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Realms: Taps Logs

Walking the Gauntlet

It takes rather longer than might be expected for Alg to find them, and he's glowering when he does. "Said stay!" he grunts at Chanticleer.

Chanticleer says easily, "The lady -- Roy's guest -- said she would wait in the courtyard."

Suraksha chats quietly with Ohkwari, and since they're in public she gives him the code phrase they share for 'maintain full alert tonight; possible attack.' At the charming reaction from Alg she laughs and says lightly, "Oh, don't blame him! He was supposed to watch me first and foremost, and I left for the front courtyard-" her golden-green eyes flash sternly for an instant at Alg, "as I said I would." She smiles serenely, adding, "So it's hardly his fault," as she taps her camel's shoulder. Her murmur is soft, "Up-up, pretty girl!" and the camel unfolds first hind legs, then forelegs, before heading relaxedly out of the courtyard.

Chanticleer, unconcerned, follows along beside Suraksha, still alert but without sword drawn, though with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Roy actually wasn't lying when he said the crossing was somewhat dangerous, though he might have exaggerated a bit to get Suraksha to remain the night. Still, it isn't the best of places in Roy's little demesne. Alg glowers at Suraksha and grunts wordlessly. Once she's on her camel and headed out, with Okhwari right beside her, he turns to Chanticleer and grunts, "You don't obey her. You belong King." He does this in the most sotto of voces that he can muster. Which isn't very. Once they start moving, he stalks along nearly on all fours.

Suraksha continues quietly talking with Ohkwari, passing on the agreement with Roy so her caravan knows to prepare for the carnaval tomorrow. She's keeping half an eye on Alg, though; she finds his assertion to Chanticleer quite interesting. She'll have to test leaving her room in the night to see just how obnoxious Roy is willing to be. Chanticleer says equally quietly, "I am obeying the King. I am making sure his guest is unharmed. You're welcome to try telling her what to do, though." Suraksha has to cover a giggle at that!

Alg snarls at Chanticleer, but doesn't attack him. He sniffs here and there along the path, bounding ahead to take point once they're off palace grounds. The roads are mostly well-lit, though there are several patches of inky darkness through which the little group must go. Suraksha's white camel is quite eye-catching, but so is the livery in which Alg and Chanticleer are dressed. Suraksha murmurs quietly to Ohkwari, "Any idea what he is?" as they watch the near-quadrupedal bodyguard bounding ahead of them. The burly man grunts a quiet, "Goblin, like," and she nods silently.

Chanticleer, at this point, would almost welcome an attack from Alg; he's got a strange feeling that the straw that'll break the stag's back will be coming in the next day or so. He is a knight, not an errand-boy, not a kneebreaker, not a doormat, and he most certainly does not belong to anyone. His last liege lord released him from his service; Chanti signed a contract of employment with Roy, and did not swear an oath of fealty. Alg can shove his attitude up his fuzzy butt for all Chanti cares. Of course, he keeps this all internal. He respects the need for harmony amongst the livery of a leader, and no matter what he thinks of Roy, he is bringing order to a given area that would otherwise not have any. Chanticleer really shouldn't be hard on the goblin; after all, he's not having nearly as easy a time in dealing with humans as Chanti is.

There are a couple of times Alg slows and growls at the shadows, causing a rustling as whatever he was growling at apparently decides better than to cause mischief. Suraksha smiles faintly at that, and a very alert watcher might notice she and Ohkwari taking thoughtful mental notes at each of those spots. As they approach the crossing, the smell of masses of people, garbage, and animals gets stronger. Suraksha's caravan is near the edge. Most of them are the sort that don't like being crowded, and it's easy to get crowded down by the actual riverside. As the little group approaches they can hear the sounds of a mountain dulcimer being played and a high, sweet voice singing a centuries-old ballad.

Once at the caravan Suraksha slips lightly off the camel, giving her an affectionate pat before she's led away by Del. A small crowd gathers and follows as the graceful woman heads for her personal wagon, and Suraksha returns hugs and receives pats and welcome-back's from them. She passes off her notebook to a delicate, almost elfin looking woman with a flowing mane of colorful hair and very bright eyes; she murmurs quiet instructions to a couple of athletic looking and well-armed women, who both nod and take off into the caravan; she sends a few people to talk with Ohkwari and Chanticleer; shortly thereafter she taps a small, bright-eyed older woman to come with her into her wagon and help her pack.

Chanticleer does not attempt to enter the wagon. Suraksha will return or she will not; Roy has to trust that she will. And if she doesn't, what can a sidhe and a goblin do against everyone in this encampment? Not a whole lot; so he talks amiably with whomever talks to him, trying to get a feel for the caravan. Alg doesn't try to follow Suraksha into the wagon, but he takes up a guard-post just outside it. In the center of the caravan Chanticleer sees there are several different types of pack animals: donkeys, mules, llamas, horses, oxen, and the camel – and there are also camp dogs milling about. The singer is a lovely woman with softly wrinkled, suntanned skin and iron-gray hair pulled back in a bushy ponytail. Okhwari grunts a laugh as Alg goes off to be menacing looking, then says to Chanticleer, "Wanna meet the folks?" Suraksha glances out the door and spots Alg there; interestingly, she looks relieved at the sight.

Chanticleer makes a sound and nods, "Yes, please. Don't mind Alg. I don't think he likes anyone much. Getting close to him seems to take a very long time."

Okhwari says, "Don't much wanna know him or get close." He ushers Chanticleer around the caravan, starting with the singer, who smiles brightly up at them. She's lovely and it's obvious she was likely stunning when she was younger. Okhwari says, "This's Sabrina." The man sitting beside her with the dulcimer looks like he's in his mid-to-late-30's at first. He stands and offers Chanticleer his hand, "Name's Joe. You one of Roy's?"

Chanticleer shakes Joe's hand, nodding in greeting to both Sabrina and he. "Pleased to meet you. At this time I'm employed by Roy, yes." What is this human habit of saying or suggesting he 'belongs' to someone when he's just employed?

Sabrina laughs and Joe chuckles, "Sorry to hear it." The woman's voice has the sort of lilt to it that suggests highborn human breeding from somewhere off to the east, "You seem to have a little less of the asshole about you than most of his guards."

Chanticleer's lips quirk. "A recent hire," he says. He resists the urge to speak ill of his employer or his fellow livery.

Joe nudges the woman gently with his elbow, "Now, 'Brina, be nice. Roy could be much more of a pain in the ass than he is." He grins at Chanticleer, "Sabrina has Opinions about people styling themselves royalty." The capitalization is quite clearly audible. Sabrina says, "I have opinions about people who want to treat others like chattel."

Chanticleer smiles quietly. "For what it's worth, so do I. My own experiences with royalty and nobility are... somewhat different... than how things are with Roy."

Sabrina looks Chanticleer over and says, "I must say, I haven't seen a sidhe in a rather long time. Or am I mistaken as to your race?" Joe starts to open his mouth and Sabrina adds, "If I'm not being nosy."

Chanticleer laughs softly. "Not at all, ma'am. Yes, I am sidhe."

Joe says, "We're real big on privacy around here. You don't want to answer a question, you don't have to." As they're chatting, Del trots up. The gait really isn't quite right for a human, even though she looks it, "Ohkwa, can I get you to come look over that litter of pups with me? You know more about them than I do." The big man nods and excuses himself to follow Del away. Chanticleer makes a quiet sound as he observes thoughtfully.

Nearby, a sturdy woman in her mid-thirties stops by Suraksha's wagon briefly and then steps back out, dusting her palms together as she says to Alg, "Let me have a look at you."

Suraksha calls out of the wagon, "Thanks, Suze!" amongst the sounds of clothing and toiletries being swiftly packed. Alg is not at all amenable to being looked over by Suze, but she is not used to being pushed off that easily. She manages to give the goblin a brief looking-over between his grunts and snarls of protest. Suraksha leans out of the wagon and gives the goblin an amused glance, "Alg, be nice! This is a courtesy to Roy, your employer!" Her voice is amused, "And to you, although you don't seem to realize it."

Alg grunts, pushing at Suze's hands, "Don't want. Not hurt!" He does wince when Suze pulls one of his furry ears so she can look inside it.

Suraksha's voice is serene, "How do you know, on the inside?" She hands out a bag to the goblin, "Here, hold this please -- I'll be taking that back with me."

Alg snarls and tries to push Suze away, "Quiddit! Don't want! Not hurt! Stupid human!" He glares at Suraksha balefully, but takes the bag she hands him.

Suraksha grins at Suze, having just occupied the goblin's hands for her. Airily she adds, "Be right back! I have a few more bags to go."

Alg is still glowering, and his ears swivel when Suze peers into them. He tries to scrunch away, growling slightly as the healer clucks her tongue, "You got mites in here, boy." She digs into her pocket and, quick as light, drips something into Alg's ears.

Suraksha leans out of the wagon with another bag, but tchs at Suze's new, "Mites? Oh, dear -- that must itch like a fiend! Poor Alg. Will that clear it up for him, or does he need more drops later, Suze?"

Alg is shaking his head, nose wrinkled as he tries to clear the drops out -- just like a cat. Suze says, "Wouldn't hurt him to have more of the drops for a couple of days, but that should stop the itching almost immediately." Indeed, Alg's beady eyes are widening as much as they can and he holds his head very still.

Suraksha nods and holds out a hand, "I'll carry the drops for him, since his hands are full. It's just a simple drop in each ear for two or three more days, yes?" She smiles at Alg, adding sincerely, "I'm glad we could help. Feeling better now?"

Alg is looking suspiciously at Suze and Suraksha, but he nods slowly, "Don't itch."

Suraksha nods with pleasure, "Good. I'll show you how to apply the drops when we get back, all right?" She adds another box to the pile going with her, and adds to the woman inside the wagon with her, "Do we need anything else, Gramma Marcie?"

Suze is smirking slightly, knowing what Suraksha's intention was there. She hands over the small bottle of drops. Gramma Marcie makes a thoughtful sound and says, "That should do you for the night, I think."

Suraksha sounds pleased, "Excellent!" She looks out over the caravan for a moment, simply listening and absorbing the general vibe of her people currently. Everything sounds calm and prepared, and she nods once; she's done everything she can to have them ready for any attack launched by Roy's thugs. A small boy comes up, leading a llama, and the three women swiftly and efficiently pack the several bags and box onto its back. Suraksha has changed clothes: baggy harem style pants and a loose tunic top, with her heavy mane of hair braided back into a long, thick plait swaying behind her. Aside from the anklets she wears no jewelry. She looks around, holding hands with Gramma Marcie, then smiles at the older looking woman -- who still moves like someone much younger, "Thank you for coming with me, Gramma." She raises her voice as she calls, "We're ready to go now!"

Sabrina smiles at Chanticleer, "Maybe we'll see you again before we make the crossing, eh, gallo? Or at the carnival when we perform? Little Joe and I here will be making music and there will be juggling and acrobatics."

Chanticleer looks to Sabrina and Joe. "I certainly hope so. I'll be trying to make it off-duty to attend the carnival. Or I'm sure Roy will be making an appearance and I'll have to keep someone from putting steel into him." He looks over to Suraksha and smiles, standing. He nods to Sabrina and Joe. "Please excuse me. I enjoyed talking with you, and I hope I get the chance to do so again."

Sabrina laughs and takes Chanticleer warmly by the hand, "You're welcome at my fireside any time, Chanticleer. In fact, I would be quite pleased should you visit."

Alg startles and says, "Only pretty lady!" He glowers suspiciously at Gramma Marcie, "Why need her?"

Suraksha laughs at Alg's reaction, although it's not mocking but rather more warm, "Alg, dear, she's my dresser! I can't spend the night without her to make sure I'm presentable tomorrow. Why else do you think we packed all these things?" She waves at the laden llama, whose leadrope Gramma Marcie is now holding, then grins at Alg as she adds, "You're a dear, though -- thank you for the lovely compliment!" She links arms with the woman and the two of them stroll out of the caravan circle, towards the city. Alg peers suspicously after Suraksha for a moment, then startles, remembering his job and lopes to catch up and take lead again.

Chanticleer looks a little surprised, but smiles and bows over Sabrina's hand. "The pleasure would be mine, ma'am." He hears Alg's complaint and Suraksha's argument and inwardly smirks. Of course her 'dresser' is more than just that, if she even is that. Chanti is certain 'chaperone' is also in her hidden job description. He finds himself with increasing respect for the caravan-owner; he'll be disappointed if Roy doesn't guess that "Gramma" is really the lady's bodyguard as well. He's not too surprised Gramma isn't moving quite right -- a bit too spry, perhaps -- but he can't notice any glamour.

Gramma Marcie looks Chanticleer over carefully and says in a lilting, musical voice just slightly crackled with age, "This young man looks like he would be good at his job." She walks after Suraksha, using a cane to steady her steps – a cane which Chanticleer instantly recognizes as a shillelagh.

Chanticleer arches a brow at the shillelagh, but smiles. "Thank you for the compliment, ma'am," he says. "But I mostly hope that I can simply be competent." Suraksha smiles in quietly amused agreement, then paces relaxedly along next to the old woman and the llama. She's got the leadrope now, and her belled anklets chime in soft harmony with each step. She and Gramma Marcie both seem quite relaxed.

Alg is a little distracted as he leads them back toward the palace, a little off-balance from the unexpected kindness of Suze and Suraksha. Thus it's Chanticleer who first sees the shifting of a shadow near a wall. Chanticleer takes in a soft breath, and murmurs to Alg. "By the way... shadow shouldn't be there." To Suraksha he murmurs, "I think we're about to have unwanted company..."

Suraksha draws the llama to a halt, stroking its thick ruff soothingly as she glances around warily. Gramma Marcie stands on the other side of the llama, and Chanticleer can tell the two women are covering each other's backs. Suraksha calls quietly, "Alg, Chanticleer? Do we pause and deal with it, or carry on?"

Chanticleer murmurs, "We should get as close to the city as possible. Better chance of calling for help then."

Alg pauses and crouches. There's the scraping of claws on cobblestones as he flexes his hands. He grunts, sniffing the air, "Only four." The goblin carries a sword, but doesn't seem tempted to reach for it. He looks at Suraksha and 'Gramma,' "Pretty lady. Old lady. Stay still." Suraksha nods and loops the rope loosely about the llama's neck so her hands are free, then pulls out a small crossbow from the pack as the little group pauses. She nocks a quarrel and simply holds it in readiness. Gramma Marcie smiles at the appellation, but also stands still. One hand is still on her 'cane'; the other is curled to allow something to drop into her palm from her long sleeve.

Chanticleer murmurs, "Is that all? Pah. Almost insulting..." Suraksha grins silently at that, but continues to keep a wary eye out. Alg grins, his crooked, fang-like teeth gleaming in the low light, "They lose." His claws scrape against the cobbles again as he shifts, crouching into a fighting stance. Suraksha is not really worried. This will allow her to see how her possible new companion handles himself. Even if Chanticleer and Alg need assistance, or get severely damaged, she has a small amount of medical supplies on the llama, and she knows the woman with her is also a sidhe -- a former assassin-mercenary named Sna'thaid Mho'r. Her name is not just Irish Gaelic for dragonfly, but it also translates as 'big needle' -- which is the type of assassin's weapon she uses: long, thin bronze throwing daggers.

Chanticleer makes an affirming sound. "Let's let them come to us," he murmurs. "It's not ideal, but it keeps us from being distracted by one group while another comes up behind." Suraksha smiles unruffledly at Gramma Marcie, knowing the woman's glamour-hidden, insectile compound eyes won't miss aggressive movement. She's glad this old friend of her family got tired of being an assassin for hire, and decided to travel along with the caravan for fun for a bit. Not only is Snathaid an excellent (and four-armed) warrior when necessary, but she's also the caravan's bookkeeper. The two women glance at the two males, then go back to keeping an alert eye out for possible ambush.

From the shadows, four shapes appear. None of them seem to be anything other than human, though they are all quite bulky; likely dockworkers or carters of some kind. They smell none-too-clean, either. One of them, sporting a wiry black beard and a bald, scarred head says, "Well, if it ain't some 'a Roy's boys. And a pretty little prize, too." Suraksha glances at the foursome, then continues to keep watch, her crossbow held low between her and the calmly cud-chewing llama. Gramma Marcie scans carefully all around them, searching for more movement that shouldn't be there.

The dockworker is not someone Chanticleer knows, and his voice is a bit slurred with drink. There's a low, dirty snickering from his companions as he goes on, "Just like a pansy to hire fairies an' mons'ers." The City of the Red Sceptre is quite cosmopolitan, but there are elements there who hold very old, outdated views of humanity's place in the world.

Chanticleer has casually laid the back of his sword-hand upon the grip of his blade. A quick turn of the wrist, a twist of the body and an extension of his arm, and he should have the weapon drawn. It isn't exactly an heirloom nor is it particularly ancient. But it was a gift from his knight-instructor when he earned his spurs, and it's got its own lovely history about its hardened bronze edge, and so he refused to sell it. He suspects he spent more than a few weeks cold and hungry and shelterless because he didn't sell it, but had he done so he'd have still needed a blade at some point. Like now. Chanticleer smiles tightly, glancing a bit around to make sure they aren't being sneaked up on from behind. [Again with calling me a possession of Roy's. This is really bordering on the obnoxious now.] "I strongly suggest you pass this one by, gentlemen," he says calmly, without threat. "No harm, no foul, as they say."

Suraksha frowns at that, her voice stern, "These are honorable men doing their job. You have no call to label them falsely." Suraksha is reacting from her heart; while her behavior might be appreciated by Alg and Chanticleer, she is not speaking so in order to impress them. She truly believes what she says.

Chanticleer feels a rush of pride at Suraksha's words; he knows she's simply stating truth, but being called 'honorable' after so long outside the court... the leader of the would-be bandits snorts and spits, the globule hitting the paving stones near Chanticleer's feet, "What if I don't wanna, fairy?" He shifts his weight and draws a wicked-looking Bowie knife from a sheath at his hip, "Bet I can take ya."

Alg's voice is grating as he says, "Alg get his eyeballs?" He sounds eager and his words are a little blurrier, like he got more teeth in the meantime.

Suraksha blinks at the burly little goblin, then smiles in spite of herself, "Only if he dies in honorable battle with you, I think. Isn't that the way it's done?" She glances at Chanticleer, then decides not to push it -- the sidhe has his hands full already. Discussions of court protocol can wait!

Chanticleer looks flatly at the leader -- more as if to say 'You have got to be kidding me,' than anything else. "I imagine you'll be wagering your life, then." He looks meaningfully at the other three. If he can send these men on their way without his own weapon being drawn, he'll be quite pleased; he's in no rush to bloody his bronze. "I would say only if he's dead, Alg. In which case he won't need them anymore." It's a terrible thing to cripple or blind a person, and Chanticleer really would prefer to avoid any gross displays of what happens when sharp bronze meets yielding flesh and bone.

Chanticleer replies to Suraksha, not looking away from the assailants. "They don't seem interested in honorable battle, lady, though they'll be getting at least a modicum of it if they don't pass on. Seriously, gentlemen. This may be somewhat more than you bargained for this evening. Let us pass, and as I said: no harm, no foul. Need I add that you are delaying our arrival at the castle? Not to rush you, but King Roy is expecting us. He tolerates your actions to some small extent, but I can promise you he would not be pleased if anything untoward happened here. Tonight. Now." He recognizes full well that the Bowie knife is steel. He has no intention of letting the ruffian get first blood in before he himself strikes. But he does need a bit more than just what could be empty words before he'll draw bronze.

The leader spits again, swaggering forward another step or two. He thinks he's being clever as he feints toward the two women, "Maybe I'll just pretty them up for ol' Roy, then..." He's laughing coarsely as he moves – and that feint is all it takes for Alg to move into action. Suraksha and Gramma Marcie wait calmly, continuing to scan warily for other attackers. Chanticleer doesn't pause to make a comment, but draws his sword immediately. While he sees the feint for what it is, he covers the other three. Alg can handle any single ruffian, the goblin being one of the more vicious fighters Chanti knows of in Roy's kingdom. The leader is doomed; what Chanti can hope for is that the other three leave the man to his fate and take the hint.

The leader's feet, already unsteady from too much drink, slide out from under him when he makes the clumsy feint. He goes down, arms windmilling, and hits the cobblestones like a stunned ox. Alg is on him in the blink of an eye: fast, vicious, and darkly gleeful as he takes out the man's throat with one swipe of a clawed hand. Suraksha looks away, shaking her head slightly, and hopes the other men don't mob the gleeful -- and somewhat distracted – goblin. The other three are either not as drunk or not as stupid as their leader – not to mention that moonlight and torches give the sidhe knight a truly otherwordly appearance. His chill calm, combined with the disturbing wet sounds of the goblin making short work of their leader convinces them they would rather be somewhere else. There's a clatter and thump of weapons being discarded as they flee back into the shadows.

Suraksha murmurs dryly to her companion, "Poor fools," as she surreptitiously removes the quarrel and un-nocks the crossbow. She tucks it away in her baggage again, then pats the llama, "Good boy!" The sidhe woman simply snorts and folds her hands in front of her, remaining silently alert.

Chanticleer nods in satisfaction, returning his sword to its scabbard. Only then does he really notice Alg's... performance. Trying to fight down nausea, he says, "Alg... I think the fellow's well and truly dead, now." [Or wishing he was.] "Let's get to the castle and let King Roy know his guests are safe, but Moynahan's boys got a little 'frisky' tonight. He'll probably want to put the word out for them to behave before dawn...."

Suraksha gives the sidhe man a small smile, "If that was Moynahan, I suspect they'll be quite well behaved."

Alg takes a moment to come back to himself, and he capers gleefully around the body for a bit, nudging it with his snout-like nose as he burbles, "Stupid! Stupid man! Alg got a treat!" He pats the body down, secreting away a few things he finds, "Not Moynahan." He nudges the body almost regretfully, "Broke easy."

Suraksha chuckles ruefully, waiting until Alg is finished before she calls quietly, "Alg, would you collect the fallen weapons? No sense in letting them re-arm themselves, after all."

Chanticleer nods. "Moynahan runs most of the toughs in the crossing and in the city," he says by way of explanation. "His brand of... dislike... for non-humans filters down to his people. This was just one of his street lieutenants who got a bit too drunk and feeling his oats. If it had been Moynahan he'd have had about a dozen heavies with him, and I don't think we would have survived."

Suraksha smiles serenely at Chanticleer as she loops the leadrope over her arm again and continues walking, "Indeed? I would disagree. I have faith in you and Alg."

Alg is already gathering up the weapons and slinging them over his back and about his person by various straps and sashes. He wipes his mouth with one arm and says, "Stupidstupid. Drunk and stupid." He prowls around for a moment, sniffing the air, "All gone. Ran away."

Chanticleer smiles pleasantly. "Thank you for your confidence, lady. Fortunately Moynahan isn't the sort to start random trouble like that, so we'll need not see if your confidence is well-founded or not." He nods to Alg. "Thank you, Alg. Hopefully they won't screw their courage back and return."

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Last modified: 2010-Aug-28 20:29:49

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