It was a fairly standard Inn, all told.  Middle of the road by the looks of it, likely with middle of the road prices unless you came in wearing a silk purse.  The back courtyard, which was exactly what he was staring at in that particular moment, was actually fairly nice.  He didn't know if the owner had an eye to it or if the place had gotten lucky and hired themselves a barn lad that took pride in his work.  Paving stones in good condition and clean, no weeds coming up between them.  It wouldn't get muddy and it wouldn't be slippery when wet, everything level to prevent tripping unless you were a drunken bumble-foot.  Five horse stalls, a hay alcove, and a small shelter off to the side to house a wagon or carriage.  A covered well right in the middle to supply the kitchen and the sculleries.  Honestly, it would be a very nice courtyard to enter through in order to make access to the inn from the rear door if not for one minor problem.  A trifle, really.  Trivial.  The very large group of lightly armed street toughs smacking around and otherwise menacing the man Kerr imagined to be the Inn's proprietor.  His responses weren't pleasing the men, a woman and boy of about twelve summers were watching in fear from the back door.  He imagined it wasn't everyday something like this happened in such a nice place.

Of course, Kerr had other things to attend to.  He really ought to take his newest charge and loop around to the front.  Or he could leave her hidden in the alley and make his own way in.  Or they could abort the whole endeavor to retrieve her stuff from her room altogether.  That would be the practical thing to do.  Alas, Kerr wasn't a practical person.  He was, often, a very good person.  One who happened to be wearing his armor and swords at the moment. "Do you have a horse in the stable," he asked as he pulled his borrowed cloak from his shoulders and tossed it aside in preparation for the level of violence he would have to enact if the men didn't shove off at his mere arrival.  He wanted them to see the armor, the swords, anything and everything that might encourage them to move along peacefully.  Failing that, he needed to be moving without a big fluttering handhold in the wind behind him as he dashed or wrapping about him as he spun.  If she had a horse he could send her to get the thing saddled while he drew the focus of the men.  If nothing else she could ride hard for safety while he got himself killed... though, to be honest, he figured he'd only have to hurt three or four of them before the rest lost their nerve.  He doubted whatever they were slapping the owner around about was worth their lives.

"Stay here by the foot gate, I'm gonna go pull some bacon out of the fire." He took a deep breath, cleared his mind of extraneous thoughts, and stalked through the smaller of the two exterior entrances to the yard. "I have business with the Innkeep, time to move along lads." He stopped outside their ring and took a head count now that he was where he could see them all.  An even dozen.  Oh yeah, they'd break and run after three or four went down yelping.  They traveled in large groups for safety in numbers, not because any of them were particularly skilled.  He thumbed the longer of his two swords from the blade break to make it clear he was serious.

"Not til he tells us where the half-elf is, we got a bounty to c'llect.  Five hundred big coins is worth all the trouble in d'world, merc.  Even worth putting down the competition, me thinks."

Oh... shite, he thought to himself while exercising long practiced and hard earned self-control to keep his face from blanching.  That absolutely was the kind of coin worth dying over for men of their means.

---

I

drial watched with guilt-ridden horror as the inn’s sweet family was assaulted and harassed by the large group of thugs. They might have been there for some other reason. Muscle for some affair that had nothing to do with her. Even so, it seemed foolish to operate on that assumption. One thing the awful scene did, however, was bolster her resolve to retrieve her things immediately and flee. With any luck, that would leave the family in one piece and end their dealings with these people hunting her.

“What should we do??” she whispered to Kerr. She nodded when asked if she had a horse and was more than a little frustrated by his answer to wait by the foot gate though did not argue. “Be careful!” Idrial called in a hushed tone after him. When he was far enough away, she started toward the little stable, hastening as quickly as her limp allowed. Kerr could be angry with her later but she needed to act. To do something other than idly waiting as the thugs continued to cause trouble and otherwise being completely helpless herself.

Idrial knew four of the horses sheltered in the stalls; two of them belonging to her and Azazeal. “Mae g'ovannen, min lana” the peredhel affectionately greeted the twin mares, running her hands down the bridges of their noses. Idrial would saddle Castor first. She was the faster of the two, should there not be time enough to prepare Pollux in kind. First, however, she tucked a message into a deep fold of Athena’s saddle blanket and used a rock to carve a symbol into one of the nearby posts - a breadcrumb for her friends.

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood , Emily Caomhánach , @open

The other man's eyes flickered toward the barn and Kerr promptly punched him in the throat with a guantlet covered fist. It had been too big an opening to pass up and the last thing he wanted was the guy drawing his friends' attentions to what he presumed had been a glance of the woman he was protecting. But then the race was on and there was no time to worry about anything outside the fight itself. The man's hands went to his own throat while Kerr's left went to the hatchet sticking out of the man's belt and his right went to his own sword. Both were drawn to Kerr's right as he shifted left, allowing him to overhand throw the handaxe at another of the thugs closer to the innkeeper by sketching a circle across the front of his body with his left and deflect the club strike coming at his back by sketching a circle behind himself with his sword. The circle continued, looping in front of Kerr as he switched his shoulders to bring the dueling blade up the inside of the club-wielder's right thigh while he was attempting to set up another big swing.

The meaty thud of the punch had started the men toward him, the soft choking sound from the victim ignored in the initial burst of adrenaline. The handaxe had buried itself in a cheap shield so nobody had been upset about that much either. The cut to the inner thigh, however, had drawn a blood-curdling scream as the man dropped his club in a clatter on the flagstones and fallen down right beside it trying to push his flesh back together in the futile hopes of saving himself. There was a lot of blood, very quickly, an artery had been opened up and without the meat to stop it the life was literally draining right out of the guy. The others pulled up short but Kerr knew better than to let them consider their next move as a group, no looking to each other this time. He was three steps past the two dying men and slapping the long knife out of a third man's hand with the flat of his blade before a tight loop of the tip allowed him to slice the man's forearm on the recovery of his lunge.

That guy was throwing himself backward, a short yelp and clutching his bloody arm which allowed Kerr to throw himself to his right. He tapped the tip of his sword on the ground, letting go with his left as he slashed upward with his right, drawing his dagger with a twist draw and slashing with it too. The tap on the ground caused the target to look down. He opened the fourth target's right cheek with his sword and swiped a deep cut across the front of the target's hip where thigh met groin as he reeled back from the cheek cut. Another yelp that turned into a scream as that man went down too. The man with a cheap shield, who'd spent those heartbeats trying to pull the handaxe out of the the already poorly balanced hunk of wood suddenly said screw it to himself. He dropped the shield with a metal thunk as the handaxe portion hit first and made a hard run for it. Others followed, and then there was a full route in action. The last man was the one who'd had a handful of the innkeeper's hair but as soon as he realized Kerr was looking straight at him as he approached...

The last man ran harder than all the others as the boy ran out to throw his arms around his father. The father earned Kerr's respect by forcibly pushing the boy behind himself so he was kneeling between Kerr and the child. "I was lying," Kerr said simply, getting a confused look from the innkeeper. "I have no business with you. I just needed to get across the courtyard and happen to not have much patience for bullies." The innkeeper stared silently, no doubt just a little confused by such a fine stroke of luck come wandering into his back yard. Kerr walked back to the man bleeding out, stepping over the whining fellow with the ruined hip and the cut cheek. He'd live, the one with the cut forearm was gone and would definitely live. The other two would die. The crushed throat had about another minute to a minute and a half of suffocating to do and even if he was somehow able to open his airway his lungs were full of blood from his cracked adam's apple.

The thigh guy was... dead. His eyes were staring unseeing at the sky and going glassy. Kerr cleaned his blades on the man's shirt while calling out to his charge. "It's safe but messy, m'lady." A reedy voice came from behind him, a boy reaching the age where he started to transition to manhood, his voice cracking to make room for the bass of a man. "H... how did... you do that?" Kerr checked his dagger's length for any clinging stains. "I was more willing to pay the price of violence than they were. Their resolve failed them. That's the difference between seeking gold and protecting someone."

---

K

err had undoubtedly attempted to persuade the group to leave peacefully. Whatever conversation was exchanged, however, had not lasted long before the sounds of a fight broke out. The first pained scream hastened her movements, the third halted them. Idrial did not know Kerr’s voice from any of the others echoing into the night air.

In a way, it did not change anything. He was giving her a chance - with or without him thereafter. She may have to use the diversion to flee. Kerr was skilled and clever and would do his best but he was also outnumbered. Idrial was sure the odds were stacked high against their mission to undo the assassination contract on her head and both survive.

The cacophony of crashes, shouts and screams, and clashing of weapons reached a horrible crescendo and she could only guess what was happening. The only certainty was that Kerr knew how to put up a fight.

Then, quite suddenly, all seemed to go silent.

The peredhel stilled, listening hard for any indication of, well, anything.

Was Kerr dead? Had he defeated enough that the rest retreated?

Idrial unknowingly held her breath while she pondered whether she could (or even should) risk trying to peek into a window or if she ought to flee. Then, before she could decide, Kerr’s voice was calling out to her that all was clear. She exhaled heavily, relieved that the mercenary was still standing.

She was cautious as she approached the inn, wanting to be sure that Kerr had indeed run the group off and was not being held hostage. What she saw, however, was a great deal more than she ever could have expected. Idrial’s large doe eyes roved the little battlefield that had become of the inn. She cast a look at Kerr, a faint line forming between her brows as she took in a new understanding of him. Clearly, he had exercised immense restraint against the jester… Who are you. she thought.

The whining man drew her attention and she crossed to him with an idea. “You do not have to die this day. I can undo this,” she offered gently. As a show of good faith, she hovered her left hand over the cut on his face. A golden light radiated from the peredhel’s palm, flooding the wound with her magic until it sealed and disappeared. “But first…” she continued, her voice soft and sweet, “You are going to answer his every question.” She tilted her head in Kerr’s direction. “You will answer truthfully and without omission. Because if you do not…” Idrial paused for effect, frowning slightly, before saying, “You will learn there are fates far worse than death.”

She glanced back to Kerr and gave him a subtle nod, signaling for him to take over. If they were lucky, they might gain a further advantage.

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood , Emily Caomhánach , @open
roll: 87 (success)

Kerr watched her approach out of the corner of his eye as he dug through the pockets of the man that was already dead-dead. Wasn't much aside from a few coins, flint and steel for sparking lanterns and the like, and a belt knife that wouldn't fetch two copper pieces in a prison yard. She appeared a bit awed at what she found awaiting her in the courtyard. Half insulting, she obviously hadn't expected him to win, and half gratifying as he'd impressed her. The bigotry of low expectations, but he was more than use to it by this point in his life. He didn't expect this one to know his reputation as she'd never been anywhere near the underworld that he lived in.

"You do not have to die this day. I can undo this."

"That'd be impressive," Kerr said to himself as he moved over to the man who'd finally sufficated to death. He didn't show the tell-tale signs of asphyxiation, he'd simply not been able to breathe. Usually a lot of force had to be inflicted to choke someone to death, either rope or hands, and that created trauma and a few other unpleasant side affects. This guy had ultimately just slipped into unconsciousness and then death. Gentle, really. Aside for his lungs filling with blood while that happened. Kerr sighed and went through his pockets as well. He caught light out of the corner of his eye and spun to his feet... to find Idrial healing the man's face. "You're magic! She's magic," He said emphatically to the man she'd just healed a bit. "I didn't know you were magic, did you know she was magic?" He asked the man once again switching back and forth between the two. It was a fun act.

"Well, now, that changes everything." He wandered over and looked at the guy's wound with a curious expression on his face. "Huh, well, you've got a couple of minutes before you die. Unless she decides you've been forthright with me. Means you gotta convince her, not me. So make it good, she's not the judge of character I am." He poked the guy in the hip with his boot causing him to whimper but he nodded emphatically. "Who. Hired. You?" Three simple words. The guy wasn't a pro and it showed as he immediately blurted out a name. "Sturbin Weasel! It was Sturbin Weasel! He said we could make a lot of coin even split so many ways, if we could hunt down a woman that his original hire had managed to lose. Said something weird sounding about hunting hounds, gave us a coin each to get started and told us about the inn!"[/b]

Kerr rolled his eyes and stopped listening as soon as the name was out, looking to Idrial. "Geal-athe dina alan'en din-en..." He spoke the Elvhen words to no one in particular before refocusing. "He means Sturbin Wessel, though the man is absolutely a weasel in human guise. I assume transmuted by a great and powerful god to punish the rest of us, he's a middle man. A broker of sorts. He connects professionals... and useful idiots, obviously... to jobs requested by people who don't have their own connections. Like the usually more or less upstanding individual that we discussed earlier. On the bright side, if we find him before our primary adversary finds out he tried to do part of his job for him unrequested, there's a chance we might be able to lay hands onto some hard evidence." Probably wouldn't be a bloody knife in hand but it might be enough to add some weight to the accusation they intended to make. "Also, you don't actually have to heal this guy, he came out here to kill you for a mere twelfth of the promised reward."

He wouldn't judge her for taking that sort of thing personally. Nobody wanted to be killed but if someone were to put a price on Kerr's head he'd have hoped it was quite a lot. Dying was one thing, dying cheaply a full blown insult.

((Elven Translation: "The Coward dies a thousand deaths..."))

---

I

t did not occur to her until just then that she had not exactly specified in what ways she was a healer when they had been talking earlier in the day. Idrial stifled a smile at Kerr’s reaction to her use of magic, though her eyes had brightened with amusement. She was trying to stay serious and cultivate some sort of enigmatic air about herself that she may seem much more powerful than she was. Someone the injured man would not be quick to come after a second time - with or without Kerr in her company.

“...y rogasha dina vin nëa,” she answered in kind, finishing the old adage. It was an automatic response more than apt to the situation. Beyond that, she could not resist speaking her native tongue when the opportunity arose. Many elves had lost their language or were not fluent. Half-elves were even less learned of the old ways; so often denied that part of their heritage. Whatever bitterness she felt toward her father now, Idrial could not deny she had been lucky to have been raised by an elf that wanted to pass such knowledge on to her.

To the peredhel’s relief, the man valued his life over any loyalty to his hired cause and wasted no time giving up the name of the man that hired their no-longer-merry band of thugs. Even better, Kerr knew precisely who the broker was. This, somehow, was of little surprise to her. He struck her as a very sharp, resourceful, well-traveled man with a penchant for connecting and making connections with people. Even if he had not had what she assumed were past personal dealings with Sturbin Wessel himself, Idrial would have bet a goodly sum that Kerr would have little trouble finding his way to that circle.

Idrial was not a petty woman and knew her threat had mostly been a hollow one from the outset. “A rather sizeable twelfth, it would seem.” Even if she had been serious about letting him bleed out, she still saw that there may yet be more to his usefulness. For that, she was willing to postpone the man’s journey into the hereafter at some small personal expense of her own. The peredhel shrugged one shoulder. “He held up his end of the bargain.” And she held up hers.

It wasn’t a perfect reversal of the injury by any stretch before Idrial was forced to stop. Still, he would be able to walk away and could potentially make a full recovery. That seemed more than fair.

The healer was dizzy after. She lost her balance when she tried to get up and her breathing had become a little labored. “I’m fine,” Idrial panted out without prompting. “I just need… to eat something before we move on.” Idrial took a few moments to catch her breath, then issued further instruction to the man.

“You are going to arrange a meeting with The Weasel Man. Tell him…” Idrial swiped the back of her hand under her nose where she felt a familiar trickle, staining her skin crimson with blood. She had overexerted herself. The wound had been worse than it looked - which was saying something. “Tell him you will be taking the shares of those fallen this night. And that you now require a greater advance - fifty percent upfront.” Then, to Kerr, she added, “That should get his attention.”

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood / @open
translation: "a hero dies but once"
roll: 55 (success)

Kerr was less than helpful with the smile stifling, shooting her a wink as she worked at it but otherwise saying nothing. Not even when she finished the adage he'd abbreviated, though he did give her a knowing look and a finger gun to go with it as if saying 'yeah, she knows what's up'. If asked about his elven, orc tongue, or any other language he knew his default answer was always 'my father insisted'. His father had insisted he know the trade language and one court language. The rest had come from the Judicars and his natural talent for learning languages. To be honest, half the time he even thought in languages other than his original one because some ideas were just better expressed on certain languages than they were in others. Elven was a dying language, few knew it and it hadn't changed since the Elven empire was driven from these lands... but that made it perfect for less honest means. He and his ex-wife had spoken it to each other almost exclusively in fact.

"A princely sum for a feckless dock worker, no doubt." Even after Wessel cut himself a bigger slice because he knew it wouldn't take near as much to motivate a pack of such louts. Greed, not professionalism, had caused Wessel to roll the dice on amateurs. She insisted she was going to hold up her end of the bargain and Kerr gave a half shrug and gestured for her to carry on. It was reassuring to see that as part of her character and nothing was stopping Kerr from slitting the man's throat after she was done if it seemed necessary. That was the first kind of killing Kerr had learned, after all. But Kerr was busy catching her as she stumbled, still standing over the situation as he had been during the questioning. Getting her by the elbow and waist when she stumbled. "Whoa now, don't strain yourself."

He let her attempt her negotiation with the man but he gave her a dirty look, like she was asking him to spell a big word that was plainly beyond him. Kerr promptly kicked him in the face, rendering the man unconscious. The woman holding the innkeeper gasped at the sudden violence but Kerr merely glanced at her before turning his attention back to Idrial. "Come on, I'll buy you a bowl of whatever's on from the innkeeper's wife here while he ties up the survivor and the boy runs to get the city guard." He looked at the three he'd just made plans for. "They assaulted you, a mercenary intervened, they're welcome to question me about it. That's all you know. It's got the benefit of being both true and simple. The guardsmen like simple." The guardsmen usually were simple. He all but carried Idrial toward the back door.

"The sooner you start moving the sooner it's all over," he called over his shoulder before taking Idrial inside, through the kitchen, into the main room, and settling her into a chair at a round table. He knew it would take a minute for them to get over their shock but he had a feeling the innkeeper would get his wits together quick and see the wisdom in the course of action that Kerr had suggested. He knew people, that man was peaceful but not a pushover. He'd finish marveling over his good luck any minute now. But, in the meantime, Kerr slapped a coin on the counter and went back into the kitchen. He came back with a hunk of bread and what appeared to be a good hardy stew in a wooden bowl with matching spoon. He set it down in front of Idrial. "Eat, then tell me what I can expect from your magic. For tactical reasons." It'd help him keep her safe and maybe even factor into how big a risk he was willing to take to get the job done right rather than merely to satisfaction.

---

I

drial had not been looking at the man when she spoke. At the sound of his being hit in the face, it was easy enough to conclude his eagerness to cooperate had reached its end. It was no great surprise to the healer, really. Idrial was self-aware enough to know she was generous to a fault when giving people chances and the benefit of the doubt. “Worth a try…” she mumbled.

Moving exacerbated the dizziness. Kerr was quick to help her into the other room, though, and being seated with a tabletop to lean on helped her to feel more stable. In no time, he had brought a meal to her. She was feeling queasy but knew she needed the nourishment to undo the after-effects of using her magic on an empty stomach. Idrial was too underweight to withstand the toll it could take.

The healer gave two short nods and tore off a tiny piece of bread.

It took her some time to work up to more meaningful bites and spoonfuls. And even longer to speak. Kerr was good company, though - whether telling stories or keeping a comfortable silence - and never seemed to be in a rush unless he really needed to be. They were qualities she was increasingly appreciative of the longer she was around him.

By the time she was drinking the last morsels of stew, the inn had stopped spinning and she was of a healthier color. Idrial exhaled a satiated sigh as she set the bowl down and fixed her gaze on the mercenary. “Thank you.”

A small smile played across her mouth before her teeth pulled on her lower lip in a pensive manner. She wasn’t sure she had ever really explained what her supernatural abilities consisted of in detail before and was unsure of where to begin. “To answer your earlier question… I think you have just seen the most noteworthy of my magic.” She shrugged and shook her head a little, unintentionally downplaying what she could do. “I can heal myself and others, and sometimes mend objects,” the peredhel went on, “and I can sort of… sense the properties of things. Plants; ingredients. Perhaps other things as well; I don’t know, I have never had a mind to try.”

---

tag: Kerr Blackwood / @open