RP Session 1: "A Hart's Errand"

A couple of cups of the dark, sour-sweet wine took the edge off Lancaelad's mood. His hearty frame and the cushioning of the rabbit stew kept it from going to his head, but did serve to blunt his roughness a little. He watched with little interest as Breuddwyd climbed the stairs, looking tipsier than he felt – damn elves, lightweights the lot of them – but did glance around as Tovrunn made softly for the inn door.

Wiping the purple from his lips on the back of his hand he set down the wooden cup and decided to follow her. A knight should not let a lady go about unescorted in these dangerous times... and, his alcohol-mellowed heart informed him, he might do well to apologise her for his ungamesmanlike behaviour. Lan rose and went to the door after the Rjurik woman exited, stepping out into the chill late-winter evening. A persistent drizzle was blowing in from the Straits of Aerele, and he pulled his cloak tighter about himself as it fell cooly on his face. He looked around, frowning, puzzled as to where Tovrunn could have disappeared to – all he saw was another cat winding its way in to the warmth of the inn. He reached down absently and scritched it behind the ears as it passed.

Tovrunn must have gone to the privies. He cheeks coloured at the realisation. Well, he hoped no-one would be vulgar enough to ambush her there. Unwilling to walk back inside like a pillock who had forgotten his hat on the doorstep he let his gaze wander over the meager delights of Bardenhold for a while. Slowly, his feet began to drag him forwards, and Lan made his way to the pallisade around the town. Ascending a ladder he stood on the wooden platform of the battlements, resting his hands on the log spurs and gazing out at the eaves of the Erebannien. The silvery, ambrosia notes of Brueddwyn's song echoed in his ears and in his aching, conflicted soul.

**It seems as though he does not intend on letting you in,** Tovrunn thinks, making for the dead ended hallway wherein she saw a window on her way to the room in question. And then, half a breath later, **Does sarcasm translate well though this thought-speech?** she asks, though it is not clear whether this question was a deliberate one.

Jumping easily to the window sill and finding the shutter cracked to ward against the drizzle while still allowing the rain-cooled wind passage, she nudged it open further to allow for her own temporary departure. Finding the rain to be uncomfortable yet bearable in her feline form, she again exercised the considerable acrobatics that cats were known for and leapt to the next sill over, listening carefully to better gain a sense of where its occupants attention was before risking a glance. And then, gently slipping inside.

Corson watched Lancaelad leave the inn, made an internal note and returned to watch.

For a breath or two Tovrunn considered her options. Going down was a risk if this man was truly an enemy of the court, but that in and of itself would be valuable information. But if the man took violent action against her, she would not be able to hold her current form, which would be problematic to say the least.

Ultimately she decided to risk it. Better to have full knowledge than pure conjecture. **Keep his attention on the door,** Tovrunn thought towards Breuddwyd, hoping that the man's attention had been successfully captured. Carefully and quietly as a cat can manage, she hopped down to the open sill and peered inside.

**Diversion. Incoming.**

Breuddwyd had minor magic available to him that tended to be amusing in small quantities but was not woven of the stuff that would change lives and nations. Of course, in a world where unnatural wonders weren't precisely common occurrences, the peculiar displays he might conjure could serve to distract and bewilder. Bending a knee to get a better angle on the crack beneath the strangers door, the Sidhe whispered the appropriate mystic mantra, formed arcane and subtle gestures with his capable fingers, and visualized the effects he wanted to convey.

"Hawdd â hynny."

First a small number of glowing embers spilled beneath the portal, sure to catch a wary observer's eye. Then, with a swift second casting, Breuddwyd made the area surrounding the same spot grow warmer, if one were to drawn near. And finally he produced a faint but not inconsiderable odor of burning wood, freshly kindled. With that done, he rose to his feet once more, hoping that would be enough to arrest the cagey target's scrutiny.

Aeric had taken longer than the rest to finish his meal. The young nobleman had been lost in thought since they left the forest as if something troubled him and he couldn't quite lay a hand on what. With the meal done and Breuddwyd and Tovrunn off scouting the stranger the proprietress had mentioned he rose and smiled weakly at Corson and Salien. "Best not let that hothead on his own too long - he'll only put more foes at our back."

With that he made after Lancaelad out of the inn.

Left alone for the first time since their arrival in Anuire, Salien watched Aeric go before leaning across the table to Corson. "These folk have an army at their backs. They have already said where we are to go - this Halfday - would it not be safer to leave them to their affairs tonight? We can take the horses once they're all asleep and be done with all of this fighting. Surely the guard would open the gate, and we could be done with this affair and on a ship home in days." There was pleading and urgency in the man's eyes - he still couldn't conceive that any of this was to do with him. In truth, perhaps it wasn't. None of these brigands had uttered Salien's name, and if he were so valuable the surely the Governor would have engaged more than a single bodyguard?

Corson smiled at his charge. "What happens when someone recognizes you? You are the one they want. These folk, despite some of their arrogance, are capable and blooded. I would feel more comfortable with them at our side, wouldn't you? You obviously know something, whether you know what it is or not. Something that someone wants silenced."

The squire softened a bit. "I understand that it is terrifying, but have a little faith. We will get you to safety. You have my word."

Tovrunn froze. **He has a crossbow,** she thought at her companion on the other side of the door. That was unexpected. Deciding to buy time by giving herself an impromptu bath, the displaced druid considered her options.

Option one was to leave, to report what she saw to Lancaelad and let him decide whether or not it was worth further disturbance of peace here. But what could she prove here? That the man was concerned with his own safety after Breudwydd lit the door on fire? That would be among the flimsiest excuses that Tovrunn had ever heard for the arrest of a man.

Option two was to investigate further. But that had its own complications, the greatest of which being the crossbow. Would she go to the man's belongings, poking her head where it didn't belong and search for a way to identify this man more thoroughly? That meant risking the bolt to her flank. Or did she investigate the man himself as well as his book? Perhaps he was writing there? It seemed safer to be closer to the man than further given his weapon of choice...

Making up her mind, Tovrunn shivered the dampness away and fully exposed herself, preparing to hop down into the room. **Keep it up please,** she telepathically messaged her sidhe companion. Perhaps this would be for naught, but she had to know for sure. And it was best to discover the man's intentions with her in her cat form before she did any more exploring.

A crossbow didn't sound so good to Breuddwyd, who moved to one side of the door on soft elven footsteps almost unconsciously.

Contemplating the challenge, he uttered his magic words once more and generated a rythmic pounding sound of mallet on wood, as of a wedge being driven beneath the door to hold it in place. It was not lost on him that such a block would do little against a portal that opened inwards but a drunken, irrational elf might not care.

For a moment Corson felt odd. After giving his word his mouth dried and a lump rose in his throat that he couldn't swallow, but the sensation passed quickly.

"This has nothing to do with us" Salien insisted in a low voice. "No one has said my name or yours. I'm a farmer. These folk have been good to guide us, but we're embroiled in their affairs and I don't trust their foes to realize we're bystanders. Better to let them alone before more mercenaries come - they have the might of their home to protect them, but we have no such standing." He wrung his hands as he spoke. "Surely you can see we've walked into the middle of something. It would be lunacy to think that dozens of armed men marched to this place on this day to capture a pomegranate farmer from half the world away."

Starting as the book with her flank, Tovrunn's ears pinned back and her tail flicked, an unconscious display of annoyance. Slowly her eyes drifted from the man to his poorly aimed missile, looking down close and inspecting the book, disguising the more human recognition with a sniff.

Deciding she'd had enough and that nothing further would be learned without direct confrontation or at the very least the ability to speak words, Tovrunn jumped at the sudden if silent movement of feet touching floorboards and leapt back to the windowsill and out the window. And good thing she did, as it became clear what the man was about to do. Better to be seen as a slightly odd cat (which, in her experience, was just a cat) than risk being trapped in here with him.

**Best to leave this man be for now,** she mentally cautioned Breuddwyd, presumably on the other side of the door, once she was safe. **There's nothing to be gained without a more in-depth and in person probing. Though it's clear he's not fond of cats and thus, worthy of more suspicion.**

"Well, that proved to be a dead-end." Tovrunn sat again with a huff. Returning to her human skin after experiencing the lithe athleticism of a cats was a strangely draining affair, as though her joints had fused into wooden knots, her limbs dead and heavy, the warmth of the fur ripped away like a blanket in the snow. Though perhaps the ache in her muscles and joints was more from the riding. "At least we can assume a reasonable amount of safety. We should still be vigilant, however."

Looking this way and that, she looks to Corson and Alaric. "Where are Lancaelad and Aeric?"