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Post by Beriadan on Apr 22, 2024 11:17:15 GMT
The road was rough from Nill's Grave, barely more than a wide dirt track that lead from the town towards the capital. The coachman promised Quantt a long and uncomfortable ride, declaring no bells and whistles on his transport. He was a talkative man, with a huge moustache and sad, drooping eyes, yet they were eyes that were as keen as hawks. For the first few days, they faced nothing but the rough road, as Nill's Grave vanished behind them and farmlands took over the landscape to the horizon. Frozen, grey fields.
"About a day's ride to the next town," the coachman said as they stopped in a small dry field, just off the road and protected against the wind by a copse of trees. They had been riding since mornjng, and the men was setting up a small camp. A fire was licking tentatively at some fresh logs, a few logs dragged to make some rough benches by the two guards that travelled with them. Alongside them and the coachman, Quantt had shared the coach with a small, quiet and bespectacled man, and a larger expensively dressed merchant who slept loudly for the whole time. Now they too were stretching, making themselves comfortable as night began to creep in.
"The boys will set you up, and we'll kip here for the night. Don't wander off too far from camp! This country is known for bandits and brigands, don't'cha know!"
The coachman's moustache quivered as he laughed, as if it was nothing more than a bit of fun to get killed or robbed in the cold wilds of the world.
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Post by notdomino on Apr 22, 2024 13:47:07 GMT
"Aye, aye..." A blonde fellow remarked at the coachman's estimated time of arrival for the next town.
There were more stops than he would've liked, but the fare was cheap. There couldn't be too much room for complaining. Besides, things could have gone much worse. Outside of a sore ass, the only true bother was the loud snore of the merchant beside him. He was dressed well enough... Quantt would keep a watchful eye on how sharp or lax the man was. With no more access to his family's funds, the gent was looking more like a target than a human being. Taking inventory of the other occupants, there were two guards and a quiet fellow in glasses. Including himself, this was a rather motley crew.
The young assassin pitched his eyes to the scenery around them. The lands of Nill's Grave were homey for him, frosty and antagonizing. It was all he knew, but he was happy to say good bye. The young man gave out a deep exhale. This was his life now... He slides his cowl over his head and take a few moments to close his eyes. One could hardly call it sleep, but it was rest all the same. He'd wake and hop out of the cart upon them stopping. Sliding the cowl off his head, he'd snatch a sliver of jerky from his satchel and begin munching.
It was possible he was the only one entertained by the old man's musings. On top of not having a dangerous note, he provided some form of entertainment at least. Bandits and brigands... If they got ambushed there were three combatants. Not that he'd announce himself as one... Despite his age, his speaking was mature, slow, and concise, but arrogant. His amber eyes were dazzlingly piercing and analytical like an owl. "Sorry, gent, but I'm going to need to take a walk. Solitude is a valuable medicine and I'll only be a stone's throw away... I'll be sure to bring something back if I find anything though." He replied to the coachman. Quantt sat his spade to rest on his shoulder as he sauntered off. Night was to come and he wanted to dig a few holes while there was still light.
He was far enough to be out of sight but close enough where the fire's flickering light could still be seen. He circled the campsite as he poked around the dirt with his spade. He wasn't actually looking for anything, just making make knee-deep traps that were naturally covered by the brush. This was partially to slow incoming bandits if any showed up, and partially to catch some smaller animals to make more jerky and possibly sell the fur later down the line. The crunch of his spade digging into the cold ground was satisfying. Soft dew rested beneath that crumbly surface. That was the last one.
He'd announce his return so as to not startle the group. "I return empty-handed, unfortunately." He embedded his spade into the ground, and plopped down closer to the flame to warm up. His eyes scanned the faces of the group once more. No notes of danger or malice... At least, that's what his instincts were telling him. His seat of choice was closest to the merchant of course. He was to be watched. Any opening and Quantt would snatch what he could. Any moment away from the group for too long, and Quantt would reap the man something grim. Digging a grave would be an easy task... whether for an attacking bandit or this merchant.
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Post by Beriadan on Apr 24, 2024 11:10:05 GMT
[Action 1: Success]
The merchant was obviously a lax man. While his clothes were born of wealth, fine fabrics and colours that bore a story of riches, his few chins were speckled with stubble. Stains fell on a silk tunic, food from a few days, and his demeanour seemed to indicate he was reliant on other hands to properly keep him clean and respectable. Whatever his journey was on the coach, it was without the usual servants that he was used to.
[Action 2: Minor success]
As the others settled in around the fire, Quantt paced the perimeter with his spade. The ground was cold and solid, frozen from a dire winter and still trying to thaw. He managed a few traps here and there, and while some were hidden, others were not so easily concealed.
As he returned to the fireside, the warmth flooded over him. The smell of stew, simmering over the fire, made his stomach growl, and one of the guards was preparing a few half-loaves of bread to go with it. Clearly, Quantt's coin hadn't been squandered.
[Action 3: Advantage]
As his eyes scanned the group, Quantt realised that he hadn't been reading the whole story. The guards were obviously dangerous, armed to the teeth and build like stone monoliths. Yet there was another, whose eyes met Quantt over the flickering firelight, behind reflective glasses. The small, balding man was watching the gravedigger with a curious, perceptive gaze. When their gazes met, he gave the other man a curious little smile, as if figuring something out. Quantt could see there was more to this small man than he first thought. The merchant might be a spoilt rich fat man, but this other passenger wasn't one to take his eyes off.
The coachman handed out bowls and bread to the three passengers, plus a mug of thin ale to wash it down. He sat himself beside the small man, opposite Quantt and the merchant, grinning.
"So, off to the capital, eh? I've heard some things from there, things that'd make you soil your breaches. Life's much better up here in the frozen fields and woods. Worst you can get here is shot by bandits, and that's nothing compared to the city!"
His voice was for everyone, but the merchant was too busy stuffing his face, and the quiet, small man was staring into the fire. The coachman, devoid of conversation, stared at Quantt with a conspiratorial wink.
"Bet you're off to make your fortune, eh, mate? Trust me. Nothing but pain and sorrow in the capitol, and that's a fact!"
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Post by notdomino on May 19, 2024 6:40:14 GMT
Perhaps there was some hidden hostility in the guards after all. Beyond that, Quantt found himself being stared at by one of his fellow passengers. What was his deal? While he would liked to hone his "listening skills" on the man a little further, his attention was snatched by the coachman. "My path is a longer stretch than just the city..." Quantt expressed being sure not to give too much away. "But it certainly is a start... among other things."
He'd take a bite of the bread after sopping some of the stew up with it. He'd stray from the ale. Water was a bit more precious and needed to stay sharp. "May I ask you gents about your trip as well?" He'd point the question to his fellow passengers.
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