Into the Dark

[HalflingRogue]

Into the Dark

I’ve been thinkin’ lately…ain’t it interestin’ how much time I spend in the shadows? I mean, s’kinda natural when you’re doin’ what I’m doin’, but still…how much more time do I spend in th’light? Or do I spend more time in the light…

Small whistling sounds could be heard just outside of Norwick’s northern gates, always followed immediately by a small ~thunk~. Gears reached down for his quiver and brought up another arrow. His arm ached from pulling back the bowstring, but it was a good, clean pain. You could rely on a pain like that. It was steady, always there when you expected it. Simple. He nocked the arrow, and drew back. His arm burned, and he released.

Thunk.

He nodded satisfactorily as the arrow lodged itself besides the others. Good thing no druids were around…the bloody tree looked like it was growing feathers, he’d put so many arrows in it. The moonlight reflected off their white fletching. If he’d been a bit more romantic, he may have thought it pretty. At the moment though, all he was was tired. With a sigh, he lowered the bow and lovingly strapped it to his back. He liked this bow. It felt…right…in his hands. Ridged, with a good grip in the middle. The spikes on the ends were a nice touch too. He’d have to ask Ging what kind of wood it was made of sometime. Since he’d finally figured out how to use it, he thought with a smirk. It faded as a cold breeze came up, blowing some of his shaggy mane into his face. Pushing it away irritatedly, he picked up his quiver and sat behind a tree, shielding him from the chill wind somewhat. The cold was another certainty up here, and sometimes certainty was comforting…though usually it was just boring. But not right now. For now it was nice.

Things just hadn’t seemed right lately. Ikurus had gotten out of prison, but he never saw him. Hells, maybe he’d left. Lilly had left too, gone on some stupid “finding yourself” quest with Ocean…which meant he didn’t see Mirk that much either. Mar was actually talking of giving up adventuring, Yolanda was with some Narsman, and he hardly ever got to see the Tealeaf family anymore. He hadn’t seen Lavender since he had…saved her… in the crypts. And Cass. Cass was gone, as far as he was concerned. He never saw her, and if he did, he’d made up his mind to tell her it was over. She’d probably just been some silly girl with a crush on the first man to be nice to her…it hadn’t been love, not really, he told himself again. It hadn’t.

That was what his problem was. Too much reliance. He didn’t need anyone. Maybe he preferred when they were around, but he did not ~need~ them. He didn’t need Norwick or its bloody militia either, he thought as he sifted through the grass. Finding a small rock, he aimed and released, hurling it over the gate. A metallic clank, followed by a curse assured him he’d hit his target. Grinning, he ducked out of sight as the gate opened, torchlight spilling out. Hiding in the dark again. Sometimes it was truer than any armor. Less restricting too.
Sod Norwick and the gits who lived there. They could call him a thief as much as they wanted, it didn’t matter. He was through with that bloody town. He just…needed somewhere new. Someplace as different as possible. Not Jiyyd. Even with the Silver Valley, it wasn’t his sort of place. Another big law thing was going on there, and he’d had enough of those. But Arnath had been destroyed, if what he heard was true…leaving the Gypsy camp. Why not? No adherence to idiotic codes…just a simple oath and common sense. He’d never been particularly skilled with the latter, but he could work around that. Besides, Penny would always be nearby then if he ever needed a friend. Which he didn’t.

The gates closed with a few grumblings, and he slunk out of his hiding spot. The sky was clear tonight. He would’ve been easily spotted out in the open, even without the aid of the torches. Still…it was rather pretty. He fancied that the stars shone a bit brighter here than in Luiren. Maybe it was the air. Slinging his quiver up, he shook his head. No time for thoughts like those. He had to get moving. Padding off silently, he was just one more shadow in the night. And the night was full of shadows.

A New Home

The camp was as quiet as it ever was. The fires roared, and what passed as guards wandered about, bows in hand. The vendors were at their usual posts, but the spots around the fires weren’t occupied. Even the ones near-constantly filled by that blue-haired woman, Cotton, and her dark-haired friend…Kaona? Yes, that was it. No matter. He didn’t want to make friends, he just wanted someplace better than the barbarian town to kick off his boots and lie back. This in mind, he stopped the next guard, asking who he had to talk to to join. The guard gave him a smile and directed him to the gates. Had he stifled a laugh as Gears turned…? No, of course not. It’s not like there was anything funny.

“No entry without host?! Bugger, can’t a person just join? C’mon, lemme in mate!” Gears looked pleadingly at the guard.

“No, now get lost. Until you’ve got a Gali or a Gypsy to escort you, you. Aren’t. Allowed. In.” The Gypsy glared down at Gears, planted firmly in front of the gate. With one last reproving look over his shoulder, Gears complied. Fine, he could get a Gali. If he wanted to live here, it would be good to play by their rules for now. Except…there was no one by the fires. It was never easy, was it? With a sigh, Gears turned to the woods. Maybe someone was out trying their luck against the spiders. He was not disappointed. He hadn’t gone more than ten steps before he heard the twang of a bowstring and the hissing death cry of a spider. A black-haired elf headed towards the gates, evidently coming back from a hunt. She would do, Gears thought as he called out.

“Heya! Miss! Miss?”

She turned, fixing him with a casual stare. She was dressed in black leathers, probably a sneaky sort herself. She’d do all right.
“Yes?”

Gears put on his most charming grin, leaning against the stone head in front of the gates.

“Well, I was just wonderin’ if I could ask you f’a favor…”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious.

“What favor would that be?”

“Oh, well, y’see, I wanna become a member of this fine camp,” He grinned, gesturing expansively. “But I got a problem. Th’guard says I need an escort. A Gali specifically. An’ I’m guessin’ that that’s exactly what you are.”

The suspicion disappeared from her face, replaced by a small amused smile.

“I’m not the one to ask. You’ll have to take it up with my cousin, Sy. He’s not here right now.”

“Sy’s the one decidin’ who gets into th’camp now?” Gears’s grin slipped a little, and was further impeded by an instinctively raised eyebrow.

“Well, as he is one of the elders, yes,” she nodded. “Of course, you could talk to one of the other elders too.”

What remained of Gears’s grin vanished, curving downwards into a small frown. “An’ here I thought anyone could join…”

With a shrug the elf turned and left, closing the gate behind her. Gears pushed off the rock.

So…he had to talk to ~Sy~ did he? The hells with that! He’d come here to get away from such stupid little go-between traditions. He’d just bend the rules this little once…A customary smirk crept onto his face. Pushing open the gate, he walked back towards the fires, changing his direction towards the gates to the inner camp. This would be easier than getting Ginger to eat a pie. Flitting from shadow to shadow he approached, and for once, Brandobaris granted him a little luck. The same guard who had rebuffed him earlier was nodding politely to a woman in heavy armor, holding the gate open for her as she walked past. Gears stole silently behind the guard, into a shadow lying just beyond the open door. Waiting until it closed soundly behind him, he stepped from the blackness, grinning. A Gypsy woman smiled at him.

“Is there something I can help with you?”

“Why yes…yes, there is.” His grin widened.

Later, as he dozed by the roaring fire in his newly purchased gypsy leathers; the grin had shrunk to a smirk.

“Home sweet bloody home,” He mumbled to himself, drifting off. The fire roared, the guards passed by, and the savory scents of the roasts wafted across his unconscious face. This would do just fine for now.

[HalflingRogue]

Holiday, Part I
Back On The Road

Gears crouched, all of his weight resting on his toes. Unconsciously he brought one of his hands up to a sideburn to scratch at it. The wall ahead stretched away to the left and the right. The commons was particularly barren today. Not a bench was occupied, no one lay leaning back against the well. The only other person present was a Watchman, who casting him dark glowers from time to time, apparently displeased with his choice of lookout point. That suited him just fine however. Grinning, he surveyed the road from his perch atop one of Jiyyd’s lamp posts. He was leaving, he was departing, he was extraditing himself from Narfell! He was going to see green grass and trees that had leaves instead of needles, and splash through streams without catching a cold abruptly afterward! He was going to Luiren; he was going to see his parents. He was going home.

With a laugh he sprang off the post, turning a complete flip in the air before landing lightly on the ground and practically bounded through the gates, his shaggy, pale blond mane flying back off his face. With a quiet thunk, the Watchman closed the gate behind him, grumbling about “basic manners”. Let them stew, he thought as a smirk curled his lips back slightly. They’d have cooled off before he was back. His pouches jounced steadily up and down in rhythm with his footsteps, each one carrying him a little farther along his path. A small breeze played across his face. Mentally he offered up a prayer to Brandobaris to watch over his journey. Yes… it was good to be on the road once more.

There hadn’t really been any packing to do. He preferred to travel light. Light even for a race that was on average three feet high. The only business left to clear up had been the goodbyes, which went quickly enough. A hug here, a wave there, (an armful of explosives from Belma’r), nothing too drawn out. He knew he’d see them again, and despite many admonishments to be careful, he was reasonably sure they thought they’d see him again as well. All of them had gone by quickly, except...

With a gentle smile he’d closed his eyes as he held her close. With anyone but Ginger a smile from him was rare, but she always managed to drag one out of him; he just saw such sincerity in her eyes when she was looking back at him. Stroking her dark hair, he’d once more told her he’d come back, and was surprised to find himself actually feeling a little guilty for leaving. Her face buried in his neck, her warm breath on his skin...maybe he was missing her a bit already too. He’d grinned lightly, pushing her off gently then pulling her back in to give her one last, long kiss before he set off. Then he’d dragged her out of the gates for another last kiss...then another...and a few more. Finally, she’d left with one true, final goodbye, and he’d watched her back until he couldn’t see her long, black ponytail bouncing anymore. With a small sigh, he had turned back to Jiyyd, and now, twelve hours later, he was off on his journey.

He kept up a good pace for the first few miles before slowing his strides to just above a stroll. After all, he thought, s’ is m’ last great adventure on m’own. Best enjoy it, hadn’t I? Trudging through the snow of the Nars Pass, he headed south until he could see Norwick’s walls in the distance, then cut east. He had no desire to pass through the Rawlinswood, it and its monsters could rot as far as he was concerned. Better to avoid the whole thing, he’d seen enough excitement there.

It was slow going. Few people came this way, and there was no clear path. Uninhibited, the forest had let a fair number of bushes, shrubs, and other undergrowth spring up. Once he accidentally blundered into a bluejay’s nest while stumbling through the brush, and it took a full two minutes of running before it finally gave up fluttering around his head, darting its beak in between his waving hands. Often, he had to stop and reorient himself, checking the position of the sun as it slowly traveled overhead. In spite of this, he found the plants thinning out as the light dimmed. He emerged at the forest’s tip just in time to see the sun dip below the horizon. Damn, no time t’find dry wood, he thought with a small scowl, slipping on a small ring topped with a nondescript blue stone. It helped take the edge off the wind’s bite, as well as providing a small light, but it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a fire would have been. He reached a hand into a pouch, fingering one of Mar’s explosives. There were, after all, methods of getting soggier things to ignite, whatever their natural inclination…

A nearby fox jumped twice its height into the air and skittered off in the opposite direction as the night air was rent by a boom, followed by a flash of light and heat. Settling himself on a fair- sized rock he had located, Gears warmed his hands on the cheery blaze that now crackled in front of him. Reaching into an inner pocket, he took out a much battered, wrinkled, and dog eared piece of parchment. With near-reverence, he gently unrolled it and smirked. The map before him was faded, and in some spots stained to near transparence by grease. None of this managed to obscure a clear, dark line wending its way south, however. He’d been planning this trip for some time.

Thoughtfully gnawing on a piece of jerky, he re-examined his route. Once past the woods, he was to head southwest, stopping at a church of Brandobaris in the Great Dale. Hopefully there they’d render him some assistance in speeding his journey back to Luiren. Luiren, homeland of hins, his birthplace, and where he would find his parents. Gears smiled wistfully. With any luck, he might even be able to bring them back with him, at least for the ceremony...he was suddenly struck with a small pang as he thought that Ginger wouldn’t be curled up next to him when he bedded down, but he quickly pushed it away. He’d be back. Probably all too soon, really. He shook his head and peered down at the map once more. After Brando’s temple, it was on down through Thesk, Algarond, Unther, the easternmost strip of the Shaar, and then he’d be there. Sure, it would probably take a while to locate his parents’ caravan, but what did it matter? Lately his mind had been filled with the green hills, well worn roads, and small strongheart towns of his youth, (well...his earlier youth anyway), and he meant to be fully satisfied in his urge to see it all again. With a laugh he refolded the map and tucked it away. After popping the cork and draining the contents of a bottle of the Dolvaks’ personal stock, he unrolled his bedroll and cushioned the back of his head on his hands. The stars twinkled in what struck him as a rather friendly fashion. Closing his eyes with a yawn, he gave a contented snicker. Life was pretty soddin’ good.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Gears frowned in his sleep. Something was tickling his throat. He lifted a hand and tried to push it away. It persisted, and he shoved it away again. His eyes shot open as he yelped as something cut his finger, and he found himself staring down the business end of a short blade. The still burning fire cast flickering shadows across the faces of three unshaven large men. Gears’ green eyes flicked to their armor and back quickly as recognition flashed in his sleep addled mind. Orange and purple. Eastlanders.

“Oh, has the ickle halfling had a bad dream?” The one holding the sword to him inquired, smiling nastily. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll be sleepin’ quite deeply soon enough.”

Gears narrowed his eyes and fixed a glare on him, doing his best to look fierce. He knew from experience it didn’t work quite so well when a blade was at your throat, you were outnumbered three to one, and your opponents were twice your height. Still, it was the thought that counted.

“I thought you lot had a little thing called a treaty goin’ on with everyone...?” His gaze darted around once more. His sheath was out of reach. Not that it mattered, as one of the bandits had unsheathed the blade and was examining it.

“Not out here we don’t, pipsqueak,” The bandit grinned, revealing a mouth of yellowing teeth. “If no one finds the body, no treaty’s been broken.” The other two sniggered appreciatively.

Gears inched his hand towards his belt and reached into a pouch, taking hold of a bag. His fingers closed around it in a fist. He smirked and raised a brow, adopting a pleasant tone.

“I believe y’mean bodies, mate.”

“Oho! Got some spirit, doesn’t he, lads?” The leader grinned and looked over his shoulder at the others. They gave small laughs, more absorbed in their examination of Gears’s bow now. Gears smirked as his hand shot up and out of his bedroll. He shouldn’t have looked away. The bag left his hand and a sticky mess exploded on the bandit’s face as he yelled with rage.

Gears rolled away and to his feet, rolling his eyes as the man dropped his weapon to tear at the contents of the tanglefoot bag now coating his face. Bloody foot soldiers. Snatching up the discarded short sword, Gears launched himself at the other two. They were more prepared than the first, drawing their swords as they saw Gears coming at them. But now that he was up and moving, the advantage was his. He made a smaller, faster target than they could ever hit, he knew. He easily dodged the clumsy downward stab of the second bandit, dashing to the side of it and slashing at the knees of the third. Orange leather parted as blood stained the snow. The bandit gave a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, as Gears had hoped, directly into the fire. Shrieking, he leaped out and toppled over on his injured legs, leaving just one. Gears grinned as he whirled around and deflected the other bandit’s blow lazily. He sidestepped the next blow, stabbing the man’s wrist as he moved past him, forcing him to drop his weapon as his hand went limp. Crimson streamed out of the wound as Gears danced back out of reach and snatched up his bow.

“Y’know, I’d get t’a healer pretty quick if I were you,” Gears smirked and slung his bow over his back, stooping to pick up his own blade and re-affixing the sheath to his belt. “Much longer an’ y’ liable t’lose that hand.”

The first bandit finally freed himself from the contents of the tanglefoot bag, tearing it off to reveal a very red face. Gears whipped around to face him.

“I’d recommend y’give this one up.” Panting, he gave the bandit the smuggest smirk he could manage. From the look of hatred that spread across the bandit’s face as he took in his companions, moaning and clutching at their injured limbs, Gears thought he’d pulled it off pretty well. Tossing down the bandit’s blade and sliding his own back into its sheath, he inclined his head.

“Ta.”

And with that he turned and dashed off into the night. Best to put as much distance between himself and those three as possible; who knew how many more might be lurking about? His breath made small clouds that parted as he ran through them, and his feet crunched in the snow. So much for sleep. At least he’d get to put a few more miles behind him. What was rest compared to travel anyway?

[HalflingRogue]

Thinking

_Adventure. I do believe that it's better than gold. Not that I'd ever tell any a' my employers that. That'd cut down on profits right quick. Still… gallavantin' about, grabbin' ancient treasure, stabbin' foes ancient an' recent, now ~there's~ a life. I shudder t'think that I could still be stuck with that moldy old caravan in Luiren, hagglin' over the price of mutton shanks with some tubby human authority figure of some sort or another. Ugh. Th' problem with a life like that is...is...you're not likely t'CHANGE anythin'. You'll sit about, an' yeah, maybe y'won't do so bad, but y'won't do much good either, r' much of anything! Nope...s'not th'life f' types like me... Though I s'pose if we didn't have th'other types, there wouldn't be many people t'hand out rewards, would there? Huh. Probably best we got'em around then...

...

I hope Mum n' Dad are doin' aright..._

Pale blond hairs drifted, one by one and in small clumps through the air of the Gypsy camp. Those that were caught by the fires gave off the acrid smell hair does when burned, causing a few sitting close by to put a hand up to their noses and mouths. Some muttered darkly, casting even darker glances upwards at a large branch, from which a bright red light illuminated the night. His hair had been getting a bit long, after all. Getting in his eyes during battles and such, hardly convenient. Gears paused and scowled at the dagger he had in his hand. If you could call it a dagger…

The soft, steady beat of life pulsed against his palm, as the small red green eye in the hilt stared back at him, unblinking. At least, it had never closed when he was looking at it. It had been unnerving at first, but now...now it was simply getting annoying. He let out a sigh and leaned back against the soft, mossy trunk of the tree behind him. " F' somethin' given out by a winged man who spouted all sorts of cryptic nonsense, y' certainly don't DO much..." Gears sneered. Maybe when he got the paladin and the Banite together it would get a bit more interesting. Fire an' brimstone, th'whole soddin' bit… He smiled dreamily. Wouldn't that be a sight to see? Maybe he'd even get to direct some of it at a few choice targets with this thing in hand. Right. Just keep on hoping until then, he smirked. Grabbing another hank of his hair, he sheared messily at it with the dagger. So maybe it wouldn't all be the same length. So what. Not like it had been before.

Idly he sniffed, twitching his nose. It was becoming a bit of a habit when he was bored. Ever since that whole wererat episode, he was certain he'd been able to smell keener than before. He'd begun identifying people by scent before they even spoke, when they were close enough. Ginger: A mix of fresh earth, green leaves, and usually fenberries. Drelan: Always at least a hint of blood, his and others. Usually more than a hint. Ocean: the salty spray of her namesake. Belma'r: A mix of scents far too strange to pin any individual one down. Mirk and Lilly usually just stank of each other so much as to drown out their personal smells. He snickered as he sawed through the last long lock of his hair, and watched it float gently to the ground, like a feather off some odd bird. "Doin' anythin' t'night?" He inquired of the dagger, as he often did. "Nope, didn't think so." It gave a quiet shink as it slid back into its sheath, dousing the red glow. No, he wasn't likely to get any power from that thing anytime soon. As always, if y' want somethin', y' have t' go snatch it f' y'self, he mused as he hopped nimbly from branch to branch, descending the tree.

Finally, his boots touched the ground, and he padded softly out of the Camp toward Spellweaver. He hoped Yolly had unearthed something about this whole shadow buisness. If it was one tenth of what the elf had talked of, it would be worth it. And if it was…well. A thief snatched what was valuable, didn't he?

Gears grinned as he hurried on.

[aeolderr]

applauds quietly, a small smile easily seen I miss Gears.