It's early in the morning, 1100 am, and the port city of Daitura is busy. The ships from the island in the bay arrived two hours back, bringing new visitors and various trade goods. The sailors have retired to various drink houses to relax after their long journey. One of which is the Devil's Milhopper.
Inside the Devil's Milhopper, the air is dusty and filled with the sound of a few experienced bards waving their tales of song. The tables are filled with travelers, many new but also many gruff regulars. The tavern itself holds many various races, dwarves, humans, but most prominent are the elves. Around the bar, a line of such fill the stools, each drinking and laughing quietly, their eyes upon the bards on stage, directly opposite the counter.
All but one.
The young elven male, his years no more than 23, sits with his back to all and his ocean blue eyes fixated only upon the goblet of sweet keloc.<<preferred elven drink>> It sat on the counter before him, one of his pale, slender hands around the base of the goblet. His form is turned out in butter-soft leathers and a soft silk tunic the color of new leaves. His boots, which sway back and forth above the floor in absentmindedness, are the same likeness as his tunic.
At his side is a small silver mesh satchel and within it a small silver crystal flute. The instrument is neatly engraved with birds and other small creatures, and around each end dainty vines are encrusted. The elven man lets out a sigh and his pale hand through his shoulder length, striking light goldish hair. He picks up the goblet and downs it before motioning to the tender.
Tender
<smiles as he approaches the elf, his eyes upon the goblet> More keloc, now then, Wyn? <His eyes flit to the bards on stage and then back to the elf>
Wyn:
<Shakes his head slowly and runs his hands
idly over the countertop> No, my abbil, that will do.
<Watching the tender make haste with the
empty goblet, he turns slightly on his stool to watch the
bards onstage. He sighs softly as he notes
they are all common elves, and closes his eyes as the
melody turns to an after battle ballad. He
tunes out boisterousness of those around him and lets the
ballad entrance him>
The door opens, and a crowd of people enter, laughing and shoving each other in playfulness. Above the sound of their merriness, there is the sound of shouting coming from outside. The words are unintelligible, but the intent behind the tone is clear: anger. The merrymakers disperse into the bar, most heading for the tender, while the rest head for the stage to watch the bards perform. A few minutes later, and the bar door swings open again, admitting two port guards and a very flustered shopkeeper. The guards look around the tavern, hands on the hilts of their weapons. Guard #1 is tall and elfin, with short silver hair and ice blue eyes. Guard #2 is shorter, and dwarfish, with a bushy black beard and several gold earrings lining his ears. The shop keeper is decidedly human, with curly brown hair and eyes.
Guard #1
Are you sure she went in here?
Shopkeeper
Sure as the sun's shinin', mister! You can't mistake those damned Gypsies!
Guard #2
<Frowns and looks around the tavern.> Your eyes are better than mine, friend. I see no Peddler leathers here.
G#1
<Shakes head slowly as his eyes scan the tavern> I see none, either. <Turns back to shop keeper.> How did she look again?
SK
She was short, a young one, with hair as red as blood. <growls> She stole a bag of my pomegranates, and I just got those this morning! That was easily three hundred gold I lost to that Gypsy witch!
G#1
Easy, friend. Your loss will be compensated. But she is not here. Come with us to the Offices, and we will file a report. <Lead shop keeper to the door>
SK
<allows himself to be led, mumbling obscenities under his breath>
The guards and shop keeper disappear out the door, and the bar returns to normal. After a few moments, a shadow moves from the darkness beside the door. It is a young girl, no more than eighteen, wearing bright red and gold bloomers, a black shirt and a bright blue vest. Silver and brass earrings adorn her ears, and a brass stud adorns the right side of her nose. Her hair is a deep blood red, worn long and in a braid. A small cloth bag is attached to her belt, along with a quiver of arrows. She carries an unstrung bow in her hand. Her green eyes flicker about the tavern for a moment before she moves for the tender. The seat by the elven man is empty, and she goes to take it, brush past people on her way. As she does so, several purses end up in her nimble hands. She sits on the stool and looks to the tender.
Tender
May I help you, young one?
Gypsy:
A goodish one, none too strong.
Tender
<nods> A gold, if you will.
Gypsy:
<opens her hands and opens one of the three
purses in her hand and withdraws a coin. Hands it to
him wordlessly>
Tender
<Takes the coin and eyes the purses as if knowing where they came from, but says nothing. Fixes the drink and thumps it down on the counter before her>
Wyn:
<Having heard all within the past moments,
he senses the woman beside him and opens his eyes.
He turns his head and gazes in her direction
as the drink is delivered. He eyes her garb and general
appearance before waving to the tender, indicating
he wished more keloc. He says nothing as the
tender places the pewter goblet before him
once again, and he reaches for it instinctively as he
continues to eye the Gypsy. He idly runs his
finger over the circumference of the rim, and smiles in a
half-playful way> I take it *you* are what
was being sought by those angry sounding men...? <his
voice is bell-like, a pleasant tenor. He again
eyes her garb, settling his gaze on the cloth bag at her
belt.>
The bard music changes to a lively, upbeat festival tone, one resonating with the tunes of pure victory.
Tender
<paces
behind the counter, a rag in one hand and a glass in the other. He silently
wipes the glass and pretends to stare past Wyn and the Gypsy woman to the
stage, but tries to listen as well. ::thinks:: He doesn't converse much
with anyone lately...::>
Gypsy:
<Takes drink from tender silently, and tosses
back half of it in one gulp. Grimaces at the taste
<<sort of a fruit-alcohol drink>> and
takes a smaller sip. She chokes on it when the elf asks if she
were the thief. Hastily gathers the pouches
on the bar and stuffs them into the woven pouch
attached to her belt> Of...of course not.
There are many Gypsies in Daitura. Especially when the
ships arrive from Nicardian.
Wyn:
<Visibly stiffens at the mention of Nicardian
and pushes the goblet away from him. His brow
furrows slight, creating a thin, shadowy line
across his pale forehead> You...came here from
Nicardian? <His eyes narrow slightly at
the woman>
Gypsy:
<Snorts indignantly, but does not relax
from her wary air.> We Gypsies know better than to go
*there* . We made the mistake once, and we'll
never make it again. <Shakes head> We are not so
eager for trade to allow ourselves to become
enslaved. Nay, we come because of the trade ships.
Wyn:
<Reaches for the goblet once more and relaxes a bit> I see. <Mumbles> It was slavery, then...<Shakes his head slowly and turns his form towards the stage once more. He nods, slowly as if contemplating something, sipping slowly from the drink before him. As his eyes follow the hands of the Bards, which flow deftly over the rough made elven instruments, he taps his heel gently against the stool in beat with the ballad. With his free hand, he slowly reaches towards the silvery mesh satchel at his belt and toys with a moment, before sighing deeply and letting it settle once more. He turns his ocean colored gaze upon the Gypsy> You are a Gypsy, can you dance? Dance to this tune? Perhaps play stride along with? <More of a commanding tone than an inquiry>
Gypsy:
<Frowns> All Gypsies dance. But...it would
not be wise. Not with the port guard searching
for...that Gypsy. <Shakes head> We are
welcomed in few places. Mearly tolerated. <fiddles with
haft of bow and eyes the silver mesh satchel
at his waist, thinking deeply>
Is silent for a moment, while the bards finish their song and move offstage. Only one remains, a young elf, and he runs his fingers lightly over the strings of his lute before launching into the mournful "Ballad of the Damned". The mood of the bar sombers again as the young bard sings the tale of the two young lovers who try to struggle through their parents animosities and are only rewarded with their deaths.
Gypsy:
<Turns to elf and eyes his features, as though looking for something, but says nothing.>
Wyn:
<Says nothing more to the Gypsy, his manner
rather magisterial as he moves his eyes to keep vigil
on the lone bard. He sighs softly as he lets
the young elf's song engulf his fancy. He sways the
goblet back and forth in time with the song,
it's contents lapping softly at the innards of it's
container>
The doors swing open, and the shopkeeper from before peers into the bar. He looks around the bar and his eyes light upon the young Gypsy woman. His eyes widen and narrow, and his disappears back outside.
Moments later, the door open again, and the guards from before enter, led by the shopkeeper. The shop keeper weaves through the crowd and approaches the woman from the side, where she can't see him. He grabs her by the arm.
SK
This is her! The damned gypsy witch!
Wyn:
<Eyes the shopkeeper with mounting distaste
and reaches over to entwine his fingers in the humans
hair. Grasping rather harshly, he gives the
man a sharp tug to pull him away from the woman.
Seething> She is NOT the one you seek. <His
tone is soft but highly commanding>
SK
<squeals in pain and lets go>
G#1
<Frowns> Now, sir, no need for violence. As soon as we prove otherwise, she will be released.
Gypsy:
<Edges off her chair to disappear into crowd,
but guard #2 steps before her, blocking her path>
Wyn:
<An arrogant smile graces his lips and he
releases the human with an almost casual air. He stands
and glares at the elven guard.> First of all,
you will not address me as sir. You will address me as
you would address ANY heirr-Lord, and that
is by their title; mine being heir-Lord Wyn! Secondly, you
have my word that she is NOT the one you seek.
She is no more...than a human concubine. One of
my favorites to travel with, in fact. <Strides
to her side and places his arm delicately around her
shoulders and narrows his almond-shaped eyes
at the opposers> And there is PLENTY of room for
violence if you go against my words!
The whole room falls quiet, and not so much as a note from the elven bard is heard. It seems as if all are holding their breath so as not to disturb the outcome of such an outright challenge. The tender pretends to be wiping the counter with a sudden interest but his ears are fully focused on the group before him
Gypsy:
<Eyes narrow and flare with anger, but she
lowers her head subserviently, clasping her hands before
her>
G#1
<Eyes widen, and he takes a step back> Your forgiveness, si-- er-Lord Wyn! I...we did not know! <Looks nervously at Guard #2> We....I....could not tell!
G#2
<Being a dwarf, did not fear Wyn as partner did. Eyes Wyn while partner talks, and takes SK's arm> We will leave then. <Motions to bar door with his head, noting his friends distress> A good eve to ye, and merry ye're stay in Daitura. <Pauses> Sir. <Heads for door, towing SK>
SK
But -- ! <is hushed by Guard>
G#1
<Nervously> Y-yes. A good eve to you, er-Lord Wyn! <bows hastily and hurries out the door>
Bar returns to normal when the Guards leave. Bards sense the mood of the tavern and move back onstage, belting out a more lively tune than Ballad of the Damned.
Gypsy:
<slips out from Wyn's light grasp. Takes
a few steps back from him, ready to flee is necessary,
clutching the unstrung bow tight> I should
have known you were one of THEM! You carried
yourself too highly to be common. <bites
lip and glances around her>
Wyn:
<Sneers at G#1's remarks and deepens it
more so to G#2's. Laughs softly as they leave and falls
silent as the gypsy moves away from him> One
of 'them'? I know not what you mean. <re-seats
himself and reaches for the keloc> True, I
am not common, but...<Shakes head> I care not to
discuss myself any further. <Waves hand
dismissively. Takes a long drink from the goblet and
replaces it on the counter along with several
gold coins, and stands. He bows slightly to her before
heading gracefully for the exit.>
Gypsy:
<Chews on her lip for a moment more, then hurries after him.>
Outside the sun rides high in the sky. The sound of seagulls and waves crashing on the shore fill the air, along with the shouting of sailors as they unload the ships. She spots Wyn weaving through the crowd and hurries to catch up to him.
Gypsy:
<matches his pace and walks alongside him>
I...I meant no insult to you by that comment. It's just
that...<shrugs>....you're ilk are not well
liked for their hospitality with the Gypsy folk.
Wyn:
<Laughs and quickens his stride> THEIR hospitality?
I know many Lords that treat the Gypsies
better then they treat their own! <Stops
suddenly and turns to face her> What are you following me
for, woman? Cannot be for only to tell me
of your meaning no insult to me.
Gypsy:
Well...I....<awkwardly> ...I can't leave.
I'm in your service now. <Steps lithely out of the way of
several sailors hauling a net full of silver
fish and returns to his side>
Wyn:
<His eyes follow the sailor s and then return
to the Gypsy> MY service? <laughs> You're not and
never will be in my service. You've nothing
to offer me, Gypsy, nor I you. <Turns on his boot heels
strides way from her again. Pushing his way
through the crowds with a few angry shouts from
bumped travelers. His 6'1" frame ducks behind
a small traders tent.>
Gypsy:
<Shakes head and follows the elf through
the crowd. Her 5'4" body slips far easier through the
crowd, because she is smaller, and people
instinctively shy away from the bright Peddlers leathers,
clutching at their purses. She hurries around
the tent just in time to see him pull a flap in the back
of the tent open and step inside.><Growls>
He'll not get away from me so easily.
Wyn:
<Inside the tent, he ducks behind a shelf
of fine furs and coats, keeping his head low as he makes
his way through the small crowd inside the
traders tent. He strides up to a small rack of silk, and
gazes at them with little interest.><Mumbles>
Foolish whelp. <He turns a golden fabric over in his
hands> My service? <Chuckles>I wonder if
following still she is? <A few of the travelers glance over
at him with strange looks> <He glares at
them and lets go of the silks> Have you nothing better to
do then stare?!
Gypsy:
<Appears from among the clothes racks and
step up from behind him. Takes his arm gently. To
traders> A rough day. The sailors were clumsy
and lost a quarter of his cargo to sea. <tsks
softly.><Traders give them another strange
look, the turn back to business>
Wyn:
<Gives her a surprised look and pulls his
arm out of her grasp> YOU again!? <Pushes his way from
her and out the front of the tent, and turns
back to face her once outside.> I do not even KNOW
you, yet you trail me like a hound to some
rabbit! <His anger and annoyance makes his elven
features slightly unappealing.> Can you not
find ANOTHER to pester? <He crosses his arms
before him> I've not the time to deal with
rabble such as yourself. <Lets his voice fall flat on the last
comment. People that were scurrying around
stare a bit, but not wanting to be noticed, they move
on quickly. The noise around them increases
as many sailors rove by, laughing and carrying their
packs and loads through the crowd. He never
tears his gaze from the girl, and his ocean green eyes
are a swirl of mixed emotions.> <pronouncing
each word as if to a small child> What. Do. You.
Want?
Gypsy:
<Sighs indulgently and shakes her head>
I CAN'T leave you. I owe you easily a year of my life.
<Adjusts the bag at her belt.> If those
guards had taken me, they would have forced me to work
those pomegranates off. <Shakes head> That
would have taken nearly two years to work off.
Wyn:
<Shifts his weight to one foot and furrows
his brow> And what does mean this to me? I care not for
you as any kind of servicer. <Waves hand
idly in the air> Aroint thee from my sight! <turns to walk
away once more.
Gypsy:
<Growls and hurries after him> You don't
get it, do you? I OWE you. Either a year of my life or a
chance to save YOU from a similar fate. <shrugs>
It's the Gypsy way.
Wyn:
<Turns back to her as the travelers around
them continue to rush past> What care I for Gypsy
ways?! I would rather....<pauses>....hmm......I
may be able to put you to use, after all....<reaches up
to run his hand through his soft hair>
Gypsy:
<frowns slightly but says nothing about
the comment. Nods.> Good. Then I can help you find
whatever it is that you seek. <an expecting
air about her.> You *are* seeking something?
Wyn:
Indeed. Maybe....hmmm. <His eyes lighten>
Well then, seek we shall. Have you any belongings to
gather before we leave? No stashed goods for
retrieving?
Gypsy:
"In your hand or on your back, never elsewhere."
< pauses > No. <cocks head> What is it you are
seeking? <studies his face and body movements
intently>
Wyn:
<Is silent a moment, running his hand along
the length of his forearm, sighing> Not a what....a
who. <Frowns and scuffs his boots on the
ground a moment and then absently lets his hand slide to
his waist. It settles upon his mesh bag that
carries the flute. He rolls the flute around inside the bag
a few times before leaving it to cross his
arms.> I....I'm looking for my sister.....now a rouge
half-blood. I have a slight interrogation
I must perform and a very large bridge to burn.
Gypsy:
<Blinks in confusion> Run away, has she?
<Is silent as all the information sinks in> Half-...? Poor
child. I can't imagine what life must have
been like for her in Nicardian. <Shakes head and tsks
softly> Well, we'd best be going. Do you have
any clue where she is? <Settles the end of her bow on
the ground and leans on it slightly>
Wyn:
<Shakes head slowly> No, she hasn't 'run
away'; she just felt there was no more reason to stay.
<Growls softly> And you REALLY don't get
it! She had it better then most at the House. She was
flaunted for her abilities. Half-bloods have
extraordinary magicks.....and hers was superb. <runs his
hand over the flute bag again> But she does
NOT know I am searching for. She may think it in the
back of her mind, but she won't dwell on it.
<Turns slightly and frowns> If I knew WHERE she
was, I wouldn't be searching, I'd have gone
straight to her! <His voice his full of pride>
Gypsy:
<Shrugs> Then gather what you need. I know a way to find her.
Wyn:
What *I* need? I've nothing to gather. <Snorts>
If something were to be gathered, you'd get it,
anyway. <Giving her a commanding look>
My service will remain MY service, and ALL will be
obeyed! <Turns from her and settles his
hands on his hips. ::Thinks:: Well, father, did that sound
enough like you?::>
Gypsy:
<Frowns deeply, but says nothing. Instead,
turns and begins to stride up the road that would lead
them out of town.> Then follow closely. There
is a Gypsy camp not far north of here. Grandmother
Bishop will tell us how to follow her. <Her
earrings sparkling in the sunlight, she leads them out of
town>
