Return to Port Lorrel

[Jack Rothwell]

OOC Alberich is ready to join in with a character once Tamina and Jamie get out of town, we ok to shuffle this on in the next couple of days? I'll try to put in a longer post when I get time./OOC

Tamina turned her rapt attention to the stage as the show began and watched, saucer eyed, as the lights went down and fancily dressed men walked onto the stage. She stuffed the remains of the sturgeon between the seats next to her and settled down to watch as the first song of the show began to play.

"Like moo-sick." She commented.

[Graybeard]

OOC:

OOC Alberich is ready to join in with a character once Tamina and Jamie get out of town, we ok to shuffle this on in the next couple of days? I'll try to put in a longer post when I get time./OOC

Do as you wish. I'm going to resume being a spectator in this for a bit, having given Jasmine her boy toy to play with. Don't break him.

[Sareth]

[OOC]Now now. When have I ever broken my toys. Lately.

However I'm not completely how to resolve the current situation quickly that is in keeping with the fine traditions of this particular tale. I suppose I could just shout fire. It is crowded, after all...[/OOC]

[Jack Rothwell]

OOC Ok, this is just a suggestion for kicking things along, I'll retcon if anyone wants to do this another way./OOC

A hour later, a silence had descended on the street outside the theater, giving the road a sense of eeriness that seemed portentous. A faint wind rustled the browning clumps of grass that stuck awkwardly from the corners of the business and street lamps decorating the edges of the street, a dog meandered its way out of an alley looking for scraps to eat, a shopkeeper stepped out of his place of business with a cigarette in one hand and a lighted match in the other. He raised the match to the tobacco.

The doors of The Muddy Swan burst open so suddenly that a gust of air blew the fire out an inch before it made contact. the shopkeeper watched, open mouthed, as a teenager girl holding a young child and a strange looking creature with a pair of oversized, furry ears and a tail sticking out the back of her pants came pinwheeling out into the sunshine, followed by a sea of voices, some angry, some screaming in horror and, inexplicably, a cloud of what appeared to be chicken feathers swirling in their wake.

The unlikely pair took off like a shot from the theater, running at full pelt into the nearest dark alleyway with barely a backward glance, leaving behind citizens in expensive evening wear now ruined by a multitude of peculiar stains. The shopkeeper watched as a crying woman pulled, of all things, a chicken bone out of the over-sized mountain of her hair. The man couldn't hear exactly what she wailing to herself, but it sounded something like 'The horror! The horrific avian horror!'

A few minutes later a tired kobold, a tired teenager and a squealing excited baby pulled to a halt a merciful distance away from the spectacle. Tamina turned, slowly, and looked Jamie in the eye.

"Umm... let's never speak 'bout this again?" She suggested.

[Sareth]

"Talk about what again? This never happened." Jamie plucked a feather out of her hair. "I suppose that it's time for us to get back to the wagon train, don't you?"

[Jack Rothwell]

"Yeah.. yeah-yeah." The Kobold replied and, with that, the pair made their way back to Eastbourne street traders at a slinking, discretionary pace.

A few minutes they were stood outside the shop where a large and luxurious looking and heavily loaded wagon stood, headed by a couple of sturdy looking horses and a man who resembled a younger version of Harry Sander who sat, hunched, at the riens with a bottle of what appeared to be cheap wine clutched in a grubby hand.

Harry himself smiled as politely as he could manage at the outlandish looking mercenaries and gestured at the vehicle.

"My pride and joy." He supplied. "The wagon, that is, not my nephew."

"Love you too, uncle." The younger man slurred.

"Shut up Gary. The trip to Ester should take less than a day if all goes well, if it doesn't..." He spread his hands as if to say 'I'm sure you know what to do...' "Do this right I might have other work available if you're planning on sticking around in Port Lorrel. Just keep an eye on this disgrace of my brother's loins, make sure he doesn't fall off the wagon and....hey!"

Tamina had used Harry's speech as an opportunity to clamber behind the drivers seat where the alcoholic nephew was perched, she reached out with an odd delicacy and snatched something tiny from the back of the man's head.

"Flea." She supplied.

"Fantastic." Harry sarcasmed and, turning to Jamie. "I think you'll be the Captain of this particular ship, young lady. Do you have any last minute questions before departure?"

[Sareth]

"Yeah. How do I get out of this chickenshit outfit?"

While Harry gaped, Jamie grinned and hopped up on the wagon as well. It was far too crowded with three people (and a baby) occupying the seat, she slid into the wagon bed and settled herself atop a barrel. "After you, lunch meat!" She gave an imperious wave and the wagon lurched forward with enough awkward force to cause her to roll off the barrel and flop into the depths of the pile on the wagon's bed. Substantial swearing and small child giggles floated out of the pile.

[OOC]Fast forward to Albrech, I'd say. Also, cookies to whoever can name the sources of Jamie's comments.[/OOC]

[Alberich]

[OOC: Well, I got it after I googled it. Before that I was picturing Stroker Ace...]

The wagon lurched along, slow, strong steeds in front, through the broken hills between Port Lorrel and Ester. The terrain ensured two things: (1) a wagon this size was never leaving the road, and (2) every stretch along it was well-made for an ambush.

Young Master Sanders started grumbling right away. He didn't want to go on the trip, and he wanted the trip to be longer. He wanted more wagons and more guards. He wanted to carry something more interesting than barrels of salted fish and kegs of horseradish. He wanted companions who wouldn't bitch-slap him 'til he shut up. But he had a saving grace: he could be taught to respect violence.

A couple of hours passed in relative silence, and the wagon creaked around a large rock into sort of wide ravine. The clifftops would make perfect military crests, the boulders could provide perfect cover for men in ambush.

And there was their enemy, right in front of them. Bandits. Well, a bandit. He was standing on a short platform in the middle of the road. In front of him was a stick, and swivel-mounted on top of it was a gun. Of sorts. It had six short rifle barrels, bolted together in a fan-shaped pattern, and each had a cocked hammer. No cylinders or clips - this was a one-burst, slow-reload deal. But the barrels were big, and if they all went off, the horses might be hit.

The man behind it was approaching middle age, and his pot-bellied body had a start on the "spread." He wore a long-skirted Tsuirakuan dress uniform, and the chest gleamed with medals that could blind his opponents in bright sunlight. Six knives and short sticks were stuck into his sash. His left hand held a short staff with a knobbly bit on the end, and his right gripped the butt of that fan-shaped gun. His round, bearded face wore an expression of triumph.

"STAND AND DELIVER!" he called out. "You'd better beware! I'm a veteran elite heliomancer, and if you don't stand and deliver, I'll show you how we did it in the war! Let's have some Standing! Followed by Deliverance!"

[Jack Rothwell]

Tamina's reaction to the bandit who'd drawn the wagon to such an abrupt halt spoke more about the culture of her people than of her ability to get a good grasp on a situation. She stared at the figure on the road, looking at the funny looking fan gun in the man's hand, looking at the fancy uniform he was wearing, looking at the butcher shop size set of knives tucked into its sash and, finally, looking at the big gold medals on the man's chest.

The medals.

The shiny, shiny medals.

"OooOOOOOooohhh!" She exclaimed, her pupils widening until the yellow in her eyes disappeared completely. An expression of deep, devious cunning, coupled with a maniacal grin spread across the kobold's face like a slow sunrise. She reached behind her and fumbled something small out of a nearby sack.

She waved at the bandit.

"Umm... hi, hi-hi. Can I... have one of the shinies?" She said, striving to sound cute and at the same time showing him what she'd liberated from the wagon.

"Give you a biscuit!"

[Alberich]

The bandit was wide-eyed and stunned. Surely this was a fantasy, from illustrated thaumo-fiction? "A catgirl...?"

"Kobold!" said three voices in unison. (Gary had learned, the hard way.)

"Oh..ahh..uhh, umm! Well, ah, young lady, I can see why you'd be impressed. But to get medals like these, you have to be accepted in the elite, and look death in the face smiling back!" Or hit the surplus stores and garage sales in suburban Tsuiraku, but there was no need to dwell on that. "Shoulder to shoulder! Heel to heel! Cheek to cheek! Into the mouth of death and make him gag, and be vomited back up to come home and tell the tale! They're not playthings. They're badges of honor and warning signs of danger! The spots on a tiger!"

It was kind of flattering...but then, highwaymen were supposed to have that special charm with the ladies. Just like professional elite soldiers. Professional. Yes, there was business to be done.

"What I mean is, ah, what I want is more than a biscuit! Loot! All the loot I can carry! Loot! Your gold and silver and jewelry and all that!"

He thought for a moment. "And a biscuit!"