Fable - Ask A Message Delivered, Part 1

[WolfHorns]

The sun held high. Its bright rays bore down upon the world. The blue waters of the bay glimmered in the distance. A reflection of the sky above. Birds flew in the air. They often nested in the high crooks of Alliria's stone roofs.The birds were beautiful this time of year.

Coaches traveled through the streets. They were pulled by horses and other beasts of burden. People milled about. Average people living average lives. Nothing more than an aching silence behind their eyes, in spite of the cacophony that spilled from their lips. Merchants shouted, hawking their wares. Mother's scolded their children and guards spoke with the odd citizen or two.

A little further into the city, away from the bustling center streets, sat a large manor. It stood three stories high. 150 feet by 75 with several acres of gardens surrounding them. A see of bluebells filled the space between the manor and the gates.

Guards, bearing blue tabards marked with a silver sunrise, milled to and fro. They watched, with perceptive eyes, the movement of every passersby. A number of individuals gathered around the main gate. They seemed to be merchants, brazenly arguing with the guards.

"But as I have said before," a wheazing sound came from the roundest merchant as he spoke. "We have goods for his Lordship, the Baron. Just look!" With a practiced flourish the man, clothed in a rather disgusting shade of yellow, ripped the cloth cover off of the object that the other individual was holding. Within the revealed box were a variety of ornaments.

"I have with me the next great craze of Alliria!" Picking up one of the ornaments, a hair clasp, the merchant started to speak. "Behold its expert craftsmanship! This, gentleman, is true Orcish Ivory. From the north!" It was not. Even to the untrained eyes of the guards it was clearly nothing more than common bone.

"And as I have said," the guard ground out the words, "My Lord has no need of you or your wares." With that, the other two guards took a forceful step forward. Their metal clad boots slammed into the ground, the sound echoing.

"Go hawk your trash in the outskirts, charlatan." The man spit out the last word like a curse.

 

[Tyisur Volklor]

As he made his way through the busy city streets, his mind became consumed with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, he was determined to carry out Sarah's wishes, a promise he had made to her recently. The thought of crossing paths with Lord Lindwell and Sir Alkitt filled him with both dread and nostalgia. It had been four years since their last encounter, and much had changed since then. The man was no longer the naive sellsword he once was; now he held a position of power within the web of the city's criminal underworld. The weight of this status bore down on him as he contemplated the risks of it all; he would be crossing paths with the only two individuals who knew him by his real name. There were still loose ends awaiting him in Dornoch, the place where his story began, but for now, his focus was on the upcoming meeting with the woman's family.

The lock of platinum hair, glistening in the sunlight, was like a connection to his past. It had journeyed alongside him, across distant lands, until it now found its way into Alliria. As he held it in his hand, it seemed to whisper of memories forgotten, yet still vivid in his mind. The wind tugged at his cloak, causing it to dance around him. With a final gaze at the hair, he carefully tucked it away.

The building stood out prominently amidst the hustle and bustle of the street, a grand and imposing figure that could easily draw one's attention. It was certainly nicer than what Tyisur resided in. The weight of the message he carried pressed heavily on his mind, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched. With eyes scanning the crowded area and imposing guards posted, he hesitated to proceed, wary of the prying eyes and eager ears that may lurk. The man shunned the limelight, preferring quiet solitude.

Slowly, he began to blend in with the crowd, his movements purposeful. As he navigated through the sea of vendors, his keen eyes observed the subtle interactions between the merchants and the guards. His gaze lingered on their gestures, expressions, and postures, as if he were deciphering their very essence. It was as though his mind was processing and analyzing the data before him with clarity.

The guard's seemed to tighten from the vendor's persistent chatter. The annoyance across his features was obvious. Yet, deep down, he couldn't completely fault the man for this; the notion of standing sentry at a gate day in and day out hardly filled Tyisur with excitement. However, as his gaze lingered on the stranger, a sense of familiarity tugged at his consciousness, prompting him to study the figure more closely. Devoid of his sword, a common occurrence these days, he now bore the resemblance to a commoner. The sole weapon in sight was a stiletto dagger secured at his side. With a stride forward, he finally spoke, his voice steady. "I am here to deliver a message to Lord Lindwell concerning his daughter."

 

[WolfHorns]

Alkitt POV -

Alkitt had been about to turn back into the gate when he heard another voice. His shoulders tensed as he whipped back around ready to tear into that blasted merchant. That was until the words said struck him. His Lord's daughter? Which one was the man talking about, there were three of them after all. Of course only two were left.

The guard, adorned in plate and tabard only slightly more impressive then those next to him, studied the young man. He wore his clothes well. A dagger hung on his hip. He eyed the dagger warily. It was a stiletto. Meant solely for the purpose of finding the chinks in armour and ending the life within.

Alkitt's eyes looked up at the man's face. The boy was guarded. Not especially so, but enough to unease him. A certain dullness was in the stranger's eyes. As if his care of the world had been ground away a long time ago. But that couldn't be true as he noticed that the man watched everything intently.

"I do not know who you are, but I can assure you that both the young Countess and Lady Edith are safe. There are trusted messengers for both of them." The man took a step closer. His hand gripped tighter on the shaft of his polearm. The shiny steel glinted in the sunlight. "You are not one of them."

One of the other guards retreated inside the gate. the guard's steps had quickened as he closed the distance with the manor. He had most certainly left to ascertain the situation with the Lord's daughters. Despite the dubious source of the information the Lindwell guards would never ignore anything that had to do with the safety of their lieges.

Alkitt's face drew back from the younger man. His intent had been made clear. Either the man would clarify what his concern was or he would face the stockade.