Iorn walked into the palace this morning and noticed all the palace employees wearing black. Quickly he found out that the Caesar had passed that night. Immediately he felt a burst of energy shoot through his body..this meant possibilities. He had seen it in Kings Court right after the Siege, governments changing, chaos. It was the best time with lots of opportunities. He suppressed a grin. Yes..a great morning indeed.
The adhiel now knew where he could find the department of Trade and who to ask if he could speak to Lord Smithson. He hoped the man could give him some info to Lord Marcada. Iorn had to gain some information on this man. It seemed like he was doing some sort of sneaky business, but wether it was drugs or some kind of illegal trade, Iorn did not know. Both however would be interesting to Smithson, although Iorn wasnt planning on giving up that info that easily.
With appropriate low voice and a natural, not too happy look on his face he went to the waiting room of the department of Trade and asked for Lord Smithson. It was time they had another meeting..
Trade department: Info Hunting (Iorn), Samheen 22nd, late MT
Moderator: Mods
Lord Smithson was indeed in, though he was clearly quite agitated and preoccupied with the sudden changes in the Citadel. He didn't hesitate to send one of his clerks back to Iorn to show him in..."his lordship welcomes you, and begs your pardon to await him here..." offered the servant, gesturing the adhiel to a chair...though the servant never offered the information that the Lord Collector...or Collector General, as his title truly was...was currently in a state of undress, changing into his black garments that he had sent a clerk to retrieve only a mark ago.
After perhaps fifteen flickers, the Lord Collector emerged from his office and greeted Iorn with passing civility. "Welcome, sir! Do I find you well? I must beg your pardon...I don't have a great deal of time today, as we've had some rather ominous developments here lately...but I've a few moments to spare if you'd care to step into my office?" he said, leading Iorn forward and motioning towards a seat.
Taking his own, he continued to dress, though all that remained was a staggering display of cufflings and jewelry on the desk, items that were inappropriate for a man supposedly in mourning. "Now. What can I do for you today, sir?"
After perhaps fifteen flickers, the Lord Collector emerged from his office and greeted Iorn with passing civility. "Welcome, sir! Do I find you well? I must beg your pardon...I don't have a great deal of time today, as we've had some rather ominous developments here lately...but I've a few moments to spare if you'd care to step into my office?" he said, leading Iorn forward and motioning towards a seat.
Taking his own, he continued to dress, though all that remained was a staggering display of cufflings and jewelry on the desk, items that were inappropriate for a man supposedly in mourning. "Now. What can I do for you today, sir?"
-
Iorn Thalas
Iorn greeted the man with a polite bow. "My condolences for the Caesar, sir. It is a great loss to the city." Although the man didn't seem to be in mourning, it was best to be polite in these matters.
"I've been doing some research on the drugdealers but I haven't been too successful yet. I did hear a lot of conversations, but I'm afraid I am too new in this city to be able to filter the right information out of the conversations." He grinned. "I can however recommend pier seventeen for the food. Really great food there. I saw Lord Marcada there too, he's one of the bigger nobles in the city isn't he?"
Iorn knew he didn't have much to go on, but he woud see where this conversation would go. At least it was a shot.
"I've been doing some research on the drugdealers but I haven't been too successful yet. I did hear a lot of conversations, but I'm afraid I am too new in this city to be able to filter the right information out of the conversations." He grinned. "I can however recommend pier seventeen for the food. Really great food there. I saw Lord Marcada there too, he's one of the bigger nobles in the city isn't he?"
Iorn knew he didn't have much to go on, but he woud see where this conversation would go. At least it was a shot.
"Well, the Citadel wouldn't have any big nobles, in as much. After all, there's no fiefdoms here on the island. But Baron Marcada is a popular figure, yes. He's quite influential, one of the Duke's men, though he has a few businesses he keeps on the side. However, he doesn't deal in anything illegal. Or if he does, he doesn't bring it to the Citadel, so I've no knowledge of it. He does eat at the Pier quite often, though. I've joined him there myself on numerous occasions."
The Lord Collector leaned back and tried to relax, though he seemed anything but. He hadn't seemed very settled or confident since Iorn had seen him...undoubtedly a product of the morningtide's furious activity. He did, however, smile briefly at the mention of Marcada, apparently favoring that man with some happy memory or association.
"Now, if you wish to speak to the Baron about drug smuggling...I can already tell you what he'll say. He'd say I have nothing to say regarding the matter, for I know nothing of law enforcement or criminal operations. Oh, sure...that must be a lie. Baron Marcada undoubtedly knows who smugglings in hemp, khat, bhang, and Gods only knows what else onto the island...and he'll most likely know how much, and what it's worth, to boot. But he'd never divulge that information anymore than he'd attempt to trade in the substance himself...at least not here in the Citadel."
The Lord Collector leaned back and tried to relax, though he seemed anything but. He hadn't seemed very settled or confident since Iorn had seen him...undoubtedly a product of the morningtide's furious activity. He did, however, smile briefly at the mention of Marcada, apparently favoring that man with some happy memory or association.
"Now, if you wish to speak to the Baron about drug smuggling...I can already tell you what he'll say. He'd say I have nothing to say regarding the matter, for I know nothing of law enforcement or criminal operations. Oh, sure...that must be a lie. Baron Marcada undoubtedly knows who smugglings in hemp, khat, bhang, and Gods only knows what else onto the island...and he'll most likely know how much, and what it's worth, to boot. But he'd never divulge that information anymore than he'd attempt to trade in the substance himself...at least not here in the Citadel."
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Iorn Thalas
Iorn listened closely to the man, but he soon felt the need to divide his attention. He had to listen and remember what the man was saying, but he also noticed the subtle hint that Lord Smithson wasn't feeling at ease.
The adhiel doubted if the man would truly give him good information. Why would he? Iorn wasn't important. Baron Marcada would be much more important to him. No, this wasn't the place to seek out good information. Such things were sought elsewhere. Perhaps at Pier seventeen...the people working there had to know more..
Still Iorn did feel good about this conversation. Lord Smithson was one of the small wheels in the whole, he was sure of it.
"Ah yes of course." Iorn said with a grin. "I guess I'll have to chase them without the help of lord Marcada then. Thank you for your help."
Extending his hand, the adhiel was ready to leave. "Once again I am sorry for the Caesar and I wish you strength on the coming events of today."
Iorn would keep a keen eye on the Lord Collector as he left the room, but he wasn't planning on leaving the building just yet. Once out of the room, Iorn was going to see if there were people watching and if there was a place he would be able to stand unnoticed while still be able to listen to what would be said in the office. If the Lord Collector was planning something, Iorn wanted to know.
The adhiel doubted if the man would truly give him good information. Why would he? Iorn wasn't important. Baron Marcada would be much more important to him. No, this wasn't the place to seek out good information. Such things were sought elsewhere. Perhaps at Pier seventeen...the people working there had to know more..
Still Iorn did feel good about this conversation. Lord Smithson was one of the small wheels in the whole, he was sure of it.
"Ah yes of course." Iorn said with a grin. "I guess I'll have to chase them without the help of lord Marcada then. Thank you for your help."
Extending his hand, the adhiel was ready to leave. "Once again I am sorry for the Caesar and I wish you strength on the coming events of today."
Iorn would keep a keen eye on the Lord Collector as he left the room, but he wasn't planning on leaving the building just yet. Once out of the room, Iorn was going to see if there were people watching and if there was a place he would be able to stand unnoticed while still be able to listen to what would be said in the office. If the Lord Collector was planning something, Iorn wanted to know.
"Of course, of course, my thanks," responded the Lord Collector instantly, rising and favoring Iorn with a broad smile. "And if you should like that invitation to meet milord Baron Marcada, you have but to ask and I should be pleased to arrange it, of course. And in addition, if you'd care to know more of what smuggling is done in the Citadel...and there's quite a bit, I'm afraid...I might suggest you speak to the Provost Marshal of the City Guard, a Major Ranier at the Goals. I could arrange a letter of introduction for you, if you like, but I beg you to be cautious. Michael Ranier has earned his reputation as something of an...indiscrete man. Take what information you need from him, but offer him nothing you wouldn't want aired in public."
Once clear of the chamber, Iorn found a less obvious place to relax a moment. No one entered the chamber after he left...he heard nothing within for a few burns...until Smithson could be heard to bark an order for a page, which was instantly obeyed in the form of a scrawny, adolescent youth with a poxed, pimpled face and wide, almost reverent eyes. He charged into the chamber, and not two flickers later, charged out, a sealed envelope in his hands as he rushed for the door. Unfortunately, he wore the same black as the rest of the Palace staff, but such was his awkward age that his tunic fit him improperly such that his snowy, white shirt poked out beneath, giving him some distinction such that Iorn might follow him with some ease.
Once clear of the chamber, Iorn found a less obvious place to relax a moment. No one entered the chamber after he left...he heard nothing within for a few burns...until Smithson could be heard to bark an order for a page, which was instantly obeyed in the form of a scrawny, adolescent youth with a poxed, pimpled face and wide, almost reverent eyes. He charged into the chamber, and not two flickers later, charged out, a sealed envelope in his hands as he rushed for the door. Unfortunately, he wore the same black as the rest of the Palace staff, but such was his awkward age that his tunic fit him improperly such that his snowy, white shirt poked out beneath, giving him some distinction such that Iorn might follow him with some ease.
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Iorn Thalas
Before Iorn left the room he bowed. "Thank you for your offer, Lord Smithson. I would appreciate it very much if you could send a letter of introduction to my mansion. And I will keep all the important information to myself when I talk to the Provost Marshal."
A little later, as he had been waiting in front of the chamber he had thought about leaving, the spying around being useless, when finally the man called for a page. He saw the page walk out in quite a quick pace. Iorn immediately started to follow him, trying to form a plan on wether it would be possible for him to obtain the letter and read it or if he would only be able to see whom the recipient would be. He figured his best chance would be inside the palace, somehow screwing up the page his black suit and convincing him that it was best to change clothes and let him deliver the letter. While following the page, his eyes quickly scanned the halls they walked through to see if there was any wine or something else he could use for his plan.
A little later, as he had been waiting in front of the chamber he had thought about leaving, the spying around being useless, when finally the man called for a page. He saw the page walk out in quite a quick pace. Iorn immediately started to follow him, trying to form a plan on wether it would be possible for him to obtain the letter and read it or if he would only be able to see whom the recipient would be. He figured his best chance would be inside the palace, somehow screwing up the page his black suit and convincing him that it was best to change clothes and let him deliver the letter. While following the page, his eyes quickly scanned the halls they walked through to see if there was any wine or something else he could use for his plan.
There was precious little time, and it was ebbing fast. Of wine, Iorn saw none, though such a thing was a gamble even on the best of days, which this one certainly was not. Slipping down the hallway, the page was clearly headed outside the Citadel, which made matters difficult for his interception: there was only one way out of the Citadel at current, but that path was directly ahead down the guard-lined wing of the north corridor. The antechamber was just ahead, and beyond that the gates...and beyond those, the Patrician's Ring and the city, where he could possibly disappear into the crowd.
The hallway was in fact far more populated that it had been moments before, with perhaps half a dozen individuals moving on their business at a respectable pace. On this day, no one seemed interested in leisurely strolls or idle gossip, preferring instead to dart about like the page Iorn followed, each in varying states of mourning, shock, or haughty detachment.
The hallway was in fact far more populated that it had been moments before, with perhaps half a dozen individuals moving on their business at a respectable pace. On this day, no one seemed interested in leisurely strolls or idle gossip, preferring instead to dart about like the page Iorn followed, each in varying states of mourning, shock, or haughty detachment.
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Iorn Thalas
The thought of being able to follow the page all the way to the recipient seemed impossible. If he was going to do something, Iorn had to do it now. Of course the man would be holding the letter quite tight, so quickly grabbing it out of the man's hands was not an option. He had to push the man somehow, bringing him off balance.
There wasn't a big enough crowd to do it unnoticed. Besides, the page would scream. No..he had to do it differently. Everyone was quite busy today, only minding their own business. He had to do it now.
His heart was pounding, beating faster as he planned his bold move. It was a bold move indeed inside the palace. But if he failed, he had to fail in such a way that his plan would not be obvious.
Quickly he hurried himself close to the page and when he was close enough he would look for a dark spot in the hallway, a nice of some sort, a corner, or maybe a toilet with the door open. It had to be dark. When he saw such a spot he tried to get the timing right and would push the page to the spot with a tripping movement. Quickly he would knock the man unconscious in the dark as he muttered "sorry."
His hope was that it would seem that the two men had tripped over each other, but since there were no voices raised and everyone was busy, they would just walk on, assuming everything was ok. Of course someone would notice the man eventually, or he would wake up, but Iorn would be long gone by then.
There wasn't a big enough crowd to do it unnoticed. Besides, the page would scream. No..he had to do it differently. Everyone was quite busy today, only minding their own business. He had to do it now.
His heart was pounding, beating faster as he planned his bold move. It was a bold move indeed inside the palace. But if he failed, he had to fail in such a way that his plan would not be obvious.
Quickly he hurried himself close to the page and when he was close enough he would look for a dark spot in the hallway, a nice of some sort, a corner, or maybe a toilet with the door open. It had to be dark. When he saw such a spot he tried to get the timing right and would push the page to the spot with a tripping movement. Quickly he would knock the man unconscious in the dark as he muttered "sorry."
His hope was that it would seem that the two men had tripped over each other, but since there were no voices raised and everyone was busy, they would just walk on, assuming everything was ok. Of course someone would notice the man eventually, or he would wake up, but Iorn would be long gone by then.
Last edited by Iorn Thalas on Fri Jul 22, 2005 12:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
With few exceptions, the Citadel's interior was quite full of dark alcoves, turns, and twists, clearly included by design. Even here, along the main hall of the fortress, defensive nooks were placed to either side, each filled with standing suits of decorative armor. Cornering the page against one would present virtually no trouble at all...the page would pass perhaps a dozen before he reached the Palace courtyard, and even though the page...he was only perhaps fifteen or sixteen yahren...easily noticed Iorn's approach, he merely nodded and smiled and gave him no thought as hurrying people were a common sight in the Palace on this day.
He was undoubtedly quite surprised when Iorn threw him into one of those alcoves, his lanky form collapsing against the stones of the alcove with a loud slap!, though he kept his feet. Turning he favored Iorn with a curious, amazed look. "I beg pardon, sir, but I..."
Crack!
Iorn had no great skill at this kind of action. In an effort to better render the page insensible, he quickly bounced the boy's head into the stones behind, a maneuver that, once again, took the youth by surprise and elicited a loud thump! in response.
And yet the youth did not fall. "OWWWWWwww!" he shrieked, his hands instantly darting to his head to both cover the swelling damage behind as well as one held between he and his adhiel attacker, clearly dazed and confused by the strange, sudden hostility. His messages, however, had fallen to the ground at his feet, the sharp, red, wax seal glaring up at the pair as if amused.
He was undoubtedly quite surprised when Iorn threw him into one of those alcoves, his lanky form collapsing against the stones of the alcove with a loud slap!, though he kept his feet. Turning he favored Iorn with a curious, amazed look. "I beg pardon, sir, but I..."
Crack!
Iorn had no great skill at this kind of action. In an effort to better render the page insensible, he quickly bounced the boy's head into the stones behind, a maneuver that, once again, took the youth by surprise and elicited a loud thump! in response.
And yet the youth did not fall. "OWWWWWwww!" he shrieked, his hands instantly darting to his head to both cover the swelling damage behind as well as one held between he and his adhiel attacker, clearly dazed and confused by the strange, sudden hostility. His messages, however, had fallen to the ground at his feet, the sharp, red, wax seal glaring up at the pair as if amused.
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Iorn Thalas
Iorn cursed in his mind as he saw that the page wasn't going unconscious. He could almost hear the demon in his mind calling him a loser. It had been a split-flicker decision to grab the page and try to take away the letter. But now, not only didn't he knock out the boy, he also let the boy see him. Now he had to take the next step, finish the job.
Fortunately they weren't noticed just yet, so Iorn quickly held his hand over the boy's mouth as he kept them both in the dark corner. He then grabbed his knife and turned the boy around so that the blood wouldn't spray all over him. He then slit the boy's throat, quickly sheeted the knife and slammed the boy's head into the wall again and leaned the body to the wall so that it wouldn't fall straight into sight.
Finally he grabbed the letter from the floor and walked on to the exit of the palace with a quick pace.
Fortunately they weren't noticed just yet, so Iorn quickly held his hand over the boy's mouth as he kept them both in the dark corner. He then grabbed his knife and turned the boy around so that the blood wouldn't spray all over him. He then slit the boy's throat, quickly sheeted the knife and slammed the boy's head into the wall again and leaned the body to the wall so that it wouldn't fall straight into sight.
Finally he grabbed the letter from the floor and walked on to the exit of the palace with a quick pace.
The boy wasn't too easily handled...he was nearly as tall as Iorn and possibly as strong...but he had been struck upon the head soundly, and he was quite senseless and addled when the sorcerer closed in to finish the job, turning him without too much difficulty and dragging the knife across his neck, the blade biting deep into the boy's throat and releasing a strong spurt of blood that arced out into the alcove to coat the walls. A horrible, deflating sound came from him then, as the boy's final shriek of terror was lost through this new gash, the air of his lungs spurting out alongside his life's blood to signal his end.
Pushing the body forward, Iorn knew he would have precious little time to get clear of the scene, for this was a frequently-used hallway, and there would be no missing the boy's form to those that passed by very, very soon. Taking up the letter, the adhiel paced out towards the exit, his wrist souled by minor amount of blood that was thankfully easy to conceal.
Iorn managed to join the crowd in the Antechamber before the first shriek filled the hall behind him, the body discovered mere flickers after he had left it. The scattered guards, employees, and courtiers all turned to see what was afoot down the hallway, which was convenient given that the sorcerer was no longer there and already at the Palace entrance, the Purple Guardsmen there carefully recording and watching all persons passing the gates per the Major Domos' orders earlier in the day.
Pushing the body forward, Iorn knew he would have precious little time to get clear of the scene, for this was a frequently-used hallway, and there would be no missing the boy's form to those that passed by very, very soon. Taking up the letter, the adhiel paced out towards the exit, his wrist souled by minor amount of blood that was thankfully easy to conceal.
Iorn managed to join the crowd in the Antechamber before the first shriek filled the hall behind him, the body discovered mere flickers after he had left it. The scattered guards, employees, and courtiers all turned to see what was afoot down the hallway, which was convenient given that the sorcerer was no longer there and already at the Palace entrance, the Purple Guardsmen there carefully recording and watching all persons passing the gates per the Major Domos' orders earlier in the day.
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Iorn Thalas
As Iorn entered the Antechamber his heart was racing, even more so when he heard the shriek coming from the hallway. His remorse for killing the young page was much less now then it had been when he had killed the priest.
As he walked on towards the Palace entrance, he noticed that the guards were still recording who came in and who left. He had already noticed them as he had entered the palace, but he hadn't thought about it as he had not planned to kill anyone inside. Still, there was not much that could be done about it now and so he just walked out, the same way as he had walked in, appearing to be feeling sorry for the caesar. The only thing he did think about was to hide the letter from view, but he had already done that as soon as he had gotten hold of the letter.
Once he got back to the mansion and found a spot where there were no guards, he grabbed the letter and studied the seal. Not knowing wether he was going to need to forge it later on, he thought it was best to keep it in tact if possible. It might come in handy to be able to send fake letters someday..
As he walked on towards the Palace entrance, he noticed that the guards were still recording who came in and who left. He had already noticed them as he had entered the palace, but he hadn't thought about it as he had not planned to kill anyone inside. Still, there was not much that could be done about it now and so he just walked out, the same way as he had walked in, appearing to be feeling sorry for the caesar. The only thing he did think about was to hide the letter from view, but he had already done that as soon as he had gotten hold of the letter.
Once he got back to the mansion and found a spot where there were no guards, he grabbed the letter and studied the seal. Not knowing wether he was going to need to forge it later on, he thought it was best to keep it in tact if possible. It might come in handy to be able to send fake letters someday..
Like most wax seals, this one was designed such that it would be virtually impossible to remove without destroying it. It sealed a rolled document, giving it an uneven, concave backing, and the clinging wax was long since adhered to the surface of the paper...not parchment...such that it had become brittle and unyielding despite it's light, fragile nature.
The impression left in the seal was perhaps unusual, for it was not the seal of the Office of the Exchequer, which would have made it an 'official' document. It had been stamped with Smithson's own crest, apparently from a family ring that he wore upon his finger...a common practice for private communications.
The impression left in the seal was perhaps unusual, for it was not the seal of the Office of the Exchequer, which would have made it an 'official' document. It had been stamped with Smithson's own crest, apparently from a family ring that he wore upon his finger...a common practice for private communications.
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Iorn Thalas
Iorn saw now way that he would be able to remove the seal fully in tact as he lacked any forgery skills. But he was in a new city and he did not know any trustworthy forgerers, nor did he have the time for it. He therefore continued to open the letter and read it, trying to break the seal in as few bits as possible, hoping that it could be used to forge a ring with the same sign in the future.
The wax broke neatly in two pieces, pieces that, while fragile and somewhat vulnerable, might yield a passable forgery for one skilled in such tasks as the crisp indentations of it's effigy were quite plain to see. Once broken, the small roll relaxed considerably, allowing the sorcerer to unroll the document fully and to reveal a few lines dashed in what appeared to be a neat, precise hand judging by the sharp, swift, consistent strokes of the lettering.
The contents of the letter were sadly a mystery, as it was dashed in a hand [bi]Iorn[/b] could not read but could clearly recognize as the written language of the humans, a script and a language originally used as a method for international trade but one that had quickly evolved into a method for international negotiation and conversation.
Beyond these indecipherable lines, there was nothing more to see.
The contents of the letter were sadly a mystery, as it was dashed in a hand [bi]Iorn[/b] could not read but could clearly recognize as the written language of the humans, a script and a language originally used as a method for international trade but one that had quickly evolved into a method for international negotiation and conversation.
Beyond these indecipherable lines, there was nothing more to see.
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Iorn Thalas
He cursed loudly and his body burned with rage. "Goddamn you Smithson!" Suddenly he realised what he had been doing. It had all happened quite quickly. He had killed a page. They would probably lead it back to him eventually..and now he had nothing to show for it. If he didn't decode this message, then all had been in vain.
He bursted out of the mansion and headed down to the docks. He wasn't planning on going to pier 17, definitely not a good place to be. But he needed to find someone who knew the language of international trade. And where was the trade more international then at the docks. Someone had to know the language there.
He bursted out of the mansion and headed down to the docks. He wasn't planning on going to pier 17, definitely not a good place to be. But he needed to find someone who knew the language of international trade. And where was the trade more international then at the docks. Someone had to know the language there.
The overcast sky brought with it cooler weather, dulling the daylight and hiding the sun above. Since Iorn had last been out, the sky had finally broken turning the world into a dull shade of gray as the downpour of water quickly gained strength to become a torrent of rain, the water quickly forming into small, fast rivers in the Citadel's cobbled streets.
At the Pier, he was met by no less than a half dozen servants, each dedicated to keeping him dry despite the futility of such a task. The Pier held perhaps even more rustic attraction during the daylight than it did at night, the low, broad tavern rosy with life while the porch behind was occupied by the more quiet clientele, two of which sat at a small table and spoke casually, while the building itself hummed with life through the broad double doors that stood open to invite visits in.
At the Pier, he was met by no less than a half dozen servants, each dedicated to keeping him dry despite the futility of such a task. The Pier held perhaps even more rustic attraction during the daylight than it did at night, the low, broad tavern rosy with life while the porch behind was occupied by the more quiet clientele, two of which sat at a small table and spoke casually, while the building itself hummed with life through the broad double doors that stood open to invite visits in.
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Iorn Thalas
Iorn walked through the rain without letting himself be hindered by the drops of water that ran across his face. He did make sure the letter was tucked away safe and dry. As he passed by the tavern, he couldn't help but grin at the sight of the tavern and the boardwalk behind it.
This wasn't the time for that tavern however. The adhiel guessed the message from Smithson was directed at Lord Marcada and there was no doubt that he had his eyes watching Pier 17 all the time.
Iorn walked on, further into the docks, looking for some traders. Maybe there was a traders organization or something present.
This wasn't the time for that tavern however. The adhiel guessed the message from Smithson was directed at Lord Marcada and there was no doubt that he had his eyes watching Pier 17 all the time.
Iorn walked on, further into the docks, looking for some traders. Maybe there was a traders organization or something present.
Passing the Pier, Iorn came upon several merchants and sailors working the docks even in the gloom of the drizzle. They had protected themselves with long cloaks and coats, but nothing protected the permeating moisture from invading in some places, giving all to feel the clammy day in their very bones.
The most likely candidate that came to Iorn's eye was far up ahead, resting under a tarpaulin as he read a letter himself. He appeared to be a common sailor, chewing on a piece of crusty bread and dressed in simple clothes, but there was something more to him. His large, comedic face was dominated by his large, protruding nose, and an impressively large, tall hat covered his head, making the tarpaulin largely unnecessary. As he read, he muttered to himself, his wide, wild eyes scanning the document carefully.
The most likely candidate that came to Iorn's eye was far up ahead, resting under a tarpaulin as he read a letter himself. He appeared to be a common sailor, chewing on a piece of crusty bread and dressed in simple clothes, but there was something more to him. His large, comedic face was dominated by his large, protruding nose, and an impressively large, tall hat covered his head, making the tarpaulin largely unnecessary. As he read, he muttered to himself, his wide, wild eyes scanning the document carefully.
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Iorn Thalas
Iorn didn't like it..it was just a feeling, a hunch, but he didn't like the fact that he could not read the letter and was now heading off to find a person who could read the letter for him.
He had rushed out of the mansion to the docks to find this person, but had not really thought of the consequences. What is in the letter? And more importantly, what will the reader think of it? Will he even tell me the truth? He inhaled deeply as he felt the rain dripping down his face. He felt the need for a cigarette, but with these big drops, it was almost impossible to make one, light it and keep it on. Too much work.
So..what to do now? It had been a crazy sudden action, the killing of the page. But once he had attacked him, there had been no turning back. And now, he had been through too much trouble to not know what was in the letter. But he wouldn't show it to the man until he knew he could be trusted...Or be disposed of easily. One or the other. He casually walked up to the man, a sarcastic smile on his face. "A fine weather this is, ey?" He shouted, trying to get rid of the noble accent he had only recently acquired.
He had rushed out of the mansion to the docks to find this person, but had not really thought of the consequences. What is in the letter? And more importantly, what will the reader think of it? Will he even tell me the truth? He inhaled deeply as he felt the rain dripping down his face. He felt the need for a cigarette, but with these big drops, it was almost impossible to make one, light it and keep it on. Too much work.
So..what to do now? It had been a crazy sudden action, the killing of the page. But once he had attacked him, there had been no turning back. And now, he had been through too much trouble to not know what was in the letter. But he wouldn't show it to the man until he knew he could be trusted...Or be disposed of easily. One or the other. He casually walked up to the man, a sarcastic smile on his face. "A fine weather this is, ey?" He shouted, trying to get rid of the noble accent he had only recently acquired.
"Cloo!" responded the sailor instantly, a word that made absolutely no sense at all, though thankfully the sailor's next words were perfectly sensible. "This duckin' sure is kinda nice, I think. Good ta wash out the smells, if you catch me meanin'," he added, nodding to Iorn and graciously stepping to one side to share his tarpaulin shelter with the adhiel for a time. This brought him perilously close to the edge of his little shelter, giving the rains to strike the outer edge of his hat and river off in a sputtering stream.
"Nie, wut's gotcha down 'ere at the docks, mate? You lookin' fer a ship?" he asked, waving his hand...the one with his own letter...out at the harbor as if to demonstrate the large volume of ships already tied up at the various piers. His gesture was somewhat thoughtless and foolish, for it only allowed the rainwater to hammer upon his own parcel briefly, enough to give the ink to splotch and run in a few places. "Doooh! Aww! Dammitall..." he cursed, inspecting the damage casually.
"Nie, wut's gotcha down 'ere at the docks, mate? You lookin' fer a ship?" he asked, waving his hand...the one with his own letter...out at the harbor as if to demonstrate the large volume of ships already tied up at the various piers. His gesture was somewhat thoughtless and foolish, for it only allowed the rainwater to hammer upon his own parcel briefly, enough to give the ink to splotch and run in a few places. "Doooh! Aww! Dammitall..." he cursed, inspecting the damage casually.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
-
Iorn Thalas
"Ho there mate, take it easy. Don't want yer important letter to be soaked." Iorn said as he had gratefully stepped under the tarpaulin. "I was just takin' a walk. Get sum air, ya know."
He tried to take a good look at the letter to see if it was written in the same language as the letter he had. Now to come up with a good story.. "A letter from a lady?" He gestured to the letter with his head as he grabbed the flask of wine from under his cloak. Since he had became a nobleman he hadn't had much use of the flask, but he always kept it filled up, just in case. It seemed this was a good situation to use it.
He put the flask to his mouth, looking like he was taking a big gulp, but only taking a small sip. He then offered the flask to the sailor.
He tried to take a good look at the letter to see if it was written in the same language as the letter he had. Now to come up with a good story.. "A letter from a lady?" He gestured to the letter with his head as he grabbed the flask of wine from under his cloak. Since he had became a nobleman he hadn't had much use of the flask, but he always kept it filled up, just in case. It seemed this was a good situation to use it.
He put the flask to his mouth, looking like he was taking a big gulp, but only taking a small sip. He then offered the flask to the sailor.
The sailor lifted his note to glance at it again even as he raised his hand to refuse the offered drink. The writing wasn't much different than the one Iorn had in hand, but he couldn't be entirely certain given his illiteracy. "No thanks, mate. None fer me juss now. This here letter's from me Sabata wife. She's talkin' bout me two boys there...tellin' me about some fella named Remassu...talkin' about the Festival they 'ad there a while back. Nothin too much."
The sailor quickly folded up his paper and stuffed it into his shift. "It's good ta get messages from me wives, you know. Nice ta 'ear from em," he declared with an absent shrug, watching his guest carefully.
The sailor quickly folded up his paper and stuffed it into his shift. "It's good ta get messages from me wives, you know. Nice ta 'ear from em," he declared with an absent shrug, watching his guest carefully.
Maeve: It starts with ambition
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
Meridiuz: It ends with Grant
-
Iorn Thalas
Iorn nodded in agreement. "Aye, women..can't live with 'm, can't live without 'm." He chuckled as he took another sip from his wine. "Which reminds me, I found something on the other side of the docks.." The adhiel put the flask away and started searching under his cloak. "It's a letter I think..but I can't read...but maybe you can?" Having found the letter he took it out and handed it over to the sailor. "Might be of some sailor's wife or somethin'."