Ophelia's Arrival - Chryril 25 MT

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia's travels had been a bit longer than expected. A small problem with the vessel she was aboard meant returning to Muchislie for a new sail after a storm a few days out. It had already been an adventure and she'd not even arrived. Passing through the city gates with no problem, she couldn't help but notice the damage done by the warring in the area. Stories were told in the Seven Isles of the heroes of Western Terra and how they'd already over come so much, though there was still much work to be done.

It was this that drew the young woman to the city.

Not really sure where to proceed, Ophelia had asked at the gates for the trade area, and as such, she headed to the Avenue of Trade. It was still early, yet, but it seemed plenty of people were about. With a pack on her shoulders, guitar slung off one shoulder and a small lute off her bag, and a morningstar in her hand, she looked the part of a traveller, but all the weight was beginning to get to her. A heavy cloak swathed her tall form in more material than she needed, swallowing her up in the folds. Pausing at a few different stalls to view the wares, she looked up to one of the merchants with big crystaline blue eyes, "Excuse me, I'm looking to purchase a horse, do you know where I might go?"

[Guido Cercatoro]

It was a bright, sunny morningtide in Kings Court but a fresh breeze blew down the Avenue of Trade causing a slight chill in the air. Although it was still early, the street was already full of life; most shops were open and local traders were busy trying to sell their wares on every street corner. The majority of potential customers making their way down the busy street were human but a fair sprinkling of members of other races were also going about their business.

As Ophelia made her way down the avenue, she stopped before a small stall behind which stood a rather jolly-looking but red-faced human. The stall contained a large number of rather rudimentary wooden carvings. Most were of animals, some recognisable, but others had no discernible resemblence to any common animal.

“A horse. You want a horse?” The man beamed and sifted around in the pile of carvings with a chubby hand. With a sigh of satisafction, he extricated a carving and lay it before Ophelia. The carving did, at least, resemble an animal, in that it had four legs and a head. However, whether it was a horse, pig, rat or something more exotic was difficult to ascertain. “ A beautiful horse for a beautiful lady.” The merchant continued to beam, blissfully unaware that his poential customer had inquired about purchasing a live animal.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia tucked the morningstar into a strap of her pack, allowing her both her hands to pick up the carving. It was rudimentary at best. Her father was an expert artisan that used a more difficult and delicate medium - Trothgardian crystal, and his sculptures actually looked like what they were. To look upon this piece was to look into her memories of youth, attempting to copy her father's works without much success. The young woman had always insisted that eventually she would pick up the trade, but eventually hadn't happened, and now here she was, so far from Muchislie and her dear da.

His exuberance and salesmenship, however, were endearing. The round, red face may have been different from those back home, but the smile and sparkling eyes, ready for cash, well, those were the same wherever one went. "Did you make these? Or do you just sell them?" She asked, inquisitively, pawing over the piece that resembled no animal she'd seen - even if he did dub it as being a horse. Her bright blue eyes scanned further into the troff of carvings, to see if there really was something worth picking up. "And I'm afraid you misunderstand.. you see.. I'm looking for a horse to ride," she smiled. "I couldn't bring mine with me, and planned on buying one here, but I'm not sure where to go, as I've just arrived." Her fingers meandered over the smooth cuts from the chisel, finding comfort in their presence.

[Guido Cercatoro]

“Oh, my son does the carvings,” replied the merchant, still offering Ophelia a broad smile. Frowning, he picked up a piece of wood which roughly resembled a dog. “He was very ill as a child but doing these carvings keeps him happy, for he will never fully recover. Yet, it gives him great pleasure when he sees me selling these.To know that people appreciate his work is the best tonic possible. And it enables myself and his poor mother to buy his medicine.”

As Ophelia scanned the carvings, her eyes were caught by one that appeared slightly different from the others. It was partially obscured by one of the rough carvings and so it was difficult to pick out its shape.

“Aaah, so you require a real horse!” The merchant laughed as he finally understood the woman’s request. He paused for a few flickers, turning things over in his mind. “Well, if money is no object, you could go to Arnsen’s. He breeds horses in the Downs but keeps a stables by the main gate. Fine, fine horses but very expensive. There are, of course, other traders aound. Now let me think…” The round-face man stroked his flabby chin with one hand, perhaps indicating that he needed some inducement to stir his memory.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

The girl looked up at the trader with newly appreciative eyes for the carvings. Heartbreaking as the story was, there was hope within for the young boy who made the mishapen animal figures. Perhaps he could find happiness out of what could be a short life from them, and his parents - they needed the money. Now she had to purchase one of the tokens... she just couldn't help herself. The more peculiar one, hidden beneath the awkward legs and tails of different animals, caught her attention and her strong fingers sifted through the wooden parts to pull it out so that she might inspect it more closely. "I'm sorry for your son, tradesman," she said out of respect toward him. It never occured to Ophelia that the merchant was a conman who told the story to make a banner. Naive as she was, O had a lot to learn.

"How much for this one?" She waited for his response and placed an additional few coins down to help spark the memory of the man before her. "Money is of somewhat of an object.. yes.." It pained her to admit it, but Ophelia had only taken what she deserved to take - even though her father offered her more money. The young woman couldn't bear the thought of something happening at home & them needing more money - money which she'd taken. "But I need a horse that can go into battle, a strong horse, and for that, I'm willing to pay what I must - though, if you've any idea of someone who might be a little less expensive - well, I'd be so glad to hear of it."

[Guido Cercatoro]

On inspection, it was immediately clear that the carving which Ophelia had selected differed markedly from the others on the stall. It did not resemble an animal in any shape or form; it was made out of a darker, harder wood and was far more detailed and masterly in its workmanship. The shape of the carving was akin to the letter x with a circle in its middle. The four spokes of the x were inscribed with symbols that Ophelia did not instantly recognise.

The merchant frowned as he caught sight of the carving. “Strange, I can’t recall...", he began, before shrugging, the smile once again beaming out from his round face.

“Oh, yes, it is one of my son’s special carvings. Normally, my most expensive, but as you have shown such concern for my son, I will let you have it for a mere two lances.” As he spoke, the merchant rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation of receiving the money.

“As for your horse,” he continued. “Well, if Arnsen’s is too expensive, there are two other options I can suggest. First, there is Juupe’s. His stock is of middling quality but the price is more favourable. His stables are also close to the Vigilant Gates down a small alley a little way past Arnsen’s.”

The merchant glance around furtively before leaning forward and whispering quietly. “Of course, if you are not too worried about the provenance of the animal, there is a place I know of in the poor quarter. Good value for money, my dear.”
,

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Ophelia caught his falter for the lie it was as soon as it fell from his chiefly smiling mouth. However, a good gambler knows when to call the bluff and when to play for more money, and she wasn't just yet ready to give up his information in exchange for calling him the scoundrel he was. Instead, she gave the token a more experienced look. Being the daughter of a man of this trade gave her a sort of advantage. There were things about the craftsmanship of this piece that set it far above those it was tangled with.

"I expect Arnsen to be above my range, yes." She allowed him to continue speaking of middle quality horses, which she'd have nothing to do with. No aged or untrained horse would do her justice if it had to do battle of any kind - even if it had to travel. As it was, she was going to have to spend some serious time with the animal over the next few days just in the journey from King's Court to Pax. "Juupe will not do either.. I need a horse of strength and bravery.. a heroes horse," But not on a heroes salary.

As his eyes shifted from side to side, she couldn't help but lean in, her own blue orbs mimicking his movement as if to cast off anyone who might be overhearing. "Where in the poor quarter?" This question in itself ought explain to him that she, infact, had no qualms over whether they be stolen horses, or gotten by any other ill means, so long as they were healthy and trained. Ophelia knew little of the poor quarter of King's Court aside the fact that it was nearly emptied from all the pagans being shuffled out. Perhaps they are horses left behind... or taken when the adhiel and others left... Whatever the reason didn't matter much, so long as she got a horse.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Further inspection confirmed Ophelia’s opinion concerning the quality of the carving but revealed nothing more with regard to its nature. The symbols were unfamiliar and would clearly require someone with knowledge of such matters to translate or interpret them.

“The place I had in mind in the poor quarter is difficult to find,” admitted the merchant. “But young Sam over there will take you for a banner.” He pointed a little way up the street to where an unkempt boy of around ten yahren lounged against a wall. “Tell him that you want to go to see Friendly. And when you get there tell Friendly that Theodore sent you.”

“I see you like my carving,” continued the large man. “Two lance and it’s yours.”

Further down the street, the sound of arguing could be heard. A tall, cloaked man was shouting vehemently at a stallholder who appeared to be selling a range of jewellery. The tall man was rifling through the contents of the stall as if searching for something.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

"But it's not your carving," she commented dryly, not yet lifting her eyes from it to appraise the man. She continued to take in the details. Runes? "Atleast, it's not one that your ill son created." Ophelia pushed off of his already instituted lie and used the propelsion to bring her to her next comment. "So I'll give you a lance for this, and a two banner for helping me, and we'll call it even." Ophelia looked at him squarely and offered a lance and two banner, sitting face up in her cupped hand, winking in the sunlight. Her father had taught her to run a hard bargain. In places that were war torn and desperate, the sight of real coins was enough to whet their appetite for them and enough to bring about some savings.

If his pudgy hand sought the coins she'd flex her steely fingers back slightly to give him the easiest access to the money. "Thank you," she offered either way and dropped the two banner on his counter, still insistant on paying for the information. Assuming she got it, she stuck the carving into her purse where the rest of her money rested, and in the process dug out another single banner for the boy leaning against the wall.

"Boy," She lifted the banner and let it catch his attention rather than going all the way over to him if she didn't have to. When he caught on she smiled and palmed the coin. "I'm looking for a guide," Although she didn't lean into the boy overmuch, she did keep her voice low. "I need to get somewhere and back, and I'll pay you when we return here.. and if it works out, you'll get to come back here on a horse, how does that sound?" It atleast made it more likely for the youth to stick around rather than running off as soon as they got to this 'Friendly'. One of the things that Ophelia didn't want was to get stuck in the Poor District by herself.

[Guido Cercatoro]

At first the merchant frowned and looked disposed to argue with Ophelia after her barbed comments. However, he stared closely at the carving and after a few flickers reflection, shrugged and greedily took the proffered coins including the dropped banners. “Nice doing business with you,” he muttered, allowing his customer to take the carving.

The sight of the coin immediately attracted the attention of the young boy who scampered over to Ophelia. He was dressed in rough clothes with wild, straggly hair but had a cheeky grin and bright blue eyes.

“I’ll tek yer where yer wants, missy,” replied the boy in a lightly accented voice. “I knows all the places ‘ere and abouts. Yer wants to find somewhere or someone, Sam’s yer man.” The boy pushed out his chest as if he was somewhat proud of his boast. “Where yer wanna go, missy?”

The argument between the tall man and the stallholder had reached a loud fever pitch. With a shout of disgust, the customer tipped over the stall and marched up the street in the direction of the merchant whom Ophelia had been bargaining with. The merchant gulped as the man approached.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

"Indeed. Pleasant tide," Ophelia said before departing the merchant's company.

"Well," she replied with a grin to the boy. "You sound just like what I need, then, Sam. My name is Ophelia," Here, Ophy stuck out her hand for the young boy to shake (it was only polite). "-and I'm looking for Frien-" But her comment was cut off by the irate customer tipping over the stall where he'd been shouting. Her eyes widened in surprise at the loud sound of the makeshift shop crashing into the ground. That poor man... all his wares. Ordinarily Ophelia would take such an opening as reason to depart the trade district at once, but she'd come here in the hopes of being a hero. Well.. not here necessarily, but she'd atleast travelled from home for those very reasons.

With what Ophelia considered good intentions (others might call them maternal insticts) she placed herself between the tall man and the young boy, Sam, with a casually raised arm pressed against his thin chest. She could feel the fine bones of this collar under the fair skin of her wrist. Gods... you need more than a banner to get some meat on those bones, boy. "Stay close, yeah? I'm going to need you to get to where I'm going, but I don't want you getting hurt." She gave the boy a tender smile. "Watch my pack," That time, she didn't look at Sam as she spoke. With one elegant move she slid her heavy bag off her shoulders and stepped forward into the path of the angry shopper. If Sam were a foolish boy he might try to make off with her bag, but he's find himself with more than he bargained for. It was a heavy bag, and off it it hung her instruments, making it awkward to move even for someone of her height.

"Excuse me, sir, are you looking for something?" Her fingers tightened their grip on her morningstar, and the stance she took was one of ready defence - her feet shoulders width apart. Her boomerang was tucked into the back of her pants, though whether or not anyone would recognize it as a weapon was unlikely less they hail of Muchislie themselves. "I suggest you just slow yourself down and take a deep breath before continuing on this path."

[Guido Cercatoro]

The urchin gazed with astonishment at Ophelia’s outstretched hand but then, with a huge grin, he shook it vigorously. “Good to meet yer, missy.”

Slipping off her pack, the blonde woman placed herself between Sam and the tall man who stopped a couple of paces away. Now that he was close, it was apparent that, beneath his cloak, the man was dressed in an expensive looking shirt, jacket and breeches. He directed a look of fury at the woman who had blocked his path.

“Keep out of my way, woman,” he snarled in a cultured voice that contained unconcealed menace. “This is none of your business. Unless you ally yourself with the thieves who ply their wares in this street. Get out of my way.” The man moved a further pace forward to within an arm’s length of his challenger.

Behind her, Ophelia felt a slight tug on her arm. “Best to let ‘im pass, missy,” whispered Sam. “Yer don’t wanna cross ‘im.”

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

It was one thing to be a hero, it was another entirely to be stupid. As he challenged her with equalled menace Ophelia couldn't help the nagging feeling that she'd let her mouth open sooner than she ought to have. It was the physical tugging from Sam that pushed her further toward the train of thought that that she had, indeed, walked out infront of the wrong man. With as little humility as one can offer without being rude, she nodded to him, "Apologies, sir, and no I do not," she stepped aside and back into the same line as Sam.

"But if you'd like some help at looking for what you're after, I've a keen eye..." She glanced up at the well-dressed gentleman, offering a sly smile. "And with my help and Sam's, you're much more likely to find whatever it is you're missing." Ophelia shrugged and then stooped down, picking up her bag in a single fluid motion that displayed the strength of her taught and exposed musles. Bright blue eyes, innocent and carefree attempted to catch the tall man's gaze before looking to Sam, then back to the angry lord. "Unless you'd rather go it alone."

[Guido Cercatoro]

The cloaked man’s lip curled up in a sneer as Ophelia apologised. “You show some sense, woman. And now you wish to help me, do you? It is well you recognise your duty towards your betters.”

Steeping closely to Ophelia, the man muttered a few words, his hot breath sweeping over her face. “I have mislaid something of importance. Maybe you and the boy know these streets better than I. Assist me and you will be rewarded.”

“It is a trifling object, merely of sentimental value. A family heirloom. Stolen by some rogue, no doubt. A carving in the shape of an x.”

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Sneers were hardly an attractive attribute, but money talks. The blonde gave a charming smile to his assessment of him being her better. In your dreams... She didn't let her irritation show but if he was a perceptive man he might notice the clenching of her shapely jaw or the slight shift in her stance to be more pro-active and prepared should he warrant her open palm. She was, after all, just trying to help. "Thieves are in a terrible business, luckily for you the boy and I know just about everyone. If someone's stolen it and sold it off, we will find it." Throwing an arm over Sam's shoulder, she winked at the lord.

Ophelia was one to pay close attention to the words of anyone especially if that someone happened to be dressed as well as this man was. "Shape of an x..." Thankfully for the gentleman before her, Ophelia was learned in letters and knew what an X was. Not everyone (especially not every 'stupid woman') would understand such a casual description of an item. "And.. the size? Color? Is it wood, stone?"

She allowed him to describe the item before continuing, giving Sam an encouraging smile. "And what sort of reward are you offering, sir?" It was this that held the most interest in her. If there was one thing Ophelia could use right this flicker it was some spare money. As it was, she wasn't going to have much left after purchasing a horse. Thoughts of an empty stomach came to mind, but she chose to push past that.

Meanwhile, in the back of her mind, she thought of the carving she'd stuffed into her bag which seemed to easily fit the bill of what the gentleman before her was after. What are the chances? Maybe he just went to the wrong stall. She was hardly about to suggest to him that she had the piece safely tucked away. You say it's of great importance.. but then say it's merely a family bauble. Which is it? I'm more willing to lean toward it being something you value and would like returned.

"And.. sir.. is there a name I might know you by? Ophelia da Yrsa at your service," her arm slipped off the boy's shoulder's and was extended for him to shake. "And my assistant, Sam." If he wanted, he could also offer his hand.

[Guido Cercatoro]

The cloaked man laughed at Ophelia’s claim that she and the boy had intimate knowledge of the streets. It was an unpleasant, arrogant laugh. “A proud boast you make. Let us hope you can both deliver on your promise for it is unwise to fail to deliver when you are dealing with me.”

“The object is carved in a dark wood. It has some symbols, merely a family motto inscribed into it. You may recognise it as having superior workmanship to most carvings you find for sale on these streets.” He glanced over towards the fat merchant who was rubbing his hands together in a nervous fashion, darting quick glances at Ophelia.

“As for a reward. Helping one of your betters should be enough reward but I know the avarice of the lower classes. Two crowns should more than suffice.” The mention of the crowns drew a gasp from Sam as if such a sum of money was beyond his wildest expectations.

The outstretched hands that Sam and Ophelia proffered were dismissed with a quick glance by the tall man. “Ophelia da Yrsa and Sam,” he muttered. “I shall remember your names. My name is no concern of yours. You simply need to know that I am a man of power and influence in this place. Prove useful to me and I may have further opportunities for you to earn your grubby little crowns.”

“So, where do we start, Ophelia.” The look he now gave the woman almost verged on a leer.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Sneering and leering; this man was not winning himself much, but two crowns was something that had a way of displacing such facial ticks into the deep recesses of one's mind. He offered no name, and infact, refused to answer. Powerful men often enjoy privacy... Or so she reasoned. She glanced over to Sam as he suggested the payment, and couldn't help but appreciate the bright smile he had as it was offered.

"As much as I'd love to take you along for the journey... perhaps it's best we meet you somewhere, say in a candlemark or two? You see, if you think that it's been stolen then we're likely going to have to head to the poor district," Ophelia's blue eyes scanned down the man's form, acting as if she were appreciating his trim body, when infact she was judging whether or not he'd physically want to endure walking. Most nobles preferred otherwise. "And if it's a thief - should they recognize you - they'll run. I very much want to get you back your item, but I can't do that with you on my heel."

Giving a quick look around the trade avenue, she looked back to the un-named gentleman shortly there after. "You're welcome to kick around here if you'd like and continue searching each and every stall, or if there's somewhere you'd rather relax that would be understandable, infact... encouraged. Leave it to Sam and me."

Once more, Ophelia stuck out her hand. "You might think me poor, and you might think me low class, but it's my hands that will be searching for you. If you'll not shake my hand, then I'll not be doing business with you, and I'll leave you to finding it yourself." It was brazen, it was bold, and it no doubt pissed him off, but that didn't change Ophelia's way of thinking on the subject. "Two crown, two marks, and you'll have your carving back." She promised. There was a certainty in her eyes that was only achieved by the fact that she was holding the piece he was searching for, but.. it was a confidence that was unusual, especially in those of said 'lower class'.

If he chose to shake her hand, then she'd return a firm squeeze that was more masculine than most men's handshakes, particularly the type of men this tall gentleman was no doubt used to. She waited only long enough for him to offer a place for them to meet in a few marks, and then she gave Sam a casual elbow jab to indicate that they were to head off. Outside of ear-shot she gave the boy a bright smile and turned to look at them as the strode away confidently. Ophelia laughed. "I need you to take me to see Friendly."

[Guido Cercatoro]

The thought of entering the poor district did not appeal to the cloaked man, for his face succumbed to a look of horror as Ophelia explained that it might be necessary to visit there. “Well, it might be better if I leave it to you two,” he said hurriedly. “And I do not intend to remain in this street longer than I need to. I shall be taking lunch at Hugo’s in a few marks. You may find me there. Ask for….” He paused for a flicker, clearly reluctant to give his name. “Say that you need to speak to the gentleman in private dining room two.”

As she suspected, Ophelia’s request for a handshake did not go down well with the arrogant man. For a flicker, he appeared ready to explode, his face turning a shade of reddish purple. Then, he slowly stretched out his hand and gave the woman a strong, vice-like shake of the hand. “Do not let me down,” he hissed. “For I shall find you if you do.” With that, he turned on his heel and vanished. The fat merchant wiped his brow with relief as the cloaked figure departed.

“How are we going to find his carving,” said Sam in a perplexed voice as he led his companion away from the Avenue of Trade.

The area to which Sam led Ophelia lay in the heart of the poor quarter. As the pair went deeper into the area, the houses became little more than dirty and ill-maintained wooden shacks. The streets were uniformly filthy, whilst many dark, unpleasant alleyways branched off the main road. The intermittent alleyways offered ample opportunity for anyone with ill-intentions to hide in wait for potential victims. Even the jovial Sam appeared a little apprehensive. “Watch yerself, missy,” he whispered as they turned a corner into a mud-lined street. Across the middle of the street was a tall wooden gate, shut with a wooden bar. Leaning against the gate was a rough-looking, unshaven human with a wicked dagger poking from his belt.

“Hi, Mal,” ventured Sam in a timid voice. “Got someone to see Friendly.”

For the second time in under a mark, Ophelia received a leer. This one was even more unpleasant than the first. “Bugger offer, Sam, he don’t need no whore. Still, I’ll have her if she’s cheap enough.”

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Success! She got him to shake her hand. That event might not have meant much to anyone else, but Ophelia was feeling the high of continued victorious endeavors. She'd gotten the merchant to agree to her price for the trinket she was about to sell for a good portion more. It happened to work out for everyone involved. Had the grim gentleman found his item in the shop-keepers stall he wouldn't have even gotten what she offered, and no doubt would've had a bunch of ruined wares as his only means to show for it. Then, when he all but said he wouldn't shake her hand, he actual did!

Inside, Ophelia was having a good time. (She thought it was inside, anyway, when infact a boastful grin was quite evident on her pretty face as she returned the handshake with vigor.) "Hugo's, alright. See you there, sir." She didn't try to weasle his name out of him, it didn't really matter at this point. "Room two it is." She waited for him to depart, giving the merchant a knowing look, but said nothing to him, before taking off with Sam at her side.

"How? Well.. let's not worry about that right now. First, I need a horse." Although she trusted Sam as far as getting around the city, she didn't know him, and she wasn't about to suggest that she had the token in pocket. That would have just set up a disaster - even if he did seem like a well intentioned youth. For, the road to the Nether was paved with good intentions, and she wasn't prepared to give up her money so soon.

Walking the road from the bustling avenue of trade into the poor district was like stepping from the city into desolation. Ophelia remained close to Sam, unsure both of himself and her, and whether she would be able to protect him if something happened - or whether he'd need it, and what would become of her if he left her. For the first time in her life, Ophelia felt the rush of true fear in the form of her tightening stomach and darting blue eyes.

This was no stage fright, or the adrenaline of play-fighting with her brothers. Nay, this was true fear, her boots hitting the ground beneath with unsettling thuds. She nearly counted the footfalls, both hers and Sam's, to make sure no one was following, without having to turn around. She didn't want to seem afraid to the young man, but his voice and warning caused her a slight jump. "Thanks, Sam." His little words made her take a deep breath and realize that she couldn't depend on the boy to keep her safe.

They rounded the corner, and she squared her shoulders, taking in the environment, as well as a brand new leer! If it were possible she would've complimented the fact that it were even more un-nerving than the last she recieved, but that didn't seem the most appropriate comment to the man before her. "It's a good thing he doesn't," Ophelia replied civily. "Because I'm hardly about to pimp poor Sam, here, and I'm no whore, so that leaves only you to be taking the buggering... I'm sure if you and Friendly have that sort of agreement (in addition to your handy guarding skills), neither one of you will have need of me to bury himself in... but, no matter your tastes in mates, I'd like to see Friendly," Here, she paused briefly. "I've got reason to examine his wares." She stood her ground, but was watchful of sudden movements from the weaponed guard especially considering the sort of accusations of homosexuality and general lack of respect she'd given Mal within their first few flickers of meeting.

[Guido Cercatoro]

It was obviously a day for leering in King’s Court, for one side of Mal’s mouth curled up to achieve a most unpleasant look. It made his earlier leer and that of the cloaked nobleman appear almost pleasant, even friendly, in comparison. “A feisty one you’ve brought me here, Sam. Just how I like 'em.” The man spoke in a cold tone, his dark eyes fixed on Ophelia. One hand dropped to his dagger but he just fingered in for a few flickers before letting go. It was a clear and pointed warning.

“Who sent you here and told you about Friendly?” The man continued to speak in the same frosty voice but thankfully the leer vanished to be replaced by a blank face.

From within the yard behind the gate, Ophelia could hear a few shouts and the sound of a horse whinnying, followed by a crash. Mal looked concerned but made no move to unbar the gate.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

A warning it was, and although Ophelia thought herself to be the makings of a hero, watching him run his hand over the hilt of the blade caused her stomach to do funny things she'd not really felt before. Between that and the cold sweat that broke out on her forehead as well as widened bright blue eyes, and any trained guardsman would know his threat was effective, even if she tried to keep a bold front. Swallowing hard, she peeped out: "Theodore." Ophy said nothing else, but drew quiet, glancing down at Sam and then listening to the noises beyond the gate.

Peculiar was one word for it. Already, she was coming up with little stories in her mind of what caused the sounds. An escaped horse, running free and destroying everything he could find, his rage un-charted as was often the case with stallions after having lived a life of open pastures only to be locked in a barn. Men shouting were merely trying to stay out of the way of sharpened hooves as the beast knocked over a troph and kicked down another stall door, using his freedom to find an available mare in heat...

Or, it could've just been a horse not agreeing to it's shoeing and putting up a fuss. "I'm looking for a horse," Ophelia finally finished, but still eyed the gate wondering what was going on beyond.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Mal arched a bushy eyebrow as Ophelia mentioned Theodore. Thankfully, he obviously recognised the merchant’s name.

“So you want a horse,” he said slowly. “Well Theodore’s a good source of business, so the boss will want to see you.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the barred gate from behind which the sounds of a great commotion could still be heard. “Looks like you’ve come at just the right time. Fell free to go on in.” With a wicked grin he unbarred the gate and swung open one side of it.

The open gate revealed a surprisingly clean and tidy cobbled courtyard, surrounded on two sides by stables and on the third side by a modest looking two story building fronted by a verandah. Several horses could be seen peering out from the stable doors. One door was smashed open, the broken door barely clinging to one hinge. In the centre of the yard, a large black horse was rearing above a man who lay prone on the ground. Two other men stared at the scene from the edge of the yard but made no move to intervene. The door to the building at the rear of the yard opened and what appeared to be a small boy limped onto the verandah to gaze at the scene.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Sweet, cooling, refreshing relief swept over the young woman as he relaxed at the mention of the name. A bushy brow raised in a questioning manner rather than an accusitory one, or worse... threatening. Once more, she was sailing free. As the guard opened the gate and the scene unfolded, she watched in general awe and interest to the busted open stall door as well as a soon-to-be victim (if not having been already) laying on the ground.

By the Queen's frozen nips! She could've said her father's common phrase of shock outloud, were it not for her general awareness of taking in everything. Eyes scanned over the horses still in their stalls, as well as the other people who were around. "Sam... take care of my things again?" She slipped off the bag and placed it next to him, stepping just beyond the gate now that it was opened. The morningstar was next to drop to the ground, and then her feet were padding across the cobbles to where the horse reared and kicked it's mighty hooves into the air.

A sharp whistle, once more her father's actions coming from her, issued from her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth, creating the perfect chamber for air to pass through. Hands waived in the air, looking to grab the horse's attention, all the while she was checking to see if it were a stallion, mare or gelding, all of which ought be easy to tell from it's particular angle. "C'mon, sweetie," she said. Her voice was even and smooth, hands held aloft in a motion that showed she had nothing in them. They lowered slowly, her body full of soft lines and slow movements as she lured it into looking at her rather than stomping on who was on the ground.

There were several things to keep in mind here. There was the nature of horses. Ophelia kept her eyes from meeting with the black animal's large eyes, not daring to have it consider her a predator. "Shhh.. hey.. shhh.. C'mon..." She gave a small clicking noise, her fingers rubbing together as her eyes bore into the center of the horse's face at the wide bridge of his nose. Her demeaner was also calm. The blonde had no fear of the large animals, no matter how many times she'd been kicked, bitten and reared off the back of one. Confidence slid off her as if she were nobility. "You.. you get away, and you go slowly. If I tell you to stop, you stop your ass dead," and though she said these words to the person on the ground, they were directed toward the horse, her countenance calm and reassuring, all the while her posture was that of the inferior.

[Guido Cercatoro]

As Ophelia took off her bag, the rearing horse plunged its hooves down, narrowly missing the figure lying on the floor. At the sound of her whistle, the horse, which appeared to be a mare, turned its flaring nostrils and bulging eyes in the direction of the sound. The black beast took a small step towards the woman, tossing its head in the air. Despite shouts from the two men who still stood at the edge of the yard, the body on the ground remained still.

The clicking of Ophelia’s fingers further distracted the horse and it moved a few more paces in her direction. She could now see that a long, ugly and bloody scratch ran across one side of the mare. At first, the horse appeared to be becoming calmer and Ophelia was able to direct her shout to the figure on the ground. However, her shout had no impact on the prone figure. Moreover, at the sound of the voice, the horse began violently tossing its head once again and walked slowly towards the woman, giving every appearance of a beast stalking its prey.

The small figure leaned over the edge of the rails that surrounded the verandah and gazed intently at the unfolding events. Mal pulled the gates shut, leaving a wide-eyed Sam guarding his companions possessions at the entrance to the yard.

[Ophelia da Yrsa]

Dread set in as she realized the person on the ground wasn't moving. Maybe that was for the best, atleast this way, they'd be unlikely to steal the mare's attention. There was the chance they were just unconcious. Being knocked out from a fall off a horse was not uncommon - then again, neither was death. With this in mind, she reverted her full attention to the black beast who seemed none too impressed with her loud voicing, though she'd hardly intended it to be so impactful.

"Shhh.. hey, hey.. it's ok." Her eyes focussed on the center of the lady's nose, between those flaring nostrils. Such a soft spot, velvety and smooth. Memories of affectionately rubbing the muzzles of her father's horses rushed to her, and with it came visions of her father handling unruly charges with ease. Part of it, he'd told her, was in your posture. Ophelia softened her shoulders, relaxing, giving off waves of calm, if that were possible.

At the tossing of the mares head, Ophelia took her first step back, proving to be the docile inferior of the horse. She bowed her head slightly, and tucked her chin in closer to her neck, giving the horse only sidelong glances, and even then, measured ones that only took in the beast's overall figure, before looking away. It was in this way that she noticed the wound. "Ohh.. girl.. you're hurt, aren't you?" She licked her lips and confidently pressed onward, outstretching her right hand, fist closed but palm upward, inviting a sniff to prove that she meant no harm.