Mid-Morning - 23 Sondu, 762

The day before a big festival, any festival really but the bigger the better, was a time of frenetic energy that made Kerr Blackwood feel more comfortable than just about anything else in the world. The movement and intent, the sense of limited time but without the foreboding element of fear and instead the anxious desire to be ready for maximum effect. It really rather reminded him of the last hour before an expected battle, from his childhood with the mercenary company he and his father had served in his entire youth. Booth owners, shop employees, message runners, event organizers, and laborers moving about like experienced soldiers. With intent and energy, the next task forefront in their minds with the weight of time and superiors pressing them ever forward. Onlookers, pilgrims, occasional guardsmen, and locals wanting an early scouting of where their favorite shop would be setting up its booth served as counterpoint to the energy of the others, like officers and generals overseeing the preparations for the battle ahead.

Kerr loved the feel of it all, his preference for battle preparations over festival preparations coming only from the fact that he had a part to play in the former and none in the latter. Most of the time. Though there was something unique in being able to lean against the railing of a brothel balcony, the one he'd slept in the night before, and watch the events unfolding. Like a god on his cloud, watching the beings of the world scurry about in living lives they thought of as significant. And maybe they were. Kerr didn't know. That's what made people watching interesting, learning what was important to them in the moment and trying to guess at how that fit into their lives at large. Was that man a modest shop owner or an unusually well-dressed shop worker? Was that child the young son of a very minor noble in his 'slumming it' clothes or a peasant child in his festival best a bit early? Where those three men hired guards shadowing a woman who wanted to be safe but not obvious or were they stalking an unsuspecting...

They were stalking an unsuspecting victim. Their eyes were on her, not on her surroundings, and she never once behaved as if they were expected to be there. He stood and turned, placing his hands on the railing as his senses went from casual to professional. This was the end of the hunt, this was where they wanted to strike. Unusual. Unless... they wanted an audience, they needed this to look like something it was not and for lots of people to swear to the lie. Not a kidnapping then. He vaulted the railing, caught the eaves to arrest his descent, and then dropped to the cobblestone outside the rather expensive establishment he was departing. Speed was essential, time of the essence. He had to move and think, plan and act all at once. His opportunity was fleeting. Something about one of the men tickled at his mind but he'd seen them from across the square, he couldn't deal with that so he banished it from his mind. He grabbed cloaks from pegs as he flashed passed the first few stalls, where operators and workers had come in during the morning mists.

He slowed to a fast walk, scanning the workers around a tall structure that had been erected in the middle of the square. There would be streamers and ribbons hung between it and the outer edges for colorful effect and clever shelter from the sun to slow the gathering of the day's heat in this area. The workers weren't paying the thing a lick of attention, those ribbons weren't planned until the end of the day after the various stalls were all erected. He did the math, it would work. It was braced in place with four ropes. He slashed one of the ropes with one of the stiletto daggers he wore on the back of his belt, replacing it in its sheath in one fluid motion, threw one of the cloaks around his shoulders, and pulled up the hood. He then yelled. "FROM ABOVE!" The tower-like structure had started tilting the instent he'd cut the rope, the tension from the opposite line pulling it that direction. Kerr launched himself into a run. "CLEAR THE WAY!"

The men were on the cusp of the strike when the shouting started and they all three instantly looked up as 'from above' was an old military command meaning arrows, spears, or some other form of projectile was incoming. Kerr got a surprisingly good look at all three as he closed in on the woman, throwing the other cloak he'd grabbed around her shoulders and a hand over her mouth before literally snatching her off her feet and spinner her out of sight between two nearby stalls. He pulled her down low, his chest to her back and a powerful arm pinning her arms by her sides where they ended up behind one of the stalls. "Do not panic, I am a friend." He breathed into her ear while keeping her mouth covered. The panic and chaos scattered people around the place in a frantic attempt to avoid the tilting structure but solid workmen had already scrambled onto the base of the thing, starting the effort of getting it back to rights. The deed was done, however, as he gently removed his hand from her mouth and pointed right along their shared line of sight at the three men looking around in confusion. One of them was holding a wickedly curved dagger.

Kerr knew the weapon, the drawings on the wanted posters were never quite detailed about the face but they always got the dagger right. That was Artov Keen. The confusion lasted but a moment before Artov gave a sharp gesture and they all disappeared into the confusion, vanishing from sight in three different directions in a practiced manner. "Why is one of the most dangerous and expensive assassins on the continent trying to fake a stab and grab on you?" The words were still soft, both for the sake of stealth and the fact that he was more asking himself than the woman he'd just disappeared to save the life of.

There were 10 bratty children sitting in a half circle around a small fountain in the town square. The children were ripe with excitement, their bodies alive with the sugar from the sweets they'd eaten. It was hard for them to sit still, though they tried, while laughing and pointing as the show went on. In front of them a girl dressed in a style of harliquin that was as gothic as it was enchanting.

Myra pirated around before them, her body wirey and bursting with energy. She sang and she danced as she told her story, the inflections in her voice enthusiastic and impassioned. She hopped onto the table propping herself up pretending to be a dog or cat. Myra met the gaze of a few of the merchants setting up for the Midsummer Solstice celebration. The teenage thief crawled across the table in a way that was cat-like and coquettishly spirited as her show went on.

She slid of the table on the other side, body spinning around as she kicked her legs about. The girl turned her painted face towards the merchants again and again, but it wasn't any human member that caught her gaze. It was their wares, coin pouches, and even food that she sought.

The set up for the events were expensive and she assumed that the wares would cost double to pay for it all. Myra wondered how much she could find in their stalls before the day was done. She finished her show on that thought and received her pay which wasn't a lot. She made her way back through town sizing up possible marks on her way out of the area.

Myra continued along her path where she spotted a woman walking along the same path from the opposite direction. She appeared to be walking with two men, but as the girl drew closer and eyes took in more of their persons, something seemed off. It could be a robbery, she thought, but it was too early to say. But then, a cry of "FROM ABOVE!" drew attention to a collapsing tower-like structure. Men rushed to the area as the commotion drew all attention.

She stood by looking on when another cry of "CLEAR THE WAY!" drew her attention to a cloaked man running about. She saw the cloaked man sweep up the woman and move her between the stalls. It wasn't a shocking thing to see, but the girl felt the urge to do something. The young thief started to call out to the three men before she laid eyes on the curved dagger. They suddenly vanished into the crowd, their behavior unlike that of any guard.

It was all very strange, but interesting at the same time. Whoever this woman was, she must have had a lot of enemies or lovers for such a fuss to be made over her. In any case, she might be willing to pay a good bit to be rescued. The little jester tip toed around the stall they disappeared behind and slipped in behind the man and pointed a small but very sharp dagger at the back of his head.

Alloweth the mistress wend, thee fuckin wh'reson and putteth thy like a toad, ugly and venemous mugeth on the dusty grind!"


Costume

---

S

olstice marked the beginning of a new chapter for Idrial Belinor. For the first time in her life, she was truly a free woman. With a little money saved and numerous paths open to the peredhel, the world was her oyster. In some ways, it was overwhelming to be spoiled for choice. Following friends or taking job offers as they presented themselves had been easy. Thoughtless. Just letting life direct her instead of the other way around. And while that had worked surprisingly well – Idrial never dreamed she would have risen from exiled convict to a king’s mage – something seemed different now. A palpable sort of chance that would be foolish to miss. One she nearly did. Fate itself seemed to have intervened, however, and she was layed up long enough to consider that perhaps she was not yet (if ever) meant to resume that life with her dearest friend. What she was going to do instead, though… Well, that would take some time to figure out. In the meantime, the holiday festivities could serve as both distraction and inspiration.

In the years she had spent at the king’s side, attending all manner of parties, this Midsummer Solstice was something quite special. She could only imagine what Isto had done to the palace and nearly regretted the timing of her resignation for not being a part of it. The healer had no doubts of her being welcome at Pyramus but she was uncertain of her own resolve to explore her independence if he tried to persuade her back.

Idrial meandered slowly through the main thoroughfare, admiring all there was to see and do and eat and buy. Apart from generally being mindful not to bump into anyone, she was oblivious to those around her. She was alone, currently, and thinking about what all she might like to do. Perhaps later in the week, she could rejoin Kira or even the Vanyar Marshal for a spell. Maybe attend a bonfire night with Azazeal and Athena. Go to—

"FROM ABOVE!"

With years spent around former soldiers-turned-mercenaries, the warning call was a familiar one to the healer. A cold wave of terror radiated from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers. Fearing the street was about to be hailed with arrows, Idrial was almost confused when she looked up and did not see a black-spotted sky.

Time slowed.

In a blink, Idrial was transported back to the collapsing building several weeks earlier. The flashback acted as a paralytic. She could not seem to move, apart from being jostled by panicked people around her, and her only clear thoughts were defeated ones. The injury to her leg was still a few weeks out from being fully healed. She would not be able to limp or crawl fast enough to save herself. Would not be able to dive far enough out of the way to make a difference. And every passing second that she remained petrified to that spot worsened the consequences of inaction.

“CLEAR THE WAY!”

 
Someone had grabbed her. In another blink, Idrial was carried swiftly out of the precariously swaying structure’s path (should it have fallen). Any feeling of relief was delayed, however, as the man carrying the waifish peredhel did not stop until they were well out of sight. By the time she processed what was happening, Idrial was tightly pinned against him; her mouth covered by his hand.

She did not struggle. There was no point. Even if she could slip from his grasp, even if she had been a skilled fighter, or able to run, being frozen this time was a calculated choice. She needed to survive whatever this new peril was and that meant buying some time. It occurred to her that what had just happened on the street might have been a purposeful diversion. Perhaps she was not even the only one taken from the crowd. Slavers. The thought made her stomach pull into a sickened knot. It would be a fate worse than death for a half-blood like her.

“Do not panic, I am a friend.”

Though she had to credit the genuine sound of his voice, without context the words were devoid of comfort. Idrial was still a few moments, then nodded as much as his tight grip would allow. She did not believe him in the least but hoped cooperating just now would grant her some latitude - if only so he might loosen his arms enough for her to catch her breath - and earn a small measure of her captor’s trust.

When the stranger unclamped the hand over her mouth and directed her attention to the trio of dangerous men clearly looking for someone, Idrial started to reconsider her assessment of him and the entire situation.

"Why is one of the most dangerous and expensive assassins
on the continent trying to fake a stab and grab on you?"

“Alloweth the mistress wend, thee fuckin
wh'reson and putteth thy like a toad, ugly
and venomous mugeth on the dusty grind!"

There was hardly time enough to register his question, let alone deliver any kind of reply before there was an interruption. A voice from behind the man demanded Idrial’s freedom. Had the woman arrived just moments sooner, Idrial might have been grateful - and perhaps she still would be. But first, she needed answers. “Wait, wait, wait–” the peredhel pleaded a little frantically, not entirely sure to whom it was directed. She kept her volume low, so as not to draw the attention of the assassins. “You are certain that I am the intended mark?”

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood & Myra Dione

Before he could get his answer from the woman he'd rescued he had to translate guttersnipe into the common tongue... just to realize he had the worst possible problem in the history of problems. A good samaritan. Well-intentioned, attempting to help, largely clueless as to the full extent of the situation. Also, awful diction, but at least it was one of the variants of street talk he understood and she hadn't called him something truly awful like 'spleeny swag-bellied miscreant'.

Kerr slowly turned his head left, keeping the woman he held in sight while looking at his new assailant out of the corner of his left eye. Dagger held out, determined look on her face. He visibly sagged in place, dropping his head as it turned forward and letting his shoulders droop as it appeared that he accepted he'd been flanked. Of course, now that his right hand was hidden from the clown's view it gripped his war dagger's hilt. "Okay, letting her go." The loosening of his left arm was a slow, deliberate movement so as not to set the clown back on edge... until he suddenly flashed into a lightning-fast maneuver. He didn't stand first, he lunged from his low position as he rose, coming up at an angle in line with her knife hand. His left bracer impacted the dagger less than a heartbeat before his left hand locked around her wrist, though what she really needed to be concerned about was the war dagger in his right hand, the point of which was pressed against the soft skin between her throat and chin. "Good heart, bad tactics."

Knives were for professionals, in the hands of anyone else they were dangerous but sloppy weapons best used when fully empowered by the element of surprise. He gave the slip of a girl a wink and then stepped away, his war blade coming with him and not leaving a mark. His dueling blades were sharp but not the kind of razor sharp that he kept his dirks. There was no point in trying to keep a razor's edge on a weapon you parried with. "They followed you into the square," he said to the woman he'd rescued while carefully releasing the good samaritan's wrist and withdrawing his hand but otherwise keeping a close eye on her. "Then across half its width, eyes only for you. I have an eye for context and that tipped me off but even if I hadn't the moment I saw that curved knife in the one man's hand... he's no petty thief. That's an assassin, known by his favorite weapon and reputation if not his face." He stood, speaking to one woman but watching the other. Even once done he waited to see what the performer, by her dress, was going to do next.

The jester was a musician and minstrel of muse and humor, but often times they were looked upon as lessor folk, and no one ever expected they had any other talents besides cracking jokes and singing tunes. For that reason Myra was able to work the crowd and while they were enchanted by her narratives, she stole right from under their noses. It was also because of her age and size that people took her skills for granted, and the would-be hero made that very same mistake.

For he may not have taken her seriously, but she was very serious about what was happening. The girl didn't take a green eye off him as he feigned defeat. She was no noble's daughter, or fresh faced soldier pretending to be a hero, she had grown up on the streets of Bowery where deceit and trickery festered. His ruse did not fool her for a single moment. As he lunged forward to grapple her, Myra phased through him. The forward motion of her body in the opposite direction of his allowed her to move behind him without pause.

The little jester released her magic and donkey kicked him square in the ass with her right boot. She spun off the kick and stood posed between him and the woman. "Thou attempteth weak, and thou tactics sloppy. " she replied to him and winked, a smirk upon her painted lips. She kept an eye on him as he spoke with the woman and as long as he didn't try anything she wouldn't attack.
Myra wasn't sure that she believed his story but she reasoned that she may have read the situation wrong, maybe. "An assassin? Thee has't assassin's aft'r thee?" she addressed the woman. "Who is't art thee to garn'r so much attention from assassins and whoresons in ugly and tasteless armeth'r?"

---

O

nce the tight grip around her body loosened, the peredhel took in a deep breath of air. She started to feed a modicum of relief and calm and even trust as she exhaled and he slowly increased the space between them. In a blink, she was on edge again. His sudden movement toward the other person surprised her. The peredhel yelped and scrambled into something of a corner as the two fought.

“Stop!” It was another hushed plea, perhaps unheard amidst the scuffle, and unlikely of any sway. Idrial’s eyes shut tightly when the dagger was pressed against the jester’s throat. The healer internally braced for the awful sound of blade slicing through flesh; the spattering of blood onto the ground moments before a thud; the woman’s dying gurgle.

When there were no macabre sounds that followed the man’s criticism of the jester woman, Idrial opened her eyes again. Silently, she thanked whichever gods might be watching that the man withdrew his blade from the woman’s throat. What happened next was unexpected. The healer was unsure of whether the jester possessed magic or if she simply blinked at the wrong moment (had she blinked at all?). Suddenly, she was behind the man and kicked him, and stood defensively between Idrial and the man.

A tense sort of truce ensued and the man was able to explain what he had observed of the trio apparently hunting Idrial. A wanted poster she had seen numerous times came to mind when he described the man with the curved knife. Whether they were one and the same, she did not want to find out. The weight of the situation was starting to settle in. She almost felt queasy.

Idrial did not have an answer for the jester. “I don’t know…” Her immediate thought was that she was nothing and no one. These people - this expensive assassin - must have had her mistaken for someone else. She was not a well-liked woman out of general prejudices and superstitions. There were few that knew her enough to dislike her character and none she could think of that might go so far as to hire a killer.

“...but perhaps this is not the most prudent time and place to draft a list.” Where they should go, or if indeed the pair meant to stay with her, she was uncertain. Idrial would need help fleeing the area, that much she was sure of. She knew Sounnah well enough but the still-healing injury to her leg was a big problem. Finding her way to Azazeal, her Judicar friend, might be the next step.

“Can you still see them?”

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood & Myra Dione

There was no hesitation, more than two decades of fighting for his life didn't leave any gaps in the transition from recognition to reaction. His eyes were still wide with surprise as he struck with his war knife, using the weight of the blow to force him through a partial turn that would end him bladed toward the magic user that had just phased through him... around him... didn't matter. The blade unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, passed through her incorporeal throat. He'd struck too quickly and gotten to the target before she rematerialized but never-the-less that meant they found themselves facing one another down with the shorter of his two war-blades and her dagger between them once again. The only real difference is a hushed "stop" had prevented him from throwing the dagger he'd palmed off the back of his belt while attacking and turning, leaving his hand cocked high behind him ready to send the steel implement down range. The cloak he'd been wearing fluttered to the ground a dozen or so feet away, finally thrown off by the violent reversal of motion it had gone through.

He didn't answer the accusation of sloppiness, she'd given away her best trick to change positions with him. The next time she played that card against him it would get her killed without warning. The comment about his armor... had she insulted his armor? He was having a hard time translating the gibberish to common speech. His leathers were freshly cleaned, by a skullery at a whore house and those kids knew more about getting stains out of laundry than most launderers. He lowered his weapons, resolved to slit the guttersnipe's throat later, and moved back over to the stall to carefully look out at the crowd. None of the three men were anywhere he could see after several long moments of thorough scanning. "They're not nearby, if I were them I would have retreated outward from the square and formed a perimeter as best could be done on the off chance you could be spotted moving away from where you were last seen. If there aren't any more of them waiting in the wings that would mean there's a chance of sneaking out through a gap in such a perimeter but..."

He turned back to the woman who'd been hunted. "If it were me being hunted I would wait them out and start fresh. I prefer to do the hunting, rather than the other way around." He tapped his war knife against his leg as he appeared to think about it for a long moment before throwing out an offer. "Fortunately for you I happen to be a curious soul, one of the best mercenaries on the continent, and a good Samaritan. I'll front you my services until we can negotiate a contract if you promise that I can keep the bounty on that guy if I bring him down in the line of resolving this matter for you. Oh, and you're gonna need to be honest and forthright about yourself cause otherwise I'm trying to solve two mysteries at the same time in different directions and that just leads to misery for everyone involved."

The bells sown into the tails of her hat jingled as she gently swayed, her body lose and lively. The man was like any other, and she didn't doubt that he was angry at being made the fool by a ...jester. She imagined the injury to his pride must have been even worse since it happened in front of a pretty blonde woman with large green eyes. "H're I bethought myself showing thee a kindness by not cleaving thy headeth from thy shouldst'rs. Mayhaps I wast wrong in doing so." She had the chance, she could have killed him while his back was turned and that would have been the end of it. The girl wasn't a murderer, she didn't want bloodshed only to help the poor woman who had been attacked. Even so, he had chosen to turn his blade on her. She would not show him that mercy a second time.

Myra watched him carefully, she didn't trust him just because he claimed to know things and have an understanding of the situation that they did not. Often times such knowledge was more telling than not. It was just as likely that he was one of the men after her and had created an somewhat elaborate ruse to trick her into following him rather than trying to take her by force. No, the little jester didn't trust this man who's story and timing seemed far too convenient.

The girl listened to every word that he said, then burst into laughter when he called himself "one of the best mercenaries on the continent" It had to be the best joke that she had heard in a very long time. "A m'rcenary? thee? m're liketh the milk-toast son of a noble wh'reson pretending to be a m'rcenary." It had been easy to sneak up behind him and it would have been just as easy to end his life had that been her goal. She looked at the woman who appeared even more confused than anyone. "Th're is nay bett'r time than anon to rememb'r thy enemies, least thee f'rget and off'r thy back to one who might planteth a dagg'r in t."

Costume

---

“P

erhaps…” the healer partially conceded. Then gently pointed out, “However, conjuring a name will not stop the blade seeking me at present.”

At the mention of eventual payment and needing to be rather open about herself, Idrial had a similar thought to the woman. Was this an elaborate ruse to con her out of a [presumably] large sum? So many things felt too convenient. Too coincidental. Was the jester in on it?

On the other hand, it could cost her life to find out everything was just as he claimed.

Idrial felt short on time and short of options. Continuing to go along with the man seemed the safest choice for now. “Wait them out…” she repeated softly with a thoughtful nod. She supposed they need only wait so long as nightfall. It would be easier to make a stealthy escape, even with a lame leg slowing her down.

After a moment, Idrial redirected her gaze to the jester and asked quite genuinely, “Unless you have a better idea?”

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood & Myra Dione

"Could or should, you're far from the first person to wonder about it. You aren't likely to be the last to live to regret the lapse in judgment either," he responded absently to the arrogance of the gutter snipe. Why she thought she'd had the chance was beyond him but he was fine with folks believing themselves whatever they wanted, so long as it gave him another tactical advantage when the time came. The girl was leaning hard into her own vernacular failings, which was trying at best, but he once again pushed her out of the part of his mind that dealt with people and into the part that dealt with chess pieces. From there he wouldn't have to concern himself with a personal opinion of her any further. Oh, look, she had an opinion about his ancestory. Since he didn't know a lick about the subject of his own lineage he just kind of looked at her as if hearing a dog make a noise that vaguely sounded like a word and then returned his focus to the woman he'd saved.

"In this case, Miss, you are right. A name won't help this moment, we need to get you away from the weapon and secure from the blade he carries before we can afford the conspiracy theorizing. Though conspiracy it certainly is, you'd know if this man had a personal issue with you, there'd be no need to guess and he wouldn't have tried to make it look like something else." He watched her chew it over and he could see it from her perspective, the gutter snipe probably thought it was all too convenient too. "Wait them out it is, then. I was on the balcony of a place just across the square, your would be killers are expecting to find you exiting the area and thus have gone wide, if we are casual about it we should be able to walk straight back across and in. Lots of people, little business traffic at the moment, they won't mind us waiting sitting about the room I slept in for a few hours. We can talk it out and you can choose your path from there."

If he got lucky, the gutter snipe would wash her hands of the situation in frustration at the woman agreeing to go with him. Because otherwise he'd have to shrug off her insistance on coming along for the woman's peace of mind.

"I'd sayeth thou did miss thy calling as a performer spewing forth such drivel, but even a child mights hath't problem believing an unconvincing threat." Myra gave a yawn, to show he was boring her. Like so many others, he seemed to think himself her superior even after she'd proven he wasn't a match for her. But she didn't hate him for it, such arrogance played to her favor when dealing with men like him.

Moments ago it had worked to her favor when he mistook her for a mere girl and tried to disarm her and show off his prowess to the other woman. She made him pay for that, even if it were just a bit of embarrassment. To the woman who agreed with the man's plan to wait them out she shrugged. "Doth I hath't a better plan? Does thee mean a better plan than sitting in a room and hoping the men would forget they didn't killeth thee and wend home?"

Myra was starting to seriously suspect that he was in on the plot to get the woman because his idea didn't make any sense. However, it wasn't her life and she didn't owe the woman a thing. "If 't 'twere me, i'd wanteth to rush out of hither as soon as possible and the most wondrous way is with a disguise." She gestured to herself. "If 'thee lookth like me, nay one couldst telleth who ye art and wouldn't bat an eye or wonder whither ye art going."

Myra flicked the bell on the right tail of her hat. "However, if 't what thee seek is a rump in this scoundrels bed then by all means followeth him to his room. I hath't nay doubt yond is the real reason behind his idea."

---

T

he peredhel eyed the clown with something of a suspicious look when she suggested being disguised likewise. Were they agents of the king? Was this all an elaborate scheme of Isto’s to tell her she was a fool for resigning and now she looked like one? Idrial would not put it past him... Yet, as likely as that scenario was in her mind, she was still forced to draw the same conclusion as before: whether she was being set up to be humiliated by Thisbē’s king or swindled out of her every jot, nearly any result was better than winding up slaughtered. And so, she continued to give both strangers the (wary) benefit of the doubt. For a while longer, at any rate.

Idrial sighed a little wearily at being talked down to but took the point at how the wait-them-out plan sounded. “No, of course not. Biding a little time somewhere safer than between street stalls might be wise?” Going to the man’s room was not her first choice, though, especially if the fiery fool meant to quit their company. However, the jester’s plan was not without its flaws either. For starters, “My leg is lame from an injury and it gives me an unusual gait.” the healer said, both to inform them of the liability and to explain (one of) her hesitations about the alternative plan. “Something that, in broad daylight at least, may make me easier to spot by those hunting me no matter my manner of dress.”

“Even so, unless you have a larger costume” - for Idrial guessed she had at least six inches and thirty pounds on the jester - “and paint to spare…?” She trailed off and shrugged helplessly, failing to see what resources they had to create a costume for her in that alley. Nevermind that swapping clothes on the street was not exactly the best way to ward off unwanted attention in a busy area.

Despite her initial concerns, however, a disguise was not entirely out of the question. If she was able to lie low until dark, changing her silhouette might conceal her more easily and effectively to get away at a pace she could manage.

Thinking aloud more than she was speaking to the others, Idrial muttered, “If they were following me, perhaps waiting until I was away from the others, after a while they may give up here and stake out my room…” Which begged the question: where should she go in the longer term? “I need to get a message to Az.”

Then, she asked of the man: “Where you’re staying– is there a tavern downstairs?”

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood & Myra Dione
notes: lol, probably should have switched this conversation to discord. oh well.

"And you've peaked," he responded kindly in return to the clown saying clownish things. For all her criticism on the point she was the one acting like a spoiled noble, likely a result of her power preventing her from having to suffer consequences for her behaviors over the few short years she'd been mistakeable as an adult. His next words were addressed to Idrial though they happened upon the gutter snipe's criticisms as well. "It's a numbers game. They don't know if you escaped. If you escaped they don't know if it was happenstance or because you sensed their presence. There's three of them, they don't know where you are if you're not here. They'll try here because it's more likely to succeed than wandering around the city... for now. In a few hours the numbers will lean the other way, the chances that you've gone into hiding behind a stall somewhere will no longer be that strong and they'll be better served going somewhere they presume you'll eventually have to be. They'll wait to see if you behave as if you dodged an assassination or if you appear to be none the wiser, then either change the game or repeat the process as necessary."

It's what he'd do if he were going to assassinate someone. And he had in the course of a cover here and there, though never with that particular ruse. Myra declared that if it were her she'd run, which was no surprise to him but by himself if he were the target he'd have opted for neither. He'd have started hunting the assassins back, knowing they had to split up to create a perimeter. The two unknowns first, Artov Keen last and probably with the help of some very distracting but otherwise useless town guards. But if Kerr were the target there wouldn't be a mystery that needed solving, just another day of surviving the consequences of his own endeavors. He rolled his eyes at the accusation that he was just trying to bed the woman he was working to protect, then looked to Idrial. "I promise not to sleep with you today, even if you ask," he said in a droll tone to dismiss the venomous accusation of their vestigial conversation piece. Meanwhile he was considering how to get her across the square without drawing any attention.

She had her cloak, she made an excellent point about the limp but he could fix that by offering his arm and staying sturdy so she could manage a normal gate while still favoring the injury. "I can arrange a trustworthy and largely invisible messenger, there'll be several lounging about where I intend to hide you." Speaking of which, she asked if there was a tavern downstairs of where he was staying. "Even better, m'lady. There's a parlour," he said with a smile as he offered his hand to help her along. "If you'll walk by my side and lean heavy on my arm, you should be able to disguise your limp until we are inside and safe from searching eyes. I'll have to hand over a bit of coin to secure our stay for a few more hours, it's a business not truly accustomed to daytime tenancy but I'll handle that matter personally. I offered you the space regardless of any future business arrangement, after all." He figured he could just request to keep the bounty of Artov Keen to suss out the mercenary for hire angle.

Myra started at the woman and she blinked curiously at her words. "Doth thee think I keepeth all mine proper under this hither cap?" she pointed to her head. "Nay fartuous, I to hath't a lodging to stayeth and i dare sayeth 't's less likely they would check thither than at an inn." she shrugged. It sounded like the woman had already made her choice given how easily she tossed the jester's idea aside. "Thy outfit doesn't matter, as long as thou art not wearing what ye art anon. They wast following thee, they knoweth what thou art wearing limp or no."

The little jester started to explain more about her disguise idea, but the woman had already made up her mind to follow the man in armor. Myra tilted her head and tapped her cheek in thought. "Nev'r-mind, perish the thought. If 't you art going to followeth him thee shouldst be on thy way. Staying hither win't doth thee any valorous either." She moved a side and let them do as they wished.

She didn't trust the man for even a second. He seemed to know the man following her and yet he never explained how or why. He also appeared to know how they thought and what their plans were. Not many would know such a thing, only those who knew these men well would have such information. Even so, the woman seemed to trust him and that was her choice. Myra waved to them as she watched them walk off arm in arm. "This is going to maketh a valorous story. The mysterious stranger rescues the damsel only to bewray anon that he is the one behind 't all!"

Off she went back to the place she was currently staying to get cleaned up and change into normal clothing. Myra had made enough coin to buy a nice meal for the next two days and she was going to enjoy herself like the people did who normally had money.

---

A

t the jester’s pressing, the peredhel began to visibly reconsider whether she ought to attempt some sort of disguise for crossing the street - though she was still at a loss for what she could don instead. Idrial had traveled light from her accommodations and her present dress was simple. One layer; more or less the same inside out. Had she brought her usual over-packed satchel, she would have had a change of clothes handy. As it was, the healer had only thought to take a small coin purse so she couldn’t overload herself with things to buy.

The jester soon dropped the suggestion, however, and indicated that her involvement was coming to an end. Idrial felt a mix of emotions between unease and disappointment. Even if they did not quite see eye to eye on what to do or how to do it, she felt safer in the other woman’s company. The jester seemed like she could handle herself and wasn’t afraid to call the man out on anything that didn’t sit right with her. Others might well have seen Idrial stolen from the street, as well, but the jester was the only one who endeavored to do something about it. She felt her already-tenuous faith in the man falter at the idea that she would be completely at his mercy once again and hoped to the gods she was not making a grave mistake.

The healer hesitated to take the man’s arm at first, deciding at last to take the jester's advice as much as she was able. Without any other ideas, Idrial brought her thin cloak over her head and fashioned a makeshift sort of wimple to cover her hair and more dramatically hood her face. Then, before they exited the little alley between stalls, she took a moment and thanked the jester very genuinely. Idrial did not say for what exactly but hope the young woman would understand the unspoken meaning all the same. Turning to the man, she said, “Let’s be going, then.”

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tag: Kerr Blackwood & Myra Dione