Advertise/Affiliate Other Forum Main Page The World Before You Play

No Better Men (M)

Started by Valtxr, May 26, 2017, 04:19:00 PM

Previous topic - Next topic

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Valtxr

   Elan sat there.
   Thirty minutes passed.
   Then a full hour.
   She had shifted from arms-crossed and heads-down, to hands on her head, to a hand on her chin, to a normal seated posture, to hands covering her face, and then back all over again. She had finished her ale within the first ten minutes of her troubled thinking, and by thirty minutes in she had a sloppy smile and a goofy look on her face; a sharp contrast on the outside to what was happening on the inside. Elan was a happy, hugging, hands-on drunk. And, without anybody nearby to touch, she hugged herself intermittently as her thoughts rebounded from the optimistic side of her mind to the "But what if...?" side and back and forth and back again.
   And she giggled as the first minute of the new hour passed.
   This was crazy. Absolutely crazy. She had just met Jim. Hardly knew a thing about him. He could be anybody, really.
   But, on the other hand, what else was she going to do? She was dead at the end of the week for sure. There was no way she could ever find Master Laython's stupid thing. And why should she? He killed Alan. Why should she do anything to help him?
   Yeah, that's how Alan would think. And Alan would take the opportunity to get out, to be free, to live dangerously. He'd stick it to Laython. Absolutely he would.
   Elan glanced at the mug. Pulled it close to her. Then lifted it up and hugged it to her chest.
   She'd do it. She'd go outside the city gates and find Jim and follow through on whatever plan he had cooked up. And she'd do it for Alan.
   Elan put down the mug and stood and turned toward the tavern door—
   And stumbled and tripped and fell to the floor. The group of friends from earlier all laughed. One called out, "Hey, watch your step, lady!" and another said, "Joseph, man, there's a perfect match for you right there.
   Elan got back to her feet. Dusted herself off and straightened out her blouse and her pants and her hat.
   Her balance still severely hindered by the vicious grip of the firebrand ale on her mind, Elan carefully made her way to the door.

   Drunken wandering. Drunken wandering.
   Elan made her way to the main gates of Reajh. Legitimately and "accidentally" bumping into a number of random people along the way. Didn't matter which. She grabbed their hands and touched their shoulders and apologized sincerely to their puzzled faces before moving along.
   Elan hugged each of the guards standing watch at the gates on her way out. The first one bristled harshly when she did, since his attention was elsewhere and she had caught him by surprise. The troop of guards eyed each other; they had no idea what to make of it. The last guard actually hugged her back though, and asked if she was going to be busy later on in the evening. She said yes, and he looked disappointed.
   Then she walked.
   Down the road, passed a few incoming travelers and a wagon.
   Down and down and down the road.
   Until the gates and walls of Reajh were some distance behind her. Until the natural sounds of Sirantil Valley, the birds in the trees and the rustling of the leaves and the swaying of the branches and the ripple of wind through the lush forest, replaced the urban sounds of the city.
   She stood by the road. A goofy, drunken smile on her face.
   And hummed a soft tune to herself.

Wrathwyrm

A fool would say he was being sentimental.  Hell, Jim Batmire would say it too, and he was someone that he made up.  And perhaps to some, it would seem that way.  He was something of a gentleman thief, after all.  Vicious and deadly, but when you spare them from your knife, they're suppose to remain spared!  Punished, yes.  Pissed upon by fate, sure.  But that is low.  He would not be made into the ilk as those 'hearty adventurers'. Some might say it was silly, the great Gary Blight saving a human woman from disaster.  Surely one for the rumor pages, no doubt.  Well, let them speculate.  How many would dare to guess that it was not for reasons of gallantry, but sanity?

The very moment she had so-confirmed her brother's death, it had to be done.  Gary did not regret killing, and this woman's brother was nothing to him, but obviously this particular death had pushed past the realm of good taste.  People die and other people mourn them.  Goblinkind are killed all the time.  Life is a struggle.  It's meant to be so.  However, when somebody rubs it in your face, that was going too far.  When you're forced to bear witness to horror, or to do more terrible things than you ever would imagine, that is a line that should never have been crossed.  That must be paid back to you, or else you'll never live with yourself.

'Jim Batmire' had plenty of time to get out of town.  He'd even gotten a bite to eat outside when he noticed that Elan wasn't following.  Well...  He couldn't force her to leave.  It had to be of her own free will, or else - in her mind - she would never be free.  He took his time, made no strange moves, just headed out of town with his considerable headstart.  He walked, as he said, for a mile or so.  Then, where the snapped branch lay, he turned left and walked straight into the woods.  It had been laid for him.  Concord liked to move around, but she often left some indicator.  Silly spider.  He could smell her.  He walked in there, until enough trees obscured visibility from the road, and then the spider hopped down from the trees.

"Hello, Concord."

"Hurgur?"

"It's nothing."

He looked down, pulling off his mask as he patted the spider's head area.  At times like these, you needed a friend, if only for their presence.  After a moment, the goblin looked up at her again.

"We're having guests.  One of them, I believe you will recognize.  The others, if any, will be unwelcome followers.  Here is what's going on..."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

By the time Elan came to the area on the road, that explanation had passed.  As she closed in on the area of the stick - which had been removed - she would hear that whistling again, the same tune as in the bar that Jim had made.  Then, curiously, she would hear something like his voice from the woods, going "Now, you try.".  There would be a sound, a sound like someone was trying and failing at whistling.  She'd then hear "No no no, listen...  You've got to put your mandibles together, and blow.  Try it.".  The sound that followed was very much like a loud raspberry.  Of course, if Elan chose to follow these sounds, she would find the goblin rogue in his normal attire, teaching a giant spider to whistle.

Valtxr

   Someone else was humming too. No. Whistling. That was whistling.
   Elan glanced around. Road. Trees. Bushes. Whoever was doing it was close by, but not visible directly from the road. Hey. That whistle sounded familiar. Jim? Yeah, Jim. He whistled something like that when he left the tavern an hour or two ago. And Elan hadn't heard that tune before today. Had a different style to it. So that just had to be Jim. Signaling her.
   This was the right decision!
   Elan stepped off the road and into the vegetation of the Valley proper.
   Followed the sound of the whistling.
   Oh. He was talking to somebody. Great. It wouldn't just be them. She certainly felt safer with—
   Elan eyed the forest floor and stepped over a large root and came around the thick tree it belonged to and lifted her head and the first thing she saw was a gigantic spider.
   She flinched hard. Tripped. Fell and rolled forward ungracefully, coming to a stop with her back on the ground and her arms and legs splayed out and her hat in the grass beside her.
   She looked at the spider.
   Then at the short...guy with the weird eyes.
   Then at the spider again.
   And she burst out laughing. Her whole face flushed red. Her speech a bit slurred. "Ish that a shpider? That'sh the biggesht shpider I've ever seen. Gosh, I'm sorry. I've forgotten my manners. I'm Elan. Elan Buckley. Nish to meet ya. I'm looking for a short guy, goes by Jim. 'Bout your height. He'sh a merry-man." Another fit of giggles. "You know, a jeshter type. Whishles like you were whishling. Oh gosh, didn't mean to shuggest that I was eaveshdropping. I'm not normally one to intrude. Well, I guessh I'm intruding now, so I might as well, right? You teach Jim how to whishle like that? Ah. Wait. I should ashk if you even know him. He's a short guy. Goes by Jim. 'Bout your...I said this already, didn't I? I'm sorry, I'm a little...I've a had bit to drink. I don't know if you can tell. Here. 'Mere. C'mere. I'll give ya a hug. Make it up to ya."

Wrathwyrm

There are many reactions one could have to coming across Gary Blight and his faithful steed.  One is fear, a most understandable reaction.  You step into this place, and you find a masked goblin with a giant spider.  Goblins are a menace and the spider can rip your head off.  Completely understandable!  Another reaction is confusion, the question of 'What the fuck am I looking at?'.  Because there is a certain audacious absurdity in coming across a pair like them, the very reason - one assumes - that such a character as Gary Blight would be of such a fantastical nature is because the very notion of a goblin a'riding a giant spider to rob people is just patently ridiculous.

Ordinarily, he was not encountered like this by somebody flat drunk.

Oh dear, it looks like she's had one too many...

Elan Buckley was a bit out of her gourd, thanks to her drinking at the tavern.  Had it been more than just the one?  He had heard her stumbling through the brush.  Hell, a deaf man could've picked up on that!  She rolled into view - having tripped - and came to be on the ground before them, tipsy being an unsufficient word to describe her behavior.  Well, at least she was a happy drunk.  Gary despised Rage-oholics and Depressos.  She was, however, in no condition to put two and two together.  She was in more of a 'Two plus three equals chair' mood, at the moment.  Nevertheless, her mood put a decided smile on the goblin's face, as she flipped himself onto Concord's back, crouching with his hands on his knees.

"Miss Buckley, I know who you are, and why you're here.  You see, I am Jim Batmire.  And it just so happens too...that I am Gary Blight."

Valtxr

   Elan stared.
   Her mouth dropped open.
   Incredulous.
   And then she laughed again. She tried to get back up as she did, but she stumbled and fell back down again. She settled for sitting up straight on the ground, even though she was far more comfortable lying down.
   As the laughter subsided and the world stopped spinning as her body adjusted to its new resting position, Elan blinked. Blinked again. Squinted.
   Gary came into focus.
   "Oh, you've got to be joking. Can't be sherious." A giggle. An aftershock. "You're Gary. The Gary Blight? And you're real? And you were shitting in front of me the whole—wait, that didn't shound right. Lemme try again. Lemme try. Ahem. And you were..." Intense concentration. "Sit...ting...in front of me the whole time? I don't. Um. I don't know what to shay. Uh, thanksh for the drink? I didn't know you were shuch a gentleman...goblin...gentlegoblin...gentlegob. One of those. But I guess it'sh fair to shay that I didn't know much about goblinsh in the first place."
   She felt around on the ground for her hat. Found it. Carefully put it on her head.
   And still, it was slanted to her right side.

Wrathwyrm

Happy drunks seldom take anything seriously.  Gary could tell one that he was planning to steal his pants and the drunk would still be laughing while sitting in thr bar, half naked.  Naturally, he wasn't planning on doing anything so crass and ridiculous to Elan, but it's just the sort of state that she was in.  Hell, he even chuckled along with her, just to show how good a sport he was about this.  He laughed harder at 'shitting'.

"Indeed, it didn't seem right, at all."

He let her talk, try to gather her thoughts a bit more carefully.  Hmmm, gentlegob...  He liked that.  Might have to use that later.  In his own right, he was a gentleman.  Of course, in his own right, he was also a tenacious bastard.  Well, it takes all kinds, doesn't it?  Once she had finished talking, he decided to inject some understanding into her, see if it would stick.  In her current state, he'd give it about a 50-50 chance, but he had a 'ringer' that'd grab her attention.  The sack was on Concord's back.

"Yes, well, I'm sure there would be any number of goblins who would claim to be me, for whatever reason, but I am who I say I am, and I asked you here because it seems we must settle matters in some fashion."

He pulled out the spiked bauble and the control stone.

"The cargo in question, stolen by a foe who knocked out twenty people in full stealth.  The carriage stolen, the locks melted, and even a few guns and swords taken."

The items were placed in a belt pouch now.

"I asked you here to discuss the means of your freedom.  Now, we're not going to try anything like killing the man.  That's for if he tries to do anything foolish.  I have what he wants, and I understand the fullness of its value.  I think, perhaps, when he learns of this fact, he could be tempted to deal.  After all, by force would be a fool's errand.  I've been at this since I was a child, and I don't play fair."

Valtxr

   Elan squinted again and slanted her head forward some. Neither move was particularly effective at bringing the two small items in Gary's hand into focus. Both remained tiny blurs, and more so appeared to be four items instead of two.
   She giggled. "What? All that money and all that shecurity for those four little thingsh? Whadodey even do? Can't imagine they'd be worth all that much. But I guessh they are to Mashter Laython. That shtupid bashtard."
   And Elan listened to Gary's proposal, a look of wonder overcoming her. This truly was a day like none other, a defining day in her life; perhaps the most defining, unseating the day that she and Alan were sold into slavery by their parents. And now, like then, it had an almost surreal quality about it, as if it were a dream or a vision provided by a divination mage or seer. As if these sorts of events, the death of her brother and meeting a legend in the flesh, just didn't happen in real life, or were strictly reserved for other people.
   And yet, here she was. Listening to Gary Blight, the Gary Blight, telling her his plan for getting back at Master Laython and setting her free at the same time.
   Overwhelming.
   Simply overwhelming.
   And a few tears of joy ran down her face.
   A sloppy smile as she wiped them away with her hand. "You're gonna get hugged today. Shoon as I can shtand. You wait and shee."
   And when she finished wiping, she said, "What can I do to help?"

Wrathwyrm

"Well, let's just say he would be able to make back that money very easily with these."

He didn't want to tell her exactly what they did.  Not yet.  If she knew that it could control the minds of any being whose brain was thus afflicted with it, she would naturally be appalled, and Laython would probably notice some look on her face about it.  After this was over, it might be safer, but for now it could be very dangerous to know the facts, for secrecy of the device works in its favor, and rumors would make its implementation harder.  Nay, it was far better if Elan didn't know so Laython would not execute her, as well.

Her reaction to what he was saying told him that the ale was starting to wear off, because she was beginning to understand now, and she looked entirely grateful.  Gary did not want a hug, though.  He wasn't against affection, but he still didn't like humans...  He didn't have human friends.  At the most, he had colleagues who were in the same world as he was, the underworld of thievery and such-like.  You may make curious bedfellows, but only be the profession.  Oh well.  At least, she didn't point her gun at him for getting her brother killed...

"The funny thing is...what I need you to do is to tell him the truth of how you found me.  You must tell him that I lured you from the city to this meeting, having recognized you from the convoy.  It must be thus, because a lie would probably never pass."

He now hopped down from Concord and turned to the creature, and simply nodded.  That was - as he had explained to the spider before - the indication that he wished for followers to be hunted down and dispatched quickly.  He did not think of Concord as a mere Attack Spider.  She was his trusted friend, and a very strong one.  The spider jumped into the trees, and would begin to hunt in a spiral pattern, making quite certain that anyone within earshot - any thinking being she could smell, besides the two of them - would be pounced and bitten before moving on.  Gary turned to Elan, once more.

"You see, Miss Buckley, you are to be the messenger for my intent to strike a bargain with this Laython.  He will not like that I ever stole these articles in the first place, but their worth outweighs even trying to kill me, if he can get them back swiftly.  Of course, he may be a backstabber, and I have considered this, but I believe he will do business and move on, because darkening my day with treachery would require the use of deadly force against him.  Not the sort of thing that men with plans get into, if avoidable."

The goblin smirked, exposing some of his not-human teeth.

"No, he will want them back and to quietly move on, if he's smart.  The message will appropriately convey my intentions, and explain that you are to lead him to this area.  Part of my price will include your release from slavery, unscathed.  You have already paid a price in familial blood...  That, to me, is...quite enough."

He'd gone sort of quiet at the end, there.  That true story, before...  He must have meant every word, and more.

Valtxr

   The proposed plan scared a bit of sobriety back into Elan.
   She needed to go back to Laython? Tell him all of that? Gary's description of Laython's mindset was pretty spot-on from all that she knew of him and how he liked to do business, but he was furious before. Maybe he'd believe her. Maybe not.
   And Gary's voice. At the end there. Elan didn't make the connection yet, but she could hear the sincere solemnity. Understood on a base level that she and Gary shared a similar experience in common. The vaguest hint that his motivations ran deeper than mere things of value whispering in the back of her mind.
   But. The plan.
   Elan thought about it, taking longer than normal with the haze of alcohol clouding her mind. She fixed her hat, straightened it on her head, and said, "I'll do it. But I'll need shomething from you. Shomething I can show Mashter Laython that I'm not making thish all up. He...um...doeshn't think you're real. He won't believe me unlessh I can prove it to him."

Wrathwyrm

Upon hearing about Laython's apparent skepticism, Gary went "Hah!" and began to pace.  He was genuinely amused by this particular point.  If Laython didn't believe in him, then he didn't fully appreciate his abilities, either.  That was both good and bad, in terms of how things stand right now.

"How could I possibly convince a man that I exist?  Much of what I am revolves around taking from others.  Even a personal item is dubious.  Why would someone who does not know me believe that they are mine?  My mask?  Some article of clothing?  It could come from many a place.  I carry no official seal or documentation.  Even if I were to loan you one of my personal weapons, he would not believe that I would part with one...and he would be right."

My my, this was a quandary, was it not?  Then, he stopped, and got an idea.  His means to prove himself need only go so far as to show he was the thief of the convoy.  Quickly heading behind a tree, he came out with a - now emptied - pistol in one hand and Bitterfang in the other.  He held both over his head, touching the end of the gun barrel to the blade.

"The locks on the carriage and chest went like this."

Sssss...  Bitterfang began to melt and misshape the barrel into two halves before Gary quit.  He waved the smoking - and now useless - weapon in the air a few times until the smoking stopped, then tossed it lightly over to Elan.

"There you are.  A chemist might manage that, but not with such precision.  It is certainly one of the guns supplied in the convoy, and you and anybody there knows that the locks were melted similarly, so he must know by now, as well.  Will that suffice?"


Valtxr

   Elan watched with fascination as the metal of the pistol gave way to the blade. Even inebriated, her mind began to race with all of the possibilities for such a tool. Crafting precise pieces of metal for different applications. Might be a little rough on the edges. Perhaps a blacksmith could fix it, or the tool itself could be used in a specific manner or, if need be, toned down and engineered for accurate cutting.
   She picked the ruined pistol up and inspected it. A big smile on her face. "Oh yeah. I think thish'll do nicely. All the men got a good look at the door and the locksh. It'sh no shecret that they were melted. If this doeshn't make him believe, I don't know what will."
   Elan tried to stand, then sat back down before she'd gotten halfway.
   "Whew. I, uh, made a mishtake. Got comfortable. Hold on."
   She took in a couple big breaths, then carefully tried again. And she made it, somewhat haphazardly, back to her feet. The world rocked like a ship at sea, and it took her a moment to truly regain her balance.
   She held out her arms, as if bracing herself against some invisible objects. "Okay. There. I got thish." Then, she grinned at Gary. "I'm gonna hug you when I get back, you know."
   And with that, Elan started back toward the road with the ruined pistol.
   It would be a long and sobering walk back to Reajh.

Wrathwyrm

"That may not be wise, given the presence of the people we're dealing with."

As Elan was headed away, she probably heard Concord return to the goblin, which she did, in order to report negative treats for her stomach.  This seemed to please him, and then he stopped when he realized...oh hell!  The message!  She left without the thing and he hadn't even written it yet!  Quickly, Gary pulled out paper and inkwell, and a sharp pieces of wood for the writing.

To the man called Laython,

I have your cargo, which has been deftly wrested from twenty people and
two strong locks.  Further, I have determined the value of such devices,
as their use could easily make a man rich and powerful, or the rich even
MORE powerful.  Given that you could effectively pocket the entire kingdom
with these baubles, I believe you would certainly be willing to negotiate
for their release.  I have asked Miss Buckley to bring you to me, having
recognized her from the night in question.  She has no knowlege of your
affairs and has little to convey to you of me that you couldn't hear in one
of my many tales.  You may bring your most-trusted men, those whom you
would allow to know your plans, with you for your own security.  I don't
care.  Anyone making a violent move will be swiftly cut down, of course, so
instruct your men carefully.  This is a meeting of the minds, not the swords,
and YOU WILL be present, or there will be no negotiations.

Gary Blight

Blowing the ink dry, he then pursued the fortunately-not-moving-quickly Elan while tying the paper up in a bit of string.  She would hear the goblin clear his throat from a tree branch before tossing her the message in question.

"Let us not forget the actual invitation.  It would be improper not to convey myself, after all."

Valtxr

   A noise.
   Elan looked up. Oh, hey, it was Gary.
   And the message bounced off of her head.
   "Ah. Okay. Lemme just..." She carefully crouched down and scooped up the scroll and pocketed it. "Right. That'll do it then. I'll be back shoon."

* * * * *

   The sun low in the sky.
   Elan made it back to the brothel behind Market Street, the alcohol mostly gone from her system now. The two men posted as guards were still at the front door. They watched her approach.
   "I need to see Master Laython," she said. "It's important."
   "Sorry," said the man on her left, "Mr. Laython's gone for the day. Back to Uthlyn."
   Elan looked back at the one wagon and horse that was still present in front of the brothel. "Then take me to him. It's about his shipment. I know where it is."
   The two men glanced at each other.
   "Think we'll get some extra pay if we take her?"
   "Maybe. The shipment was important enough to get all the other boys beat."
   "Worth a shot."
   The man on her left gestured his head toward the wagon. "Hop in back. Hope you got somethin' good, or Mr. Laython'll be pissed that we came knockin' on his door."
   "Trust me," Elan said, "he'll want to know."

* * * * *

   Laython stood in the kitchen of his Uthlyn estate with his wife Vanessa. He was out of his normal attire, dressed in casual house clothes, and a folded white rag on his shoulder. He worked on slicing the vegetables while Vanessa prepared the meat. Unlike most other men of his status, Laython preferred preparing his own food whenever possible. Unpredictable patterns and intermediaries sufficed when it wasn't.
   It was starting to get dark.
   "Vanessa, could you light the lantern?"
   "Yes, dear." And she did as he asked, returning to cooking the meat with a content smile. A subservient wife. Pliable. Loyal to a fault. A good front.
   Spectre entered the kitchen from the portal to the main foyer.
   "Sir," he said. "Maritsa has come back from the market."
   Laython put down the knife and set aside the chopped carrots. He said to his wife, "If you could finish up with the vegetables, Vanessa, that would be lovely. I'm going to go say hello to Maritsa before dinner."
   Content as ever. "Okay, dear."
   "Thank you."
   And he left.

   Upstairs, Laython tapped lightly on Maritsa's door and opened it and stepped inside her lavishly decorated room and shut the door behind himself and smiled at his daughter. She smiled back and crossed the distance between them and cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply.
   Laython held the kiss for a long time. Working and spending so much time in Reajh had its downfalls. But a reunion after weeks or even a month apart was its own special pleasure. Somewhat hard to believe, that he was indeed the sort of man who valued such things. Or, at least, could value them. Perhaps it depended on the woman one returned to. Laython felt no such feelings for Vanessa. She was more a tool, a means to an end whenever necessary, useful in that particular regard. The best thing she had done was given him Maritsa, a woman who truly understood him. Vanessa could be sufficiently summed up as vaguely fearful and persistently submissive. Maritsa, on the other hand, was full of nothing but admiration. She held a genuine interest and appreciation for the work Laython did, where Vanessa would shrivel and shy away, the details far too much for her delicate ears to handle. Pitiful. Maritsa, even as a child, was simply enthralled and captivated by the workings of powerful men. Laython could only imagine the exact thoughts that crossed her mind, the sensations that rippled through her body, the passionate fluttering of her heart when she learned—not too long after she had come of age—that her own father was such a man, and that he was involved in so many things that she could scarcely conceive of at the time. She turned down every would-be suitor in the fourteen years since. And how could Laython blame her? Surely, those effeminate, silver-spooned, birth-righted, nobleman's sons paled in comparison.
   Maritsa drew back. Her face expectant. "Did you get it?"
   Laython smiled. "The Dampener was stolen. A few days ago, while the convoy was crossing the Kilanthro Mountains."
   Maritsa took a few steps back and turned around, her right hand to her forehead. "Nothing but bad luck..."
   Laython stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. Rubbed them. "Come now. The Dampener will be recovered. A simple matter of time. We've already waited years; a few more days or so is little to worry about."
   "You haven't heard about Pritchard?"
   "That fat bastard is running late. Color me shocked."
   "He's not late. He's dead."
   Laython paused. "Dead."
   Maritsa glanced back at him. "Yes. Dead. Crushed inside of a carriage that apparently was thrown forty or fifty feet into the air. It happened on Market Street, for gods' sake."
   A simple 'hmm' from Laython. "Inevitable, that some events will slip by unnoticed. And...what of—?"
   "She's gone. And nobody seems to know where she is." Maritsa's eyes hardened. "Give me some men. Whoever is available. I'll have them turn Reajh inside-out if I have to. I will find our daughter, Elliot."
   A moment passed.
   Laython was about to say something else, but a knock at the bedroom door interrupted him.
   "Yes, what is it?" he said.
   "Sir," said Spectre from the other side, "you're going to want to come downstairs. It's Elan Buckley. She said she's found your shipment."
   Maritsa whirled around, her face brightening up in an instant.
   Laython smiled. Said to her, "All the pieces of a well-laid plan fall into place with a patient mind and a careful hand."

Wrathwyrm

During this time, Gary and Concord were in special preparation.  It was nighttime, and they had time on their hands for an eventual meeting.  Honestly, he expected there to be a much quicker response, certainly before the fifth net trap.  Oh, allow me to explain: Between the two of them, they are rigging a number of carefully-triggered traps in the area.

The first is, of course, the nets.  They're spider webs, waiting to fall from certain trees at certain heights.  Spiders are ever-so-good at creating webs, so nets were basically a cinch to create, even spontaneously from the creature's posterior.  Rigging them to fall was more of a Gary thing, though.  They would only be triggered by someone IN the trees, deliberately.

The second were the simple sling traps.  Nothing special here.  Rigged on flexible branches, here and there, they ranged from being a distraction and a nuissance to causing physical harm with a good direct hit.  These took less time than the webs up high, and were not really on the path to Gary that Elan had taken earlier, so if you were not deviating, you wouldn't find one.

The third were what Gary and Concord were getting up to now: Burmese Tiger Traps.  And dammit, there are NO Burmese Tigers in the area, so Wile E. Coyote can just piss off!  Anyway, by the time they actually got here, those two would be well-rested in the trees, out of direct sight.

Valtxr

   Elan stood at the front doors of the estate, the soft glow of the two lanterns illuminating the porch. Ghost stood with one foot outside and one inside, her back against the door frame. Watching Elan.
   A throbbing in Elan's head. The beginnings of a headache, the parting gift of the firebrand ale.
   And as she waited, as her toes fidgeted inside her boots, she started to wish that she had some ale handy.
   But finally, Laython came down the stairs with Spectre and approached the two of them.
   "What a surprise," Laython said as he eyed Elan. "I certainly didn't expect to see you back so soon. Now. Where is my shipment?"
   Elan didn't say anything. Simply presented the ruined pistol, took the message out of her pocket, and offered it as well.
   Laython glanced at Ghost. Nodded.
   Ghost grabbed the pistol. Started to inspect it as Spectre grabbed the message and undid the string and skimmed over it.
   "It's signed Gary Blight, sir," Spectre said.
   "And this pistol appears to have been melted in a way consistent with what the men described of the chest," Ghost said.
   Laython took the message from Spectre and gave it a read himself. Despite herself, despite all the proof Gary had provided, she swallowed nervously. Watched his eyes move left and right and left and right as he read each line of the note.
   He put the note on an end table beside the door.
   Looked back to Elan.
   Elan looked back at him. Tried not to shake.
   A moment passed. The sound of crickets filling the gap.
   Then Laython glanced at Ghost and said, "Gather some of the men from the estate. Have them fetch my carriage. We'll take it along with the wagon Elan arrived in."
   "Full arms and armor, sir?" she asked.
   "Yes. We don't know what we're walking into."
   And Ghost did as she was bidden. Spectre stayed at Laython's side. Kept watch on Elan.
   Laython's eyes drifted back to Elan then. A smirk. "Alright, Elan. It seems you may have a shred of credibility to your name. For your sake, this 'Gary Blight' business had better be genuine."
   "It is," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You'll see, Master Laython."
   He tilted his head forward. "We both will."

* * * * *

   The carriage and the wagon traveled down the road. Lanterns hung from the sides of both vehicles. Beacons of light in the surrounding dark. The clouded night was king out here.
   Elan kept watch in the driver's seat of the carriage, the lead vehicle. She squinted, paying close attention to the road with the limited light available. Hoped she hadn't missed the spot.
   But there.
   At last.
   The particular bend of the road and the shape and size of the bushes and the number of surrounding trees refreshed the sight of the spot in her mind. This was it.
   "Here," she said to the driver, and he stopped the carriage. The wagon behind them stopped as well. The eight plate and mail wearing riflemen in the wagon all jumped out.
   Spectre and Ghost exited the carriage first. Then Laython, straightening and smoothing out his jacket after he did.
   "Have the men set up a perimeter around the carriage and the wagon," Laython said to Spectre, who carried out the order, and the men made a ring around the vehicles.
   Elan jumped down from the driver's seat. Said to Laython, "He's not here. He's ju—"
   "Not here." Laython narrowed his eyes. "You said this is the place. So which is it? Is this the spot of the proposed meeting or is it not?"
   A pang of anxiety in her chest. "He's just a little ways off the road. That's where he led me before. I swear to you that it's the truth."
   Laython glanced at Ghost, and she drew her pistol and pressed it to Elan's forehead.
   "Oh god..." Elan closed her eyes and pursed her lips. Her arms and legs shook.
   "My dear Elan," Laython said. "You wouldn't be trying to lead me into a trap, would you?"
   "No! No! It's just where he took me earlier. The road's too risky for a goblin to—"
   "Perhaps you aren't consciously trying to do so," Laython said as he glanced around at the darkness beyond the glow of the lanterns. "Perhaps you are merely a pawn. A piece to be discarded in a much grander game. Ghost. If you would, please."
   "No! Don't!"
   But the shot didn't come. Ghost grabbed Elan and held her like a human shield, an arm around Elan's neck, the lightning pistol to her head.
   Spectre came back to Laython's side, stood close, his own pistol drawn and his eyes scanning the blackened trees.
   "Or," Laython said, "perhaps you have struck a deal with him. Perhaps there is a connection between the two of you that I am unaware of."
   "It's not like that," Elan said, her voice unsteady. "It's just what's written on the note. I swear it's sincere. Please, Master Laython, please. He just wants to do business. That's all."
   "We'll find that out soon enough." Then, Laython looked back into the surrounding darkness of the forest and yelled, "Mr. Blight! You wanted to talk. Come. Let's talk. I would prefer to be civil about this."
   The cold iron against Elan's head. The armored riflemen, eyeing the dark forest apprehensively, guns in hand and poised to fire.
   And Laython waited, his hands on his hips.

Wrathwyrm

There was...what you could probably call an ominous hush over the forest area.  The wind surged through the trees, and then after...the distinct inflictions of a voice intoning a known melody.

"Gary Blight, Gary Blight,
Riding through the night..."


It was his voice.  And then, from the darkness between the trees, there were yellow eyes gleaming.  It was brighter than Elan would remember, but then the reason would become apparent soon enough.  First, however, a bit of worplay.

"I could swear the phrase went 'Don't shoot the messenger.'.  Dear, Mr. Laython, if I intended to kill you, I wouldn't invite you here and suggest you bring your guards."

He stepped out of the darkness, and it appeared that he had his mask off, twirling it with one of his hands.  In his other hand was an unharmed and quite loaded pistol.  True, it was one shot, but he was quite accurate with his aim.  It rested on his shoulder.  He was smiling in a manner which left fangs showing.  The way he was standing and the proximity he had to the forest would not show that he had a taut strand of webbing - like a rope - attached to his back.  He could spring back in an instant, without effort.

"Now, let's answer to your paranoia, shall we?  First, your items are hidden and therefore cannot be taken by force.  Second, I deliberately told Miss Buckley nothing so that you would gain nothing by threatening her.  And thirdly, I know your type, and that is why any measures I have taken are to deter a double-cross from you.  I will remind you that any act of violence will result in my committing terrible, terrible acts of vengeance upon you all."

There was suddenly quite the savage grin on his face.

"Now, be a good fellow and put the guns down.  I am only going to be reasonable as long as you are."

Laython, who really only cared about his magical items, wasn't going to intimidate the goblin.  The short highwayman swore bloody vengeance to acting on his violent tendencies, towards ANY aggressive act, from anybody.  Since Gary was not someone he could exactly predict, his cargo was on the line, and the goblin could simply vanish...he had to deal or there would be no deal.

Valtxr

   Elan's heart swelled when she heard the tune. Saw the yellow eyes emerge from the darkness, and then Gary himself. Odd, how what could have easily been a frightening sight turned out to be immensely reassuring. She managed a smile as Ghost's hold around her neck tightened.
   Spectre raised his buckler and stood between Laython and Gary, prepared to use his own body as a shield if need be.
   Laython watched the whole display from over Spectre's shoulder. Listened to what Gary had to say, still with a hint of incredulity on his face.
   Then he chuckled. Clapped for a moment. And said, "I have to commend you, Mr. Blight. You've done an admirable job convincing the world that you don't exist. A goal no small number of thieves aspire to and fail at regularly. Well done."
   Laython glanced at Ghost. Nodded. And though she appeared doubtful for a brief second, she let Elan go and took a step back from her. Elan rubbed her neck a little, her eyes darting from Laython to Spectre to Gary, but she made no movement.
   "Lower your weapons," Laython said to his bodyguards and to the men. Spectre and Ghost holstered their pistols, and the eight men circling the vehicles all slowly crouched and laid their rifles on the road. Then, to Gary, "These sorts of clandestine meetings always begin in a precarious state of uncertainty. Unfortunate, but that is the nature of the business."
   Laython stepped out from behind Spectre, taking a few steps forward. Front and center of the group. His arms crossed.
   Spectre did a double-take as soon as Laython passed him. "Sir—"
   Laython slightly raised his right hand, and the motion quieted Spectre.
   "So," Laython said, "let's have that little chat then, hmm? You have something I want, and I clearly have something you want. I don't know what, if anything, Ms. Buckley has told you about me, but I have a variety of things I could offer. Tell me what it is you want. Money? Drugs? Sex? Power? Information? Work? Favors? Do tell."

Wrathwyrm

Honestly, he wasn't trying.  People just ended up turning him into a story.  It's just what people DO.  Laython may've found it impressive, or he might've been sarcastic.  Either way, it hardly mattered, now did it?  He stopped twirling his mask and put it on his belt.  He even slid the barrel of the gun he was holding there, for safe keeping.  Gary's goblin-y grin reduced itself to a smirk once Laython began to cooperate.  Once the man's fear of attack had been taken care of, he seemed well and fine with actually approaching Mr. Blight.  As for what he desired...

"Oh, well I've taken the liberty of putting my idea to paper."

He pulled out a rolled-up paper and handed to the man.  Laython was not going to like it.  It was not monstrously unreasonable, but the very notion of the thing would not please him.  It went...

I, Elliot Laython, hereby return Miss Elan Buckley her rights and freedoms as a citizen.
All debts shall be considered paid in full and no harm shall befall her by my hand or any
means at my disposal, which shall include the indirect methods that a devious mind could
consider.  Should any action leading to her harm or death be considered dubious enough
to warrant suspicion upon me, this document stands as evidence to the murder of her
brother - Alan Buckley - at my hand, and possibly as proof of her own death.  The bearer
of this document is aware of these facts, and of the illegal possession of a mind control
artifact - a two-piece set - which is against the laws of Connlaoth and could be used to
usurp the Grand Duke, thus it can be considered treason.  The bearer of this document
shall be the sole judge upon whether it is to be turned over to any manner of authority
or mercenary, contingent upon my actions towards him and Miss Buckley.

Signed ___________________

"In effect, I retain proof - by your own word - of the man you are away from the public eye.  Your life, as you know it, requires the secrecy it stands by.  Without it, you become a marked man.  Because you are the sort of man that enjoys the life you lead, instead of one like mine, you shall stomach this indignity for the item you desire.  I shall not use this potent information against you, so long as you remain reasonable.  Should we ever have any further dealings, down the road, rest assured that I will not be bringing it up as leverage.  It just doesn't do.  This shall remain a stand-alone agreement to be done with matters, and to move on with our lives, which I'm certain will become more fruitful for you, in the future."

They didn't call him Gary The Magnificent Bastard for nothing.

Valtxr

   Another genuine surprise. Laython had never seen someone actually write down and present their negotiations at one of these kinds of meetings. A good portion of the people he dealt with weren't even literate, for that matter. Perhaps this list of demands was so large and intricate that it required the goblin to jot it down so as not to forget something.
   Laython took the paper and unrolled it and started reading, his face neutral as his eyes scanned the lines.
   A throaty chuckle at one part. "The Grand Duke? How flattering. Allarrick is doing marvelous things for this country. Far be it for me to interrupt such important work."
   And, as it turned out, there wasn't much more after that in the note. The goblin clarified some things verbally, but that seemed to be the extent of it. The document might prove to be a nuisance, given the temptations of leverage, but it wouldn't amount to more than just that. An annoyance to be swatted away if need be. Even that might not be necessary. What self-respecting Connlaothian would even take seriously the scribblings of a goblin?
   "Fetch me a pen and some ink from the carriage," Laython said, and Ghost complied.
   Curious, though, that this would be what the infamous Gary Blight—a creature whose apparent exploits made him more of a ballad character than an actual being—negotiated for. He valued Elan in some regard. Perhaps she had made some kind of deal with him. Perhaps Mr. Blight had a fetish for inter-species sex, and Elan was just his type. Possible. Laython certainly wouldn't put Elan above making that sort of deal, after what happened earlier in the day. Barring that, Laython could scarcely imagine what use Elan could possibly have to the goblin.
   Laython took the pen already dipped with ink. Ghost held up a book for Laython to brace the paper on. He signed his name on the line, and Ghost took the book and the pen back into the carriage.
   "Very well then," Laython said, still holding onto the paper. "Elan Buckley will be a free woman, pending your return of my shipment. In addition, I will permit her onto my Reajh estate so that she may gather her belongings from the slave quarters. I'll send word tonight to the men there that she is to be given the proper leeway to accomplish this."
   He could hear her. The rush of air from her lungs. The audible relief. Even if it was mostly Mr. Blight's doing, Laython still had never considered that Elan would actually be able to do something right for a change. Apparently, all she needed was the proper prompt to convey the appropriate stakes of the situation. Or, perhaps, it was her buffoon of a brother that had been keeping her down the entire time. In either case, the remedy was the same, and she had served her purpose.
   "My items. If you would be so kind, Mr. Blight."

Wrathwyrm

The scribblings of a goblin weren't the main thing, of course.  This letter was a confession, an admittance of guilt that put his own signature to events.  It would be trouble in anybody's hands.  In the possession of Gary Blight, it was dangerous.  Laython would have no doubts that Gary was imaginative enough to find ways to make it all work, somehow, so as the goblin said...best to just let it go in peace.  Honestly, though, the comment about the Duke by name was amusing as hell.  Having signed his name to it, Laython then made his statement.  Gary smiled.

"Concord, could you come show the prize?"

Every man - and Elan - would hear the sound of something large-but-fast through the branches, leading them to see the face and forelimbs of a giant spider in the largest tree.  Concord was poised over them all, and there was pouch clutched in her mandibles, ready to act at a moment's notice in...whatever manner Gary thought wise.

"Hand me the paper and I will allow the pouch to drop.  I will not leave until you are at least satisfied that the items are in your possession, thus guaranteeing that this is not a trick."

Tags: