No. 1
Traveller
Outcast musician and bounty hunter
Posts: 14
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Post by No. 1 on Jan 7, 2005 13:57:37 GMT
[Continued from 'The Path To Wolfenden: The Nameless'] *The door of The Crazed Heiffer swings slowly in the gale before No.1, releasing the smell of mead and the sound of pipe music. It is late; the moon hangs high in the sky, and yet there are still voices to be heard from within. The people of Wolfenden evidently enjoy their drink.* *Pausing in front of the tavern door, he takes a moment to breathe and compose himself. He is expecting no other reaction than suspicion, fear, hatred, or all three - and yet he is determined to go in, to make himself known, to surface from his hiding. Back then, when the clan was at the height of his powers, anonymity was a necessity and a weapon in itself; but now, with a new path laid out before him, he is determined to walk it in daylight and open air. Tonight is the first step. Hestitating no longer, he steps into the inn and takes a seat.*
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Post by Sylvester Hands on Jan 12, 2005 23:35:16 GMT
[ModNote: Hands was last seen giving Another report at Marblehead.] * Just after No. 1's arrival, Sylvester Hands enters the Heifer. He's been keeping a low profile recently, engaging in only the most minor of petty thefts - the new regime of Sir Edmund Locksley precludes any more serious crime, at least until the inquisitor has a lot more on his plate - and looking out for the mysterious being that killed so many of the Opposition's monsters, as Fear instructed. It has not as yet reappeared in Wolfenden, for which Hands is very thankful, but as this gives him very little to do he has popped into the Crazed Heifer for a drink. He sees someone he doesn't recognise and decides to engage him in conversation. After getting a large ale, Sly sits down opposite No. 1. * 'Ello. My name is Sylvester 'Ands - you know, 'ands, like feet but at the other end of your body. May I inqu- enqu- einqui- ask 'oo you are, sir?
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Post by Young Grimwold on Jan 13, 2005 2:10:02 GMT
*While Hands was getting his drink, the serving girl, Slevela, quietly informed him of the Landlord's ban on servants of Lord Fear entering the tavern. She decides not to ask him to leave, as it means fewer tips for her; plus, she reckons that seeing Hands try to bluff his way out of a confrontation with her boss could be amusing. She glances over at Hands and his new drinking companion.*
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Post by Sylvester Hands on Jan 13, 2005 16:21:03 GMT
"No servants of Lord Fear"? I like that - I'm your best customer, I am!
* Genuinely offended, Hands turns to No. 1.
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No. 1
Traveller
Outcast musician and bounty hunter
Posts: 14
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Post by No. 1 on Jan 13, 2005 18:39:14 GMT
*No.1 smiles at Hands' comedic haughtiness; while obviously a man well accustomed to all kinds of filth, he nonethless has the aspirations of much more than a mere petty thief. It is an endearing quality, giving him some much-needed approachability over and above his darting eyes and odious smell.*
*Of course, Sly doesn't register his drinking companion's mirth, simply because he can't see it. No. 1 begins to speak, and Hands can see that his lips don't move, hidden like the rest of his face behind some kind of deathly-white mask. It makes the jovial, lilting nature of his tone all the more unexpected.*
"Greetings, Mr. Hands. A pleasure to make your acquaintance! I have travelled hence for many miles, and this is my first stop in Wolfenden. And although I am weary and needy of sleep, in truth it is my thirst that is in more urgent need of attention!"
*The stranger's laughter sounds like that of a holy man rather than that of a bandit or servant of chaos; yet one would be hard-pressed to find a more dark-looking individual in the village on this night. The stark contrast between his manner and his appearance is quite unnerving, and in particular how such ready greetings come forth from such an expressionless visage. No.1 maintains his upbeat timbre as he calls over at the serving girl.*
"Excuse me, ma'am - may I have a tankard of ale? Oh, and some bread, if you have any? Thank you..."
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Post by Sylvester Hands on Jan 14, 2005 0:22:32 GMT
Oh, wait a moment, I'll pay. And another ale for me, and some cheese.
* Hands hands over a little of the money he got by fleecing Catherine Barter for the shoes he stole from Midnight; he still hasn't spent very much of it, not being accustomed to paying for what he requires. He turns back to the man whose beer and bread he's just bought. *
And a pleasure to make your acquain- anquait- acquait- meet you. May I ask your name and what brings you to Wolfenden? As for sleep, I may be able to offer you some accommo- ammocod- accodom- a place to kip. It depends on what 'is lordship says. And if 'e says no, the other lordship might say yes. Can't promise anythin', but glad to 'elp if I can.
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No. 1
Traveller
Outcast musician and bounty hunter
Posts: 14
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Post by No. 1 on Jan 17, 2005 18:38:00 GMT
(OOC: sincere apologies for my continued absence, I've been having extreme difficulty getting online. Thank you very much for your patience!)
"Why thank you Mr. Hands, that's most kind of you. Hopefully you will allow me to repay you at a later time."
*No.1 is loathe to reply to Hands' question; though posed in such a casual fashion, it nonethless probes the two most troubled facets of his life now. He still doesn't feel comfortable enough to use his real name, even if his new companion does seem friendly enough. And as for his purpose here - well, the less said the better, especially as Hands may well serve the very forces he has come here to resist. He chooses his words carefully.*
"My name is Number One. A strange one, I'll grant you, but a name nonethless. I've come here for a change of scenery, and to offer my services - protection and assistance, to those who require it."
*He decides to probe Hands for info, perhaps to glean insight into the nature of his 'lordship'. Though if said lord has unscrupulous individuals such as this in his employ, he may not be such a nobleman as his title would suggest.*
"And what do you do, Mr. Hands?"
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Post by Sylvester Hands on Jan 17, 2005 18:55:28 GMT
Me? Oh, I work for 'is lordship - that is, the Count Brinkatore.
* Not true, he's technically subordinate to me, Hands thinks, or would if he knew the word "subordinate". Or "technically". *
A most respectable nobleman, 'e is. I'm sure 'e'd be glad to meet you, Mr. One. Go along to 'is estate and I'm sure 'e'll give you a room and maybe a job/
* And if not, Hands thinks, he can kill you and nick your stuff and it'll be one less odd type to worry about.
He then tells 'Mr.' One Brinkatore's address. *
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No. 1
Traveller
Outcast musician and bounty hunter
Posts: 14
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Post by No. 1 on Jan 18, 2005 14:29:16 GMT
*Mulling over the information he has been given, No.1 sups his ale. Watching him, Hands notes that there appears to be no orifice at the lips of the mask; yet the curious fellow takes several huge gulps from his tankard regardless. By the same token, the bread which he raises to his mouth has chunks taken out of it, and behind the mask Hands can detect a chewing motion - yet his mouth has never opened. Things seem to get more sinister by the moment.*
*No.1 can detect Hands' curiosity, but it is answered merely with another question:*
"How do I get to where Brinkatore is staying, Mr. Hands? And if I may ask, what kind of 'job' do you think he can offer me?"
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Post by Sylvester Hands on Jan 18, 2005 14:35:06 GMT
Well, protection and - ass-is-tance - like you said. And it's on the edge of Greenshade just before you enterd The Green Wood.
* Hands gives directions. *
Would you like another beer?
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Post by Young Grimwold on Jan 19, 2005 16:06:04 GMT
*All of a sudden, there is the sound of scratching, and scratches appear on the leg of the table where Hands and No. 1 are sitting. Then, a rotund cat fades into view, and peers up at the drinkers. Slevela rushes over from the bar.*
Slevela: 'Sorry 'bout that, gents. This is the tavern's cat, Bethsemane. Used to belong to a trainee sorceress called Sidriss, but now it's ours. She's a Cheshire cat. The Landlord reckoned that a cat that goes invisible would be just the thing for catching the mice in the cellar. If only she'd spend more time down there!'
*Slevela carries Bethsemane across the tavern, and shoos her down towards the cellar.*
[OOC: Cat's name and gender edited: I had it as a male cat called Gethsemane! Spot from Star Trek: The Next Generation comes to mind...]
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Post by Sylvester Hands on Jan 19, 2005 22:19:42 GMT
* As the two continue their drinks, the cat evidently manages to ovecome the momentum of Slevela's throw and wander towards the bar, for a disembodied grin briefly appears in front of the proprietor and appears to speak to him before disappearing again. Owen looks in the direction of the pair's table and begins to walk purposefully towards it. * Oh, must be orf. Remember what I said! * Hands throws No. 1 just enough money to pay for another ale before hurriedly leaving the Heifer. * [ModNote: Continued in Up to no good...]
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No. 1
Traveller
Outcast musician and bounty hunter
Posts: 14
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Post by No. 1 on Jan 21, 2005 19:13:35 GMT
*No.1 is just about to speak his approval of ale when Hands darts away. He barely has time to call a 'thank-you, Mr Hands' after him before he disappears through the tavern doors.*
*Dragging the two gold coins slowly across the table towards him, he muses on what a curious fellow this Sylvester Hands is. Quite obviously a man of base means and methods, he nonethless has been most charitable here today. It has certainly not been the welcome that No. 1 was expecting - indeed, no-one has even remarked upon his appearance yet. Perhaps, as he hopes, they have seen more than their fair share of misfits and strangers through the years.*
*Draining his tankard, he calls in the same polite manner to Slevela, while watching her fumble with the cat with considerable mirth.*
"I'd very much like another ale please, Miss. By the way, who was that Hands fellow? Is he always such a generous individual?"
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Post by Young Grimwold on Jan 22, 2005 1:02:13 GMT
*Owen takes it upon himself to clear No. 1's table, and bring the ale himself.*
Owen: 'Hands? You must be mistaken. Hands is Opposition scum - all hidden agendas and selfish menace - and Opposition sorts aren't allowed in here these days. The girls would've told him where to go the second they saw him. Wouldn't you, Slevela?'
*Slevela darts down to the cellar, pretending not to hear.*
Owen: 'Enjoy your drink, Sir. I'm sorry we can't provide any music for you; we normally have a piper, but he's off in Vanburn at an elvish music contest.'
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No. 1
Traveller
Outcast musician and bounty hunter
Posts: 14
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Post by No. 1 on Mar 9, 2005 13:23:58 GMT
'A piper, you say...?'
*No.1 has had no cause to consider his secondary vocation: that is, his ability to play various types of musical instrument. He favours skinned instruments such as the drum, but has occasionaly dabbled with wind and strings. But it has been quite some time since he has played, and he doubts that this tavern would hold the necessary items to allow a demonstration of his skill. Besides, musicianship can wait; he has more pressing things to attend to.*
*He mulls over the comments made about Hands for quite some time, slowly supping his ale as he does so. No-one else attempts to make conversation during this time, as none is forthcoming, and his hunched, expressionless face deters any would-be greeters from speaking. It is clear from the tavern owner's comments that this is a schizophrenic land in an uncertain time - a society split down the middle, with the good on one side, and the bad on the other. He is quite sure there are a number of people who fall on neither of the sides, who choose instead to switch allegiances or pledge no such oath to either faction. At the same time, though, he does not imagine it to be a particularly rewarding (or simple) way of life, and he wonders which side of the divide he would offer his sword to, should the need arise.*
*Time passes, and his journey must continue. Rising, and nodding a farewell to the tavern staff, he disappears out into the inky blackness of night.*
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