he carried himself with an air of command. The only visible weapon on him, aside from his large, cruel hands, was a wickedly long, curved sabre at his hip. His hair was long and tied back in a ponytail, and the left side of his face was hideously disfigured.
Such was the aura of danger and authority that emanated from Hart that he even managed to overshadow the man behind him - which was no mean feat, as this man was even taller and broader than Hart himself. His size and his curiously oblong shape were the only things about him that stood out, however. Trailing in this man's wake were two more men,; nondescript figures in dark clothing who would have slotted right in at any seedy tavern the world over. One of them had his hand resting on the shaft of a mace dangling from his belt.
The small party of new arrivals made their way to the long table just opposite Darug's, conversing in low tones. The waitress who had just served Remmel rushed to attend to them.
"Can't it be both?" the young man countered Emiliana's question. "Yes, I wanted to keep you safe... and I also wanted to make sure I got to you first. And maybe more." He smiled inscrutably.
The drinks arrived at that point. The haggard waitress placed a tiny metal cup on the table for Emiliana, and a dark ale opposite it for the man with the limp, who slid a couple of banner into her hand. "I'm Remmel," he introduced himself, returning his attention to the achadhiel. "And you..." He trailed off as he noticed the door open.
The first man through it was of a similar height to Remmel and clad in red-brown leathers, bound tightly around a sinewy frame. A variety of blades were strapped to his belt. His black hair was cropped close to his scalp, and the skin of his face and neck was peppered with pockmarks. His gaze darted around the room, falling briefly on Hastarl and Mezatino, then on Darug at his table, then passing via Harmony to Remmel and Emiliana in their dully lit alcove. His eyes rested on each for only a fraction of a flicker, then he was followed through the door by a man who drew attention much more readily.
Hieronymous Hart was an impressively tall man, and broad of shoulder, cutting an imposing figure in his patched calf-length dark brown leather coat. Even for those who had never seen him, there was no doubt that he was a man of considerable importance in the area, for he carried himself with an air of command. The only visible weapon on him, aside from his large, cruel hands, was a wickedly long, curved sabre at his hip. His hair was long and tied back in a ponytail, and the left side of his face was hideously disfigured.
Such was the aura of danger and authority that emanated from Hart that he even managed to overshadow the man behind him - which was no mean feat, as this man was even taller and broader than Hart himself. His size and his curiously oblong shape were the only things about him that stood out, however. Trailing in this man's wake were two more men,; nondescript figures in dark clothing who would have slotted right in at any seedy tavern the world over. One of them had his hand resting on the shaft of a mace dangling from his belt.
The small party of new arrivals made their way to the long table just opposite Darug's, conversing in low tones. The waitress who had just served Remmel rushed to attend to them.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
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His smile was difficult to judge. It wasn't lecherous, but it also wasn't just for fun. She pondered it for no longer than a flicker before the drinks arrived, which also puzzled her, for she could've sworn that Remmel had ordered two whiskey's, not a whiskey and an ale, either way, he paid for them, and the banner were quick to slide from one palm to another, something not unusual to the Mouth alone, but perhaps particular in this establishment where the wenches survived their black lung only long enough to partially raise their offspring until they too were old enough to start to frequent the low end tavern.
Emiliana's mouth had just begun to open to appreciate his introduction properly when his eyes wandered not from hers to her chest, but rather from her to the door, and with his eyes also went her own, ready to survey the newcomers. The first man through the door was pockmarked and looked as if he belonged here, but it was as the second man strode into the Den that she realized he was someone and that was even before she saw his face. How many scarred men visit this pub? And then the rather door like of his goons entered followed by several non-descript fellows part of Hart's crew.
Perhaps if she'd known his earlier activities of the evening, such as removing her favourite Dortman's ear, she wouldn't have been so quick to realize that she needed an excuse to get outside, perhaps that wasn't going to be possible with Remmel sitting at her table. "Who's that?" Emiliana asked quietly to Remmel, both out of a small bit of fear as well as respect for the man who ran this end of town. If she had been from around here, then she would've known who he was, and she figured asking would secure her position as a Highton girl.
Emiliana's mouth had just begun to open to appreciate his introduction properly when his eyes wandered not from hers to her chest, but rather from her to the door, and with his eyes also went her own, ready to survey the newcomers. The first man through the door was pockmarked and looked as if he belonged here, but it was as the second man strode into the Den that she realized he was someone and that was even before she saw his face. How many scarred men visit this pub? And then the rather door like of his goons entered followed by several non-descript fellows part of Hart's crew.
Perhaps if she'd known his earlier activities of the evening, such as removing her favourite Dortman's ear, she wouldn't have been so quick to realize that she needed an excuse to get outside, perhaps that wasn't going to be possible with Remmel sitting at her table. "Who's that?" Emiliana asked quietly to Remmel, both out of a small bit of fear as well as respect for the man who ran this end of town. If she had been from around here, then she would've known who he was, and she figured asking would secure her position as a Highton girl.
Mezatino sat back and allowed his blade to discreetly disappear from his hand. And smirk once more at the prospect of pulling his little heist off. Leaning back to the middle of the table he whispered to his fellow thief. "We are to move a large box from a wharehouse in Northbridge, to another wharehouse. The pay out is six..." Just as he was about to get further into details, most of the den's murmurings became even quieter as the door to the shady pub allowed entrance to several regulars. None of which Mezatino knew very personally, but he had on occasion dealt with them. Hieronymous Hart and his associates were not to be trifled with, as Mezatino knew. He had done some very low level enforcement for them awhile back; another job from them would have been a gift from Dominicus himself. But he couldn't waste time hoping, so he simply nodded his head to the men as they made their way and went back to his own associate.
Taking a sip of his ale, he took out the slip of paper he'd been given by his mystery employer, to see exactly what all it said.
Taking a sip of his ale, he took out the slip of paper he'd been given by his mystery employer, to see exactly what all it said.
Last edited by Mezatino on Sun Jun 17, 2007 6:39 am, edited 1 time in total.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
Remmel seemed a little unsettled by Hart's arrival, for whatever reason, and so his response to Emiliana's question was delivered with less composure than his previous banter. "You mean... you don't know?" A note of incredulity was audible in his mellow tenor voice. "That man's Hart. The right hand of Simalde." While he'd eventually accepted that Emi genuinely knew nothing of Hart, it hadn't occurred to him that a mention of Simalde might be equally meaningless. "If you value anything about yourself," he cautioned earnestly, "then make sure you don't get caught up in his affairs. In the old days they used to say that there were two kings in Southbridge. Well, with the war and then the declaration of independence, I guess there's only one now, signorina."
The well-dressed young man glanced at his ale, a puzzled look coming over his face for a flicker before it vanished along with a sizable mouthful of the ale itself. He'd evidently lost some of his grasp on the conversation, and it annoyed him. Remmel started on a new tack.
"So why are you really here?" he asked, levelly but not bluntly. "Daughter of a brewer. I can't see you as a whore..." He grinned ruefully. "No offence meant either way. And you're not acting like someone who's out to get herself raped and murdered. So what are you after?"
[hr][/hr]
Mezatino's parchment had two addresses scribbled on it, one on each side.
There was now no sign of Mezatino's floppy-hatted contact. Whoever he was, the man had departed quickly and stealthily at a time that coincided well with Hart's arrival.
The well-dressed young man glanced at his ale, a puzzled look coming over his face for a flicker before it vanished along with a sizable mouthful of the ale itself. He'd evidently lost some of his grasp on the conversation, and it annoyed him. Remmel started on a new tack.
"So why are you really here?" he asked, levelly but not bluntly. "Daughter of a brewer. I can't see you as a whore..." He grinned ruefully. "No offence meant either way. And you're not acting like someone who's out to get herself raped and murdered. So what are you after?"
[hr][/hr]
Mezatino's parchment had two addresses scribbled on it, one on each side.
An untidy, imprecise hand wrote:Northbridge Bondhouse
Ardemus Way
Northbridge
Warehouse 11
Alonzo's Wharf
Northbridge
There was now no sign of Mezatino's floppy-hatted contact. Whoever he was, the man had departed quickly and stealthily at a time that coincided well with Hart's arrival.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Allowing the slip of paper to disappear just as discreatly as his blade had, Mezatino leaned back in to readdress the inquiry. "As I was saying. I am to deliver a large container from a Bondhouse at Ardemus Way, which will then be taken to a wharehouse at Alonzo's Wharf. At no point will we be leaving the Northbridge area. Now the payout is six coronet." Mezatino looked at his accomplice, because at this point in Mezatino's mind he was either an accomplice, or a liability soon to be his third victim. Which ever one he was, would be come up and be dealt with in due time. He licked his lips in anticipation to see if the man was happy with the payout. "Now I'm going to have to procure both a cart and mule to help deliver this, so that alone with cost one to two coronets. Making the spliting payout either two coronet apiece, or two coronet and two circlet."
He sat back again and lit up his pipe, enjoying the thick apple flavored smoke, as he allowed the man take in the plans. "Now I've been assured that this will be no problem, very little if any protection at all. But we are not to open the goods, or talk about what we have done to anyone. It has to be done tonight or tomarrow night. No later. So? When do you want to do this?"
He sat back again and lit up his pipe, enjoying the thick apple flavored smoke, as he allowed the man take in the plans. "Now I've been assured that this will be no problem, very little if any protection at all. But we are not to open the goods, or talk about what we have done to anyone. It has to be done tonight or tomarrow night. No later. So? When do you want to do this?"
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
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Hastarl Ras'diath
- Simaldi hand
- Posts: 100
- Joined: Thu Sep 07, 2006 8:07 pm
- Location: Rogue d'Ancourt
As he listened to the young man speaking, all noise suddenly lowered as the group entered with Hart. He had seen Hart before but no one ever knew what went on in his mind.
He returned his attention to the young man, who finished his little speach. Two or less coronet. Better than nothing, but it still stinks. Hastarl didn't really care about the payment. He was bored with the slow pace life went on, so some excitement was not unwelcome, although delivering a box didn't seem that thrilling. But I'll do it anyway.
To the young man he said: "That'll doo. If wee can get the transportaisjon naw, we shud do it tonaight. Else we shud do it tommorrow naight."
He returned his attention to the young man, who finished his little speach. Two or less coronet. Better than nothing, but it still stinks. Hastarl didn't really care about the payment. He was bored with the slow pace life went on, so some excitement was not unwelcome, although delivering a box didn't seem that thrilling. But I'll do it anyway.
To the young man he said: "That'll doo. If wee can get the transportaisjon naw, we shud do it tonaight. Else we shud do it tommorrow naight."
-
Guest
It is Hart! Inwardly she beamed, but tried to cloak it under a look of curiosity as she leaned in somewhat closer to Remmel, his lowered voice inspiring a proximaty that was perhaps more intimate than their previous posture. One of her delicate hands sought out her small metal cup and she took a single burning sip of the beverage before her bright hazel eyes looked at Remmel with more interest at the mention of the next man. "Simalde?" The achadhiel questioned. The name barely registered as one that Niccolo had mentioned, or atleast, that was the only association she could attest to.
"If Simalde is the King, and Hart is his right hand man, what would it do to Simalde if something happened to him?" It was, perhaps, a strange question to ask. "For.. we've already lost one king and here is Hart stroling about like he owns the world - but he's so vulnerable in a place like this, non?" Her words were barely whispers spoken over the whiskey before she took a deeper sip and began to wonder what, if anything, she valued about herself, for she was about to become quite involved with his affairs. "Are we not all vulnerable in our soft pliable forms or am I the only one here who is in danger?" There was a distance growing between she and Remmel as she tossed out philosophical banter and sat back in her seat thus creating physical distance as well. She glanced over to Hart who seemed the perfect and nearly easiest target. It was no wonder that Nico planned to take him out this evening.
"I come to watch, signore." Emiliana said with confidence as she finished her whiskey and set the cup down with an empty clatter. "I'm an observer of the human carnivore," she said slyly and she had the moronic beauty of youth hanging about her pretty little face. "Might you do me the favour of procuring another whiskey?" She asked boldly, not ashamed of depending on him to do that for her. "Why do you come here?"
Emi allowed for him to answer before in turn shifting her position in her seat with her lithe little hand reaching to her stomach. "Perhaps.. you were right about mixing my beverages." She said queasily as she rose with purpose. "How about you order that whiskey while I grab a gulp of fresh air, non?" The achadhiel gave a good show of swallowing back the contents of her stomach before turning away, and then back. "And maybe.. if you're really that interested in keeping me safe, you might come for me if I'm not back in less thank ten burns? Just to make sure? I'd just rather you.. didn't.. come.. right...now." And with that she turned to make a quick exit from Remmel's company to empty her gut in the gutter. Or, atleast, that's what he'd think. I hope, I hope... She'd left her fan behind, that and the empty cup being the only reminder that she'd been there at all, though an indication that she'd be returning shortly.
"If Simalde is the King, and Hart is his right hand man, what would it do to Simalde if something happened to him?" It was, perhaps, a strange question to ask. "For.. we've already lost one king and here is Hart stroling about like he owns the world - but he's so vulnerable in a place like this, non?" Her words were barely whispers spoken over the whiskey before she took a deeper sip and began to wonder what, if anything, she valued about herself, for she was about to become quite involved with his affairs. "Are we not all vulnerable in our soft pliable forms or am I the only one here who is in danger?" There was a distance growing between she and Remmel as she tossed out philosophical banter and sat back in her seat thus creating physical distance as well. She glanced over to Hart who seemed the perfect and nearly easiest target. It was no wonder that Nico planned to take him out this evening.
"I come to watch, signore." Emiliana said with confidence as she finished her whiskey and set the cup down with an empty clatter. "I'm an observer of the human carnivore," she said slyly and she had the moronic beauty of youth hanging about her pretty little face. "Might you do me the favour of procuring another whiskey?" She asked boldly, not ashamed of depending on him to do that for her. "Why do you come here?"
Emi allowed for him to answer before in turn shifting her position in her seat with her lithe little hand reaching to her stomach. "Perhaps.. you were right about mixing my beverages." She said queasily as she rose with purpose. "How about you order that whiskey while I grab a gulp of fresh air, non?" The achadhiel gave a good show of swallowing back the contents of her stomach before turning away, and then back. "And maybe.. if you're really that interested in keeping me safe, you might come for me if I'm not back in less thank ten burns? Just to make sure? I'd just rather you.. didn't.. come.. right...now." And with that she turned to make a quick exit from Remmel's company to empty her gut in the gutter. Or, atleast, that's what he'd think. I hope, I hope... She'd left her fan behind, that and the empty cup being the only reminder that she'd been there at all, though an indication that she'd be returning shortly.
Last edited by Guest on Sun Jun 24, 2007 1:49 am, edited 2 times in total.
Not half a burn later, the young woman returned, thrown back into the tap room before an emerging form of darkness. If one were given to notice such details, they might notice that the young lady's sheath was now empty...though her sheath might be perhaps the least of concerns to be noticed.
Pacing into the Punt Den from the back room, Niccolo Amadicci Alvero peeked out and scanned the interior, his eyes stabbing out from between his large, dark, floppy hat and his dark, tightly-bound face shroud. Leaving Emiliana where she lay, the Merchant Lord caught sight of Hart and smiled with hidden glee beneath his mask. I hope you got the package I sent you, cacone. And I hope you enjoyed it.
Nico took his time to inspect the other inhabitants in the 'Den tonight. Any one of them could be a runner or spy for rival gangs, criminal groups, or Merchant families, so they would be watched...and held...for a time. The young Merchant Lord would have to deal with them later, once his business with Hart was complete.
"Spread out. You four watch the stairs. And as for you," Nico pointed across the room towards Hart's men "Drop your blades and go sit over there. Nice and easy, Signors. There's no need for anyone to get hurt tonight..." Nico's eyes wandered back to Hart "...not everyone, anyway."
Pacing into the Punt Den from the back room, Niccolo Amadicci Alvero peeked out and scanned the interior, his eyes stabbing out from between his large, dark, floppy hat and his dark, tightly-bound face shroud. Leaving Emiliana where she lay, the Merchant Lord caught sight of Hart and smiled with hidden glee beneath his mask. I hope you got the package I sent you, cacone. And I hope you enjoyed it.
Nico took his time to inspect the other inhabitants in the 'Den tonight. Any one of them could be a runner or spy for rival gangs, criminal groups, or Merchant families, so they would be watched...and held...for a time. The young Merchant Lord would have to deal with them later, once his business with Hart was complete.
"Spread out. You four watch the stairs. And as for you," Nico pointed across the room towards Hart's men "Drop your blades and go sit over there. Nice and easy, Signors. There's no need for anyone to get hurt tonight..." Nico's eyes wandered back to Hart "...not everyone, anyway."
<i>Non me fare domande, e non ti dico menzogne.</i>
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
(OOC: This thread is now Impassable.
Note that as the building is surrounded you may NOT assume safe exit from this scene.)
"Oh, yes, we are all vulnerable," Remmel agreed, taking another swig of his watery ale. He seemed rather paternalistically amused at what seemed to be Emiliana's concern for Hart's wellbeing. "But vulnerability is relative... some are in more danger than others. It's always a matter of degree, signorina. For now, I would suggest that you concentrate on your own safety. Signore Hart can look out for himself."
He hailed a waitress. "Diana! Another whiskey." The scarfaced young man leant forward across the table, almost invading Emiliana's personal space. "Me, I'm a watcher too," he replied with a smile. "Although I play my hand from time to time. Some call me a vulture, a scavenger, but... what's wrong with being an opportunist?"
Remmel did not remark on her departure, simply making himself more comfortable in his alcove as he awaited her return. And not long after, she did return... not exactly in the manner he'd expected.
A hush fell over the Den at the entrance of Nico and his Union thugs, the Director's gaze revealing the presence of the place's usual clientele. Predominantly young to middle-aged, male, petty hoodlums and gamblers. Aside from the waitresses, there were a few scantily clad females about, some in the laps of some of the men as they sat at the long tables that stretched from the front entrance to the back room door by which Nico had entered.
For a few flickers all eyes were on the young Director. Hart was first to rise, his hand settling on the hilt of his sabre. He was swiftly followed by the compact, leather-clad man at his side, then the massive muscled goon. Finally another six men stood: the two that had been with Hart as he entered, and the four that they had moved to join upon entering.
"Fuck you, Alvero," the mob boss said without preamble, his dark, bloodshot eyes locking onto Nico's. His gaze didn't shift as he uttered the order to his men. "Take them."
The leather-clad man, Puck, was first to react, a knife appearing seemingly from nowhere and leaping out of his hand to arc across the taproom. But even before Hart's sabre was out of his scabbard... before the knife scythed into Louis's upper thigh... before Louis groaned and stumbled forwards, the other Union guards bolting past him in their haste to close with the mobsters... before the waitress, Diana, screamed like a klaxon, and patrons leapt from their seats...
...the chaos had already begun.
Note that as the building is surrounded you may NOT assume safe exit from this scene.)
"Oh, yes, we are all vulnerable," Remmel agreed, taking another swig of his watery ale. He seemed rather paternalistically amused at what seemed to be Emiliana's concern for Hart's wellbeing. "But vulnerability is relative... some are in more danger than others. It's always a matter of degree, signorina. For now, I would suggest that you concentrate on your own safety. Signore Hart can look out for himself."
He hailed a waitress. "Diana! Another whiskey." The scarfaced young man leant forward across the table, almost invading Emiliana's personal space. "Me, I'm a watcher too," he replied with a smile. "Although I play my hand from time to time. Some call me a vulture, a scavenger, but... what's wrong with being an opportunist?"
Remmel did not remark on her departure, simply making himself more comfortable in his alcove as he awaited her return. And not long after, she did return... not exactly in the manner he'd expected.
A hush fell over the Den at the entrance of Nico and his Union thugs, the Director's gaze revealing the presence of the place's usual clientele. Predominantly young to middle-aged, male, petty hoodlums and gamblers. Aside from the waitresses, there were a few scantily clad females about, some in the laps of some of the men as they sat at the long tables that stretched from the front entrance to the back room door by which Nico had entered.
For a few flickers all eyes were on the young Director. Hart was first to rise, his hand settling on the hilt of his sabre. He was swiftly followed by the compact, leather-clad man at his side, then the massive muscled goon. Finally another six men stood: the two that had been with Hart as he entered, and the four that they had moved to join upon entering.
"Fuck you, Alvero," the mob boss said without preamble, his dark, bloodshot eyes locking onto Nico's. His gaze didn't shift as he uttered the order to his men. "Take them."
The leather-clad man, Puck, was first to react, a knife appearing seemingly from nowhere and leaping out of his hand to arc across the taproom. But even before Hart's sabre was out of his scabbard... before the knife scythed into Louis's upper thigh... before Louis groaned and stumbled forwards, the other Union guards bolting past him in their haste to close with the mobsters... before the waitress, Diana, screamed like a klaxon, and patrons leapt from their seats...
...the chaos had already begun.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Mezatino felt very odd, like he had come to the right place at the right time, but that things were going to be tricky, as if he might not make the right choice. He noticed it all, he noticed them all. The orc seemed to have a look in his eye to Mezatino, not as if he had come to the Den looking for fresh blood, but as if knowing he was going to spill fresh blood. And then there was the lady he'd met in the Flying Dortman. Her shifty gaze, continually drifted to Hart, as if she knew something that the regular patrons didn't.
Maybe it was...whatever it was. Maybe it was nothing at all. But he didn't feel right at all. Either way he tried to ignore it, but was still prepared none the less. He looked across the table at his companion. "tomarrow."
He watched Emiliana intently, every muscle in his body tensing; things were wrong. He took a sip of ale ever so lightly, and set it down. Never letting go of its glass handle though. Then he watched as she was tossed back into the room by a group of Labors and Teamsters. He knew them to be so, as their Director, the infamous Nicolo Alvero came in from the back door and voiced his ideas to Heironymous Hart. Mezatino new that Nicolo was quite the up and coming man. He'd taken down the nobles, and the Council, why not the crime bosses? He could offer Mezatino much in the line of power in the Mouth. While Hart was well known and feared, he had so many lackeys and thugs at his command it was very unlikely that Mezatino would gain much of any power unless he spent decades on it. And Mezatino didn't feel like working that long, when he could probably do it in a much shorter time. If anything went down he was sure to take Nicolo's side, unless the opening attack just crippled the ULT entirely; because in such confined quarters, you had no choice but to take sides or be a civil casualty.
With Hart and his subordinates to his back, Mezatino didn't see them retaliate as much as he did hear and feel them reply in a most violent manner. As such he did to.
Mezatino quickly stood in a twisting crouch-around fashion doing two things simultaneously in the process. Firstly he slung his tankard from his hand at Hart; also drawing his knife with the other hand and stabbing at Puck's torso as he twisted around to face them.
Maybe it was...whatever it was. Maybe it was nothing at all. But he didn't feel right at all. Either way he tried to ignore it, but was still prepared none the less. He looked across the table at his companion. "tomarrow."
He watched Emiliana intently, every muscle in his body tensing; things were wrong. He took a sip of ale ever so lightly, and set it down. Never letting go of its glass handle though. Then he watched as she was tossed back into the room by a group of Labors and Teamsters. He knew them to be so, as their Director, the infamous Nicolo Alvero came in from the back door and voiced his ideas to Heironymous Hart. Mezatino new that Nicolo was quite the up and coming man. He'd taken down the nobles, and the Council, why not the crime bosses? He could offer Mezatino much in the line of power in the Mouth. While Hart was well known and feared, he had so many lackeys and thugs at his command it was very unlikely that Mezatino would gain much of any power unless he spent decades on it. And Mezatino didn't feel like working that long, when he could probably do it in a much shorter time. If anything went down he was sure to take Nicolo's side, unless the opening attack just crippled the ULT entirely; because in such confined quarters, you had no choice but to take sides or be a civil casualty.
With Hart and his subordinates to his back, Mezatino didn't see them retaliate as much as he did hear and feel them reply in a most violent manner. As such he did to.
Mezatino quickly stood in a twisting crouch-around fashion doing two things simultaneously in the process. Firstly he slung his tankard from his hand at Hart; also drawing his knife with the other hand and stabbing at Puck's torso as he twisted around to face them.
Last edited by Mezatino on Tue Jun 26, 2007 6:31 am, edited 1 time in total.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
-
Hastarl Ras'diath
- Simaldi hand
- Posts: 100
- Joined: Thu Sep 07, 2006 8:07 pm
- Location: Rogue d'Ancourt
To judge from the quiet evening it had started with, this was not at all expected. Everyone including Hastarl had their eyes focused on either Niccolo or Hart, from the moment Niccolo entered the room. The Den turned all quiet. What's going on here? he thought as the two great men of the Mouth stood up against on another. With a firmer grip of his dagger he watched them exchanging courtesies. Suddenly everything that had happened that seemed unimportant.
The planned transporting business were forgotten as the future temporary partner of Hastarl turned around and in the same movement threw his tankard as Hart and stabbed at Puck. This really surprised and disappointed him. He would never have thought that the allegiance the young man were with the ULT and Niccolo Alvero. My dear friend, Hastarl thought as he slightly shook his head. You have made the wrong choice.
As the two sides ran to clash, he became conscious of his position. The tankard the young man had thrown had given him an idea and he also threw it at the ULT-members. Perhaps this might advance my position. A quick look at the table and it could be used too. He overthrew it and , to make more space and stabbed at the young man who definitely had chosen the wrong allegiance.
The planned transporting business were forgotten as the future temporary partner of Hastarl turned around and in the same movement threw his tankard as Hart and stabbed at Puck. This really surprised and disappointed him. He would never have thought that the allegiance the young man were with the ULT and Niccolo Alvero. My dear friend, Hastarl thought as he slightly shook his head. You have made the wrong choice.
As the two sides ran to clash, he became conscious of his position. The tankard the young man had thrown had given him an idea and he also threw it at the ULT-members. Perhaps this might advance my position. A quick look at the table and it could be used too. He overthrew it and , to make more space and stabbed at the young man who definitely had chosen the wrong allegiance.
What was that? Subconsciously ran through his mind. A clash. A large disruption of the space behind him. Someone with a blade in hand. Mezatino didn't have any special powers of sight, but the most purest of instincts - that of kill or be killed - had completely taken over and hightened every sense in his body. Quickly in mid strike after the tankard had left his hand he attempted to swing his right leg out around and behind him in a classic disarming kick at whoever was behind him, all the while going through with the assault on Puck.[/i]
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
-
Guest
It was her knees that hit the floor first followed soon after by her palms, outstretched, and immediately clawing at the ground beneath them, pulling her across the floor while she attempted to grab some traction. Her destination was away from where she was right that flicker, and just barely she heard Nico's voice behind her, shouting at Hart, his voice full of demands, but not rude. He was civil about it, he didn't even suggest that he'd be killing all of them. She thought it sounded quite polite.
Polite or not, Emiliana still crawled, her hair a complete mess, to the back of the establisment where she'd been sitting with Remmel. After all, she'd left her fan behind. What would she do without it? How would she look coy and flustered after all the events unfolded?
And that was when things stopped going according to the plan. Hart had decided to fight back.
She knew there was the chance of mayhem. She'd warned him. She'd tried. Niccolo said it'd be quiet enough. He said they had no reason to fight with so many many against them. Nico had lied. He's conned me again the leccacazzi! Emiliana wanted to curse him as she heard Hart tell his men to do what they'd been hired for. Her stomach clenched and as Emi pushed herself off the floor, one dainty manicured hand grasping onto a table top, she realized she was now weaponless. "Dominicus praise. Help," she whispered the prayer, merely an expression really, as she expected no true assistance from divinity, especially considering she'd gotten herself into the situation.
Her bright hazel eyes locked onto those of Remmel. "You were right," she said apologetically, though already she was searching around for something she could defend herself with if need be. Fire stoker? It had become a weapon of choice for the too often weaponless achadhiel. Already the fighting had started, and if no weapon proved itself within grasp she was fully willing to hide behind Remmel. He had said he wanted to protect her after all.
Polite or not, Emiliana still crawled, her hair a complete mess, to the back of the establisment where she'd been sitting with Remmel. After all, she'd left her fan behind. What would she do without it? How would she look coy and flustered after all the events unfolded?
And that was when things stopped going according to the plan. Hart had decided to fight back.
She knew there was the chance of mayhem. She'd warned him. She'd tried. Niccolo said it'd be quiet enough. He said they had no reason to fight with so many many against them. Nico had lied. He's conned me again the leccacazzi! Emiliana wanted to curse him as she heard Hart tell his men to do what they'd been hired for. Her stomach clenched and as Emi pushed herself off the floor, one dainty manicured hand grasping onto a table top, she realized she was now weaponless. "Dominicus praise. Help," she whispered the prayer, merely an expression really, as she expected no true assistance from divinity, especially considering she'd gotten herself into the situation.
Her bright hazel eyes locked onto those of Remmel. "You were right," she said apologetically, though already she was searching around for something she could defend herself with if need be. Fire stoker? It had become a weapon of choice for the too often weaponless achadhiel. Already the fighting had started, and if no weapon proved itself within grasp she was fully willing to hide behind Remmel. He had said he wanted to protect her after all.
-
Darug Sorghat
- Civus
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Tue Jan 17, 2006 10:13 pm
Things were moving fast now. The party had begun. Darug had taken a seat right at the entrance of the tavern, which now placed him behind Hart and his gang. The orc saw six men with Hart and one goon who was slightly larger than the other men. Still, just a small human of course.
Darug would take him down first. Then focus on Hart. Nico and his men would take care of the others. The men were facing Nico, so the orc had the advantage of surpise. He would however have to figure out how to make use of that. A moving orc wasn't very stealthy. Still sitting down he grabbed the hilt of his axe in his right hand, while taking his morningstar in his left hand.
Time to party.. Quickly he stood up and with all the strength he could muster, he threw the axe towards the large goon standing next to Hart. Without thinking another flicker, he started running towards the large goon and Hart, roaring loud as he flipped the morningstar from his left to his right hand and made himself ready to take a swing.
The goon would be pretty busy for the next couple of flickers, no matter if the axe killed him or just wounded him. It would give the orc time enough to focus his attention on Hart and slam the morningstar into his skull. The Axe, the morningstar and the roar would probably create enough chaos and the gang was being attacked on both sides. Darug couldn't wait to taste the fresh meat...
Darug would take him down first. Then focus on Hart. Nico and his men would take care of the others. The men were facing Nico, so the orc had the advantage of surpise. He would however have to figure out how to make use of that. A moving orc wasn't very stealthy. Still sitting down he grabbed the hilt of his axe in his right hand, while taking his morningstar in his left hand.
Time to party.. Quickly he stood up and with all the strength he could muster, he threw the axe towards the large goon standing next to Hart. Without thinking another flicker, he started running towards the large goon and Hart, roaring loud as he flipped the morningstar from his left to his right hand and made himself ready to take a swing.
The goon would be pretty busy for the next couple of flickers, no matter if the axe killed him or just wounded him. It would give the orc time enough to focus his attention on Hart and slam the morningstar into his skull. The Axe, the morningstar and the roar would probably create enough chaos and the gang was being attacked on both sides. Darug couldn't wait to taste the fresh meat...
Last edited by Darug Sorghat on Fri Jun 29, 2007 11:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
avatar by [url=http://www.allavatars.com/avatars/showgallery.php?cat=500&ppuser=77]merry[/url] from allavatars.com
When Mezatino threw his tankard, Hart was already in motion, sliding forward so that the mug only glanced off his broad, bony shoulder. The mob boss didn't halt for even a flicker, instead focusing his attention on the ULT thug who was striding purposefully towards him. The man held a long mace and his face was set into a determined grimace as he hefted it high. Hart merely stepped into the blow, flicking his sabre forward almost effortlessly and tracing a neat gash across the man's belly. The guard's expression immediately shifted from determination to horror, and he dropped the mace and fell to his knees, clutching at his escaping innards.
Puck was halfway towards drawing another throwing knife when Mezatino's blade entered his side, its progress slowed slightly by the hard leather armour he wore. He twisted around, a rictus of pain and fury on his pock-marked face and a long dagger appearing in his hand. This he plunged into Mezatino's shoulder with astonishing speed, howling, at about the same time as another blade gashed the young man's leg.
Hastarl's tankard had been equally unsuccessful, hurtling towards the closing ULT men, who evaded it easily. It did serve, however, to mark the adhiel out as an enemy. The plan of overturning the table also had to be abandoned. The Punt Den's trestle tables were long, heavy wooden affairs, too weighty for a single man to lift, much less an adhiel. Hastarl's strike was moderately successful, though, slicing low to cut at Mezatino's leg just above the knee. Immediately Mezatino lashed out with his foot, catching the adhiel in the chest and pushing him backwards into the table. Two burly Union men were advancing on Hastarl fast, weapons drawn.
A two-foot axe didn't make the best projectile, even if it was thrown really hard - as Darug found. Not balanced for throwing, the axe spun around its centre of gravity, its haft catching the massive goon in the small of the back. Grunting, the man turned and noticed Darug.
[hr][/hr]
Manuel Stark had always been the biggest kid in his street. By the age of fourteen he was able to give his tiny papa piggy-back rides, even if the same couldn't be said of his bloated, mountainous mother. He'd invariably been the one boy that no one wanted to mess with, his lack of wit and speed compensated for by sheer bulk. With no particular ambitions, he'd found himself thrown in with the Southbridge gangs, where his size provided him with even more of an advantage. Many a time the doorway-shaped man's mere presence had been enough to resolve situations without violence, and his blocklike fists had gone unused.
Standing nearly a head taller than even Hart himself, he'd never met anyone in his life who was as tall, or as broad, or as muscular as he was, so he'd missed out on being on the receiving end of that particular brand of intimidation that came with knowing that the other guy was just bigger. Now, as his dull eyes fell on Darug, Stark felt that fear for the first time. And he just stood there, his jaw hanging loosely and his testicles trying to rise up and retreat back into his body.
[hr][/hr]
No such terror overcame Hart. As soon as he heard the roar, the scarfaced man swung around to face its source, ducking low so that the morningstar whistled over his head by a fingerwidth. One of his goons moved into position to guard his back from the ULT men. Now Hart drove his sabre forward, hoping to plunge it right through Darug's green midriff.
Elsewhere the fight was not going well for Simalde's men. Aside from Louis and the man that Hart had killed, two more Union guards were down, one felled by a slingshot and another with a knife between his ribs. Against this, two of Hart's goons lay bloodied and broken on the floor of the Den, and another was backing away, dropping his weapons and begging for quarter. The others, heavily outnumbered, were on the defensive. Beside Niccolo, the guard with the arcballista was straining his eyes to pick out a target amidst the chaos.
[hr][/hr]
No one moved to intercept Emiliana as she made her way to Remmel's alcove. Most of the Den's denizens were either involved in the brawl or standing to the sides, arms raised, as far from the violence as they could get. The scarred young man was one of the few who remained seated, watching the proceedings with interest if not calmly. As Emi neared his table, he laid firm hands around her slim waist and lifted her into the seat next to him, placing himself between her and the conflict. "You picked a bad night," he replied tersely. "Just stay here and keep still. No one will hurt you now, as long as you don't get involved."
Fire stokers were sadly absent from Emiliana's vicinity, as was anything else that could have served as a makeshift weapon. Remmel himself wore a long knife, scabbarded and strapped to the inside of his coat, which became visible as he leant back to her and whispered. "So which side do you support?" In his voice was a hint of something that could almost be construed as playful.
[hr][/hr]
At the first sign of trouble, Toni Hidalgo had dived down behind the bar, coming to rest amid foul-smelling straw and barrels of watery ale. It wasn't the first time he'd had to hit the floor in his own establishment... but what was really shaking him up was the thought that it might be the last. This is the big one. Hart was in trouble - serious trouble. And that meant that Toni Hidalgo was in trouble as well.
For four yahren he'd followed Hieronymous Hart's instructions to the letter. There was a long list in his mind of those who weren't welcome at the Den: Dante's men, Black Heart's adhiel, the Puros, the law. Hart had been top dog, and owner of the Punt Den in all but name. With Hart gone, Hidalgo knew that his own days would be numbered. He'd licked Hart's boot for too long to be shown any mercy by his opponents. When Hart's reign as King of Southbridge was over, so too would be Hidalgo's tenure as proprietor of the Punt Den. His fate was inextricably linked to that of the mobster.
His fingers closed around the stock of something he'd hoped never to have to use. A crossbow, once a present from Hart himself. Toni had kept it under the bar for a long time, mainly to scare off drunken and rowdy patrons. Now he scrabbled for a bolt, slamming it into place with unsteady fingers.
Peeking out over the bar, he saw that it was not looking good. Barring a miracle turnabout, Hart's career, and possibly his life, would be over within the next few burns. Barring a miracle turnabout.
Take out the head, and the limbs will cease to function, he told himself, standing and readying the crossbow. Dominicus guide my hand. Hidalgo levelled the weapon at the tall form of Niccolo Alvero.
Puck was halfway towards drawing another throwing knife when Mezatino's blade entered his side, its progress slowed slightly by the hard leather armour he wore. He twisted around, a rictus of pain and fury on his pock-marked face and a long dagger appearing in his hand. This he plunged into Mezatino's shoulder with astonishing speed, howling, at about the same time as another blade gashed the young man's leg.
Hastarl's tankard had been equally unsuccessful, hurtling towards the closing ULT men, who evaded it easily. It did serve, however, to mark the adhiel out as an enemy. The plan of overturning the table also had to be abandoned. The Punt Den's trestle tables were long, heavy wooden affairs, too weighty for a single man to lift, much less an adhiel. Hastarl's strike was moderately successful, though, slicing low to cut at Mezatino's leg just above the knee. Immediately Mezatino lashed out with his foot, catching the adhiel in the chest and pushing him backwards into the table. Two burly Union men were advancing on Hastarl fast, weapons drawn.
A two-foot axe didn't make the best projectile, even if it was thrown really hard - as Darug found. Not balanced for throwing, the axe spun around its centre of gravity, its haft catching the massive goon in the small of the back. Grunting, the man turned and noticed Darug.
[hr][/hr]
Manuel Stark had always been the biggest kid in his street. By the age of fourteen he was able to give his tiny papa piggy-back rides, even if the same couldn't be said of his bloated, mountainous mother. He'd invariably been the one boy that no one wanted to mess with, his lack of wit and speed compensated for by sheer bulk. With no particular ambitions, he'd found himself thrown in with the Southbridge gangs, where his size provided him with even more of an advantage. Many a time the doorway-shaped man's mere presence had been enough to resolve situations without violence, and his blocklike fists had gone unused.
Standing nearly a head taller than even Hart himself, he'd never met anyone in his life who was as tall, or as broad, or as muscular as he was, so he'd missed out on being on the receiving end of that particular brand of intimidation that came with knowing that the other guy was just bigger. Now, as his dull eyes fell on Darug, Stark felt that fear for the first time. And he just stood there, his jaw hanging loosely and his testicles trying to rise up and retreat back into his body.
[hr][/hr]
No such terror overcame Hart. As soon as he heard the roar, the scarfaced man swung around to face its source, ducking low so that the morningstar whistled over his head by a fingerwidth. One of his goons moved into position to guard his back from the ULT men. Now Hart drove his sabre forward, hoping to plunge it right through Darug's green midriff.
Elsewhere the fight was not going well for Simalde's men. Aside from Louis and the man that Hart had killed, two more Union guards were down, one felled by a slingshot and another with a knife between his ribs. Against this, two of Hart's goons lay bloodied and broken on the floor of the Den, and another was backing away, dropping his weapons and begging for quarter. The others, heavily outnumbered, were on the defensive. Beside Niccolo, the guard with the arcballista was straining his eyes to pick out a target amidst the chaos.
[hr][/hr]
No one moved to intercept Emiliana as she made her way to Remmel's alcove. Most of the Den's denizens were either involved in the brawl or standing to the sides, arms raised, as far from the violence as they could get. The scarred young man was one of the few who remained seated, watching the proceedings with interest if not calmly. As Emi neared his table, he laid firm hands around her slim waist and lifted her into the seat next to him, placing himself between her and the conflict. "You picked a bad night," he replied tersely. "Just stay here and keep still. No one will hurt you now, as long as you don't get involved."
Fire stokers were sadly absent from Emiliana's vicinity, as was anything else that could have served as a makeshift weapon. Remmel himself wore a long knife, scabbarded and strapped to the inside of his coat, which became visible as he leant back to her and whispered. "So which side do you support?" In his voice was a hint of something that could almost be construed as playful.
[hr][/hr]
At the first sign of trouble, Toni Hidalgo had dived down behind the bar, coming to rest amid foul-smelling straw and barrels of watery ale. It wasn't the first time he'd had to hit the floor in his own establishment... but what was really shaking him up was the thought that it might be the last. This is the big one. Hart was in trouble - serious trouble. And that meant that Toni Hidalgo was in trouble as well.
For four yahren he'd followed Hieronymous Hart's instructions to the letter. There was a long list in his mind of those who weren't welcome at the Den: Dante's men, Black Heart's adhiel, the Puros, the law. Hart had been top dog, and owner of the Punt Den in all but name. With Hart gone, Hidalgo knew that his own days would be numbered. He'd licked Hart's boot for too long to be shown any mercy by his opponents. When Hart's reign as King of Southbridge was over, so too would be Hidalgo's tenure as proprietor of the Punt Den. His fate was inextricably linked to that of the mobster.
His fingers closed around the stock of something he'd hoped never to have to use. A crossbow, once a present from Hart himself. Toni had kept it under the bar for a long time, mainly to scare off drunken and rowdy patrons. Now he scrabbled for a bolt, slamming it into place with unsteady fingers.
Peeking out over the bar, he saw that it was not looking good. Barring a miracle turnabout, Hart's career, and possibly his life, would be over within the next few burns. Barring a miracle turnabout.
Take out the head, and the limbs will cease to function, he told himself, standing and readying the crossbow. Dominicus guide my hand. Hidalgo levelled the weapon at the tall form of Niccolo Alvero.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Mezatino was in full action; with so much adrenaline pumping his veins he didn't even notice that his tankard had only glanced his mark, he barely felt the gash to his leg, but Dominicus be damned if the blade in his shoulder didn't hurt like the fucking Nether! He knew he had repeled his co-conspiritor, but not once did he look back. No, Puck was way to near, for any of Mezatino's attention to be spared unless imminent death was well...imminent. Dropping down low in a full squatting crouch, he wrenched the dagger from his shoulder, "Fuuucccckkkkkk!" He thought he had screamed it, but with the pain all he managed was a morbid mutter through clenched teeth. But he wasted no time. Once the blade was firmly in his hands, he athletic legs shot him up with all the power they could as he drove the blade towards where Puck's jaw and throat connected. Hopefully, Mezatino would shower in crimson tonight.
Last edited by Mezatino on Sat Jun 30, 2007 12:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
"Oh, for Fuck's Sake!" spat Niccolo, though is words were lost in the drum of the sudden fighting. All of this planning...all of my history...and the idiot actually believes he has a chance? Nico scanned the crowd and watched Emiliana slink over to join with Hart's poltroons. Good girl! He also witnessed Darug swinging into action, the Force of Nature no doubt adequate to at the very least delay Hart and his better men while the Union men wore down the rest of the opposition. Even better, one of the locals might actually be helping...an operator?...which wasn't at all expected. Thinks fast. At least HE figured it out!
Even though it went well, Niccolo couldn't help but feel angry. Scanning the fighting for any potential threat (to his guards, but also to himself!), he couldn't help but imagine just what Hart could be thinking. He knows I don't take risks. He knows I wouldn't be here if I hadn't already brought enough toughs to finish the job. What the fuck could he be THINKING? Maybe I could...
Catching sight of an arcballistae...from the bartender, of all people...Nico panicked and grabbed for a chair to use as a shield, as if he might out draw the bartender with his hunk of old wood. A chair wouldn't be enough to stop a proper, strong crossbow...but at the very least, it might make the difference between survival or death. All the Director needed to do was make sure the man didn't have the time to choose his shot more carefully...and to do this, Nico needed to charge. He gave no thought to his own crossbowman just nearby. There simply wasn't the time to orchestrate a better response.
Thump thump thump! thundering across the floor of the suddenly lively tavern, Nico raced towards the crossbow man, his chair held forward such that the seat might protect some of him and it's legs splayed forward in a strange, comedic form of a joust. He was ready for the coming bolt and prepared to leap the bar to take the man down, but in the back of his mind Nico couldn't help but mourn the loss of all those coins he had paid the bartender in months past for his discretion.
Even though it went well, Niccolo couldn't help but feel angry. Scanning the fighting for any potential threat (to his guards, but also to himself!), he couldn't help but imagine just what Hart could be thinking. He knows I don't take risks. He knows I wouldn't be here if I hadn't already brought enough toughs to finish the job. What the fuck could he be THINKING? Maybe I could...
Catching sight of an arcballistae...from the bartender, of all people...Nico panicked and grabbed for a chair to use as a shield, as if he might out draw the bartender with his hunk of old wood. A chair wouldn't be enough to stop a proper, strong crossbow...but at the very least, it might make the difference between survival or death. All the Director needed to do was make sure the man didn't have the time to choose his shot more carefully...and to do this, Nico needed to charge. He gave no thought to his own crossbowman just nearby. There simply wasn't the time to orchestrate a better response.
Thump thump thump! thundering across the floor of the suddenly lively tavern, Nico raced towards the crossbow man, his chair held forward such that the seat might protect some of him and it's legs splayed forward in a strange, comedic form of a joust. He was ready for the coming bolt and prepared to leap the bar to take the man down, but in the back of his mind Nico couldn't help but mourn the loss of all those coins he had paid the bartender in months past for his discretion.
<i>Non me fare domande, e non ti dico menzogne.</i>
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
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Guest
A strange sensation came over Emiliana as she felt Remmel's strong grasp take hold of her by her waist. She took in a deep breath, and though around them there was chaos she felt more safe and protected than she had in half a year. The only time she'd felt something similar was in the barn with Nico, a night that had not turned out as she foresaw for many reasons; the night he'd broken his fist on a heavy beam in that very barn. Her body was stiff under those hands, tightened by a tight bodice, but maleable as she lended herself well to being moved.
Her hands sought out the countertop - something still. The breath released and she couldn't quite fathom his complete control. Merde. It would've been said aloud if Remmel hadn't been speaking some sort of reprimand inwhich he reminded her that she did belong here. "A bad night..." she echoed his words, and as she did, she scanned the crowd for Niccolo with what might appear the shocked curiosty of a Highton girl catching a spectacle. Emi hoped it didn't look as desperate as she felt.
A barman rose from behind his station with a weapon directed at the very man she was searching for. Nico! She wanted to scream to him, but he was already in action. Her body pushed from her seat of it's own accord to get a better view and every muscle in her tensed simultaneously forcing adrenaline through her with no output for a release. She wanted her weapon... she wanted any weapon, and looking over at Remmel she found one. Her palms itched, but Emiliana let the notion pass, though visions of her slicing the barkeep to bits did litter her mind as she sought out Remmel's arm, her fingers wrapping around his forearm in fear, anxiety and pure desperation as she willed Nico to block the shot. "Signore," she said breathlessly, "I believe the side we ought to take is obvious." Her eyes never left the scene as Darug threw weapons into the mass of people. If Remmel wasn't concerned she'd be concerned for both of them. "It seems this Hart is incredibly outnumbered, and he," she nodded to the masked Nico, "Has come prepared." The playfulness in his voice caughter her attention.
Are you trying to distract me? It was starting to work, and she glanced away from the violence to look at the scarred man directly. "How can you be so calm?" Emi's voice was low as well, as low as could be warranted in such a scene. She'd still not let go of his arm, though those lithe and fair fingers allowed their vice-grip to relax to merely an insistant grapple.
Her hands sought out the countertop - something still. The breath released and she couldn't quite fathom his complete control. Merde. It would've been said aloud if Remmel hadn't been speaking some sort of reprimand inwhich he reminded her that she did belong here. "A bad night..." she echoed his words, and as she did, she scanned the crowd for Niccolo with what might appear the shocked curiosty of a Highton girl catching a spectacle. Emi hoped it didn't look as desperate as she felt.
A barman rose from behind his station with a weapon directed at the very man she was searching for. Nico! She wanted to scream to him, but he was already in action. Her body pushed from her seat of it's own accord to get a better view and every muscle in her tensed simultaneously forcing adrenaline through her with no output for a release. She wanted her weapon... she wanted any weapon, and looking over at Remmel she found one. Her palms itched, but Emiliana let the notion pass, though visions of her slicing the barkeep to bits did litter her mind as she sought out Remmel's arm, her fingers wrapping around his forearm in fear, anxiety and pure desperation as she willed Nico to block the shot. "Signore," she said breathlessly, "I believe the side we ought to take is obvious." Her eyes never left the scene as Darug threw weapons into the mass of people. If Remmel wasn't concerned she'd be concerned for both of them. "It seems this Hart is incredibly outnumbered, and he," she nodded to the masked Nico, "Has come prepared." The playfulness in his voice caughter her attention.
Are you trying to distract me? It was starting to work, and she glanced away from the violence to look at the scarred man directly. "How can you be so calm?" Emi's voice was low as well, as low as could be warranted in such a scene. She'd still not let go of his arm, though those lithe and fair fingers allowed their vice-grip to relax to merely an insistant grapple.
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Hastarl Ras'diath
- Simaldi hand
- Posts: 100
- Joined: Thu Sep 07, 2006 8:07 pm
- Location: Rogue d'Ancourt
The kick came totally unexpected and Hastarl lost his breath as he expressed the pain his back, when colliding with the table. At least I wounded him. The unsuccessful throw with the tankard was, could he see now, too rash a decision. He hadn't at all considered it and when he looked through the tavern he saw he might be wrong in his total confidence in Hart. This looks bad, not only referring to the general condition i the Den but also to the two men closening in. Merde
A quick look at his dagger and he knew he couldn't beat them in a fair open fight so he looked around to see if there was anything he could use to his advantage. Anything could be used, however, what he was looking for was something that could split the two men from each other or just limiting their space to swing. Especially a nearby stair could be used but two closeplaced tables would be just as fine.
A plan showed up in his mind. Kick balls, slash throat and retreat to position. It was a dirty trick but anything was acceptable when fighting for your life, and he was ready. Ready to duck for the slash, ready to jump for the strike, a step left or right for the blow.
A quick look at his dagger and he knew he couldn't beat them in a fair open fight so he looked around to see if there was anything he could use to his advantage. Anything could be used, however, what he was looking for was something that could split the two men from each other or just limiting their space to swing. Especially a nearby stair could be used but two closeplaced tables would be just as fine.
A plan showed up in his mind. Kick balls, slash throat and retreat to position. It was a dirty trick but anything was acceptable when fighting for your life, and he was ready. Ready to duck for the slash, ready to jump for the strike, a step left or right for the blow.